Kalvin snorts out a laugh. “Nice try, dude. We all saw you pulling up over an hour ago.”
Kent pins him with a smug look. “We’re here now.” He slings his arm around the back of my chair. “And my woman’s needs always come first. Always.”
“Kent!” I shriek, glaring at him. Not only has he confirmed we were late because we were fucking, but he’s also thrown me under the bus.
A chorus of chuckles ring out around the table while I just wish the ground would open and swallow me. Thankfully, the conversation moves on, and Alex takes her time making introductions, insisting we play musical chairs, so by the end of the evening, everyone is well acquainted with one another.
Kent has been on his best behavior, and he’s in great form, laughing and joking, and I let go of the slight anxiety I was holding on to earlier. Kent hasn’t said much about the wedding since he agreed to be Keaton’s best man. I know he went with Keanu to meet Austen, Keaton, Orwell, and Colton for their suit fitting, but he was pretty tight-lipped when he came back.
“Austen’s family seems nice,” I say as we are walking back to our cabin later with me tucked under Kent’s arm.
“His mom looks like she has a stick up her ass,” he says, his words a tad slurred. I figured he was a little drunk because he was knocking back the beers and he finished out the night with a few whiskeys. “But his dad, brother, and sister seem all right.”
“Orwell is something else.” He is studying engineering at the University of Denver and about to enter his senior year in September. I chuckle as I remember some of the risqué college stories he was telling us earlier. From the sounds of it, he’d give a young Kent Kennedy a run for his money.
“He’s a punk,” Kent says.
I giggle. “A bit like someone else I know, or so I’ve been told.”
Kent tickles me, and I shriek, pulling away from him, but he’s fast, even inebriated, and he hauls me into his chest, wrapping his arms around my back, caging me to him. “Not anymore.” He leans down, kissing the tip of my nose in an infinitely tender gesture. “You reformed me, Presley baby.”
Circling my arms around his neck, I tilt my face up. “You reformed yourself, Kent. Never forget that no one can save you if you don’t save yourself first.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Presley
“Kent looks like he’s going to pass out,” Eva whispers to me as we sit in the first row of seats the following day, waiting for Keaton and Austen to make their big entrance.
All eighty guests are here, and the best men are lined up on either side of the stone platform waiting for the grooms to arrive. The officiant smiles widely as he surveys the beautiful setting. The elevated stone platform where the ceremony will take place rests at the edge of the twenty-acre property, overlooking the plush woodland and breath-stealing Green Mountains in the distance. Overhead, an open stone archway has been decorated with gorgeous white and orange flowers with green foliage interspersed between the columns.
“He’s nervous,” I admit, working hard to hide my concern because Eva is right. Kent is pale and sweating bullets as he fidgets, pulling on the end of his black suit jacket, running his fingers along the collar of his white shirt, as if it’s choking him, and constantly dragging his hands through his hair. “Keanu will reassure him,” I add, watching as his triplet whispers in his ear.
I don’t think any of Kent’s family understand how big of a deal this is for him. And why would they? As far as they are concerned, Keaton and Kent have repaired the rift in their relationship and everything is peachy. Except I know they have only papered over the cracks, and everything is far from resolved. This weekend is hard for Kent, for reasons I still don’t understand, and I’m proud of him for pushing himself out of his comfort zone to be here for his brother.
The music starts, and everyone stands. I lock eyes with Kent, conveying he can do this and I’m proud of him. His shoulders relax a little and he mouths “I love you.” I blow him a kiss, repeating the silent words, smiling as I turn to watch the procession.
The kids are up first, and they all look adorably cute in their little suits and dresses. Hewson is the ring bearer, and he goes first, proudly holding his chin up as he walks along the stone path toward the platform. The rest of the nieces and nephews follow, and everyone oohs and aahs as they skip up the aisle, excited to be a part of the day.
Then the grooms appear, on either side of the garden, as the strains of “Truly, Madly, Deeply” by Savage Garden pulse out of the mobile speakers. James is escorting Keaton, and Alex is escorting Austen. I’m not sure why one of his parents isn’t giving him away, but there must be a reason.
I watch Austen and Keaton walk toward one another with a lump in my throat. They only have eyes for each other, and I can feel the love emanating from them. A sob rings out near me, and I instinctively turn toward the sound, watching tears pour down Faye’s face. Kyler wraps his arms around his wife, looking like he’s struggling to hold on to his emotions too.
Austen and Keaton meet at the end of the aisle, and they move as one, pressing their foreheads together as Alex and James step back. Kent’s dad pulls his mom into his side, and they share a loving look. Austen grabs Keaton’s hand, and they stare at one another with tears in their eyes.
“I love you,” Austen says, his words ringing out clear enough to be heard over the music.
“I love you too,” Keaton says, swiping tears off his cheeks.
“Let’s do this, baby,” Austen says, and Keaton nods.
With matching smiles, they face forward and start their walk up the aisle. They are wearing similar black suits, but Keaton has a white button-down shirt with a deep orange tie, and Austen is wearing the same shirt in black with a white tie. They both look so handsome and so in love, and my heart is bursting with joy. As I look around, I see I’m not the only one. This is the very first wedding I’ve ever attended, so I don’t know if the outpouring of emotion surrounding me is normal or out of the ordinary.
The grooms reach the platform, sharing some banter with the officiant before turning to face one another, holding hands as the ceremony begins.
My eyes return to Kent, noticing the glaze in his eyes and the hard set of his jaw. He holds himself rigidly still as he stares off into space. Unless someone was concentrating on him, nobody would notice how his gaze is trained just above Keaton’s and Austen’s heads, or how his foot is tapping anxiously, or the little beads of sweat dotting his brow. The weather is warm, and we’ve been blessed with a glorious sunny day, but that’s not the cause of Kent’s discomfort.
I want to go to him so badly, but I can’t.
