“No!” Briar says, slipping one hand from mine and opening it, the droplets splashing onto her palm. “I love the rain!” she cries, flinging her arm wide, embracing the drops as they collect on her hair, darkening the blonde strands, straightening curls I know were painstakingly arranged not long ago.
A pause from the officiant. Then, lips twitching, Briar’s utter joy impossible to resist, she reopens her book.
Briar’s eyes slide to mine, buoyant with joy. “This is perfect,” she whispers as thunder booms again.
As lightning cuts across the sky.
As rain continues to fall.
“Isn’t it beautiful, Brooks? How the rain washes everything clean for a fresh start?”
“You’re the beautiful one, Raindrop.”
The memory of those words, her body cuddled close, her hand in mine, her face going soft when I gave her that nickname slides through my mind, sending pain lashing through me.
Pain I deserve.
“Perfect,” she whispers again, her damp palm coming to mine, fingers wrapping tight again.
No.
It isn’t perfect.
It’s my nightmare…and it will soon be hers too.
Because I’m going to ruin everything.
Before I can say something, can find the strength to pull my fingers from hers, the officiant continues,
“Do you, Brooks Saxton, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall?—”
“I don’t.”
The words are ripped from my soul.
Spat into the air.
Shock reverberates back.
From the officiant.
From the witnesses.
From Briar.
“I don’t,” I repeat.
Fingers convulse around mine. “You’re supposed to say I do,” Briar whispers.
My lungs seize. “No,” I say. “I’m not.”
“Brooks—”
I slip my hands from hers. It’s not easy, not when she’s clinging to me so fiercely. Not when she’s looking at me like…
I can’t allow that thought to form, can’t allow the words to coalesce in my mind.
I might do something that’s worse than this.
