"Don't."
"You're blind, Caleb. You always have been." She shakes her head. "But someone can only love you for so long without getting anything back."
My chest constricts. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing." But her eyes are sad. "Just . . . you're doing exactly what you accuse your father of. Running from anything that might actually matter."
I stare past her shoulder, throat tight. "He's not exactly a role model for healthy relationships."
"No," Mom agrees. "But at least he tries. Even when he’s terrible at it."
Before I can argue, Kristal appears as if the wedding gods have summoned her. "Speech time!"
"Now?" I'm actually grateful for the interruption.
"Yes, now!" She vibrates with enthusiasm. "Everyone's tipsy, the lighting's perfect, and—oh god, is that red wine near the cake? TREVOR!" She sprints off, leaving me no choice but to follow.
Matt catches my eyeas I take the microphone, but my gaze drifts to where Ivy's sitting with the other bridesmaids. She gives me a subtle thumbs up and a bright smile. The room quiets, all eyes turning to me, and my collar pinches around my throat.
"So, fun fact—Matt once convinced me that if you ate Pop Rocks and drank Coke at the same time, your stomach would explode." A laugh ripples through the crowd, and I catch Ivy's distinct snort. "I believed him for three years. This is the intellectual giant Sarah decided to spend her life with."
She throws her head back laughing, while he clutches his chest like I've wounded him.
"Most of you probably only know him as the guy in the suit who talks market projections. But let me paint a picture." I spot Mom dabbing at her eyes, even as she shakes her head at me. "This is the same man who used to blast Green Day in his piece-of-shit Civic, thought wearing his cap backwards made him cool, and oncebleached his hair because—and I quote—'chicks dig that Justin Timberlake vibe.'"
Matt drops his head into his hands while Sarah loses it completely.
"But here's the thing about my brother." I grip the microphone tighter, suddenly hit with how much I've missed him. How much I've pretended not to care. "Between covering for me when I snuck out to concerts, and teaching me to drive by stealing Dad's truck at midnight, he was always the person who had my back."
I catch Matt's eye, then Ivy's, and for a second, we're all back in his rust-bucket, singing off-key until our throats hurt.
I raise my glass. "So, Sarah? You landed the idiot who still knows every word to '21 Guns' and will absolutely crush karaoke after two beers. You got my brother. The real one. God help you."
The crowd chuckles, but Matt beams at me.
"To the happy couple."
Maybe Sarah was right. Matt didn't change who he was at his core. He just grew up and figured his shit out. Found someone who saw all his messy parts and loved him anyway. And I've been too busy resenting him forselling outto see that he's still my brother underneath it all.
"To finding someone who makes you want to be better, without changing who you really are. That's the real deal. And watching you two together, it's pretty damn clear you found it." I smirk. "Don't screw it up, bro."
Matt's giving me the finger while Sarah's crying from laughing so hard.
The room erupts in applause, but I barely hear it. Because Ivy's eyes are shining with unshed tears, one finally spilling over as she smiles at me.
I weave through the crowd toward the barn doors, needing air that doesn't taste like hairspray and emotions. The reception's hitting that sweet spot where everyone's drunk enough to get interesting. Dean and Dixie are sneaking off behind the dessert table, trying to be subtle about slipping between the wooden beams and fairy lights.
Near the makeshift dance floor, black streaks of mascara are turning Sarah's shoulder into a piece of modern art. My new sister-in-law wears the same patient expression she usually saves for Matt's cooking disasters, gently patting Mary's back while throwing desperate, wordless pleas at Delilah over her shoulder.
My parents are slow dancing; Dad's got his hand spread across Mom's lower back like he's staking territory. His jaw tight as he glares daggers at any guy who glances their way. Classic Greg Miller, marking his space without actually having to use his words.
Ten feet away, Magnolia and her husband are putting the rest of us to shame—spinning and laughing near the barn's center beam. He dips her low like they're twenty again while she squeals in delight. Her perfect curls are coming loose, but for once she doesn't seem to care. Must be nice, having parents who still act like the world narrows to just the two of them instead of . . . whatever the hell mine are doing. Though, watching Preston attempt the electric slide after his fourth mint julep might explain exactly where Sarah inherited her tragic rhythm.
Then there's Virginia and Jefferson, who apparently believe the massive flower arrangement by the gift table makes them invisible. From the way her leg's wrapped around his waist, I'm guessing allthat bickering was just an elaborate mating ritual. Good for them, I guess.
The night air bites against my skin as I slip outside behind the barn. The weathered stone wall marks the edge of the property, overlooking rows of moonlit grapevines stretching into the distance. For a second, I almost miss Ivy, perched on the ancient stonework, head tilted toward the stars. I consider retreating, but she turns, catches me hovering like an idiot in the doorway, and smiles.
"Your speech was good." She shifts over, making room. "I think you made everyone cry."
