Marshall studied him—subtle shadows under his eyes, a stiffness in his shoulders he couldn’t hide.He’s running on fumes.And yet here he was, because family came first.
“You look like garbage warmed over,” Marshall said quietly.
“Thanks,” Jackson muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “Exactly the confidence boost I needed before the family photo gauntlet.”
Despite himself, Marshall smiled. Same old Jackson—just frayed at the edges. “You didn’t have to come.”
“Yeah, I did.” Jackson’s voice softened. “It’s her wedding. I can sleep on the flight back.”
A beat. Then, with a sideways glance, “Besides, Mom would’ve hunted me across continents.”
Marshall snorted. “Accurate.”
Jackson’s gaze flicked across the room. “You keeping an eye on Norah?”
Marshall’s pulse kicked. “What makes you say that?”
Jackson shrugged, a ghost of his usual confidence showing through the exhaustion. “You haven’t looked at her once. Which is basically the same as staring.”
Marshall didn’t answer. Norah laughed at something across the room, and his chest tightened.
But beneath it all, another truth weighed on him. Jackson was still on the suspect list. And Marshall didn’t know how to prove he wasn’t the mole.
His brother nudged him lightly. “Relax,” Jackson murmured. “We can both pretend our life is normal. Just for a few hours.”
Marshall wished he could.
Every time he glanced up, Norah was somewhere in his periphery—hugging relatives, adjusting her dress, slipping outside to take a breath, returning with pink cheeks and a look that said she wasn’t sure she belonged here anymore. This was his family, after all. But for nearly twenty years, their families had been friends. He’d worried that their breakup would threaten that closeness, but it hadn’t. Everyone else had carried on as though nothing had changed.
Perhaps he and Norah were the only ones who had.
When the DJ announced the first slow dance, the barn dimmed to a golden glow. His sister and James swayed, the rest of the room watching with soft smiles. The air was warm, sweet with the scent of summer fields and wedding cake.
Marshall wasn’t watching the bride or groom.
He was watching Norah.
She stood near the back, arms loosely folded, face shadowed in the dim light. Not unhappy—just distant. Like she was pressing her forehead to the glass of some old dream and remembering why she’d walked away.
His breath locked in his chest. Then the song changed.
Something familiar drifted from the speakers, an old 90s country ballad he hadn’t heard since high school. He froze.Norah’s head snapped toward the DJ booth. Their eyes collided across the room.
That was their song.
Not officially. Not with declarations or promises. Just...the song they’d danced to in her parents’ backyard the summer they fell in love. The song he played in his truck every night he drove home from seeing her. The song she’d used to make fun of his “predictable country boy taste,” even though she knew every word.
The moment stretched thin.
He didn’t remember crossing the room. One second, he was by the table, the next he was standing in front of her, the soft glow of the string lights painting her skin gold.
“Dance with me,” he said quietly.
Her lips parted. “Marshall?—”
“It’s just a dance.” His voice was rough. Low. “I won’t read into it if you don’t.”
Lie.
