Wasn’t a fan of that but I gave her the space she needed.
Scattered applause rang through the room as the lights dimmed slightly, casting a soft golden glow over the polished wooden dance floor. I exhaled slowly, my shoulders tightening as Fiona took her father’s hand.
He was an older guy, built like a rancher, the kind of man who had seen some shit but still smiled like the world hadn’t beaten it out of him. He leaned down and whispered something to Fiona, and she threw her head back, laughing—really laughing, her entire body shaking with it.
The music swelled, a slow, classic tune filtering through the speakers, and they started moving—not stiffly, not awkwardly, but like they’d done this a hundred times before.
Like they’d been waiting for this moment. Like it meant something.
My chest ached, a dull, throbbing kind of pain that I knew wouldn’t go away. Because I would never have this with my mom, not with the version of the woman who raised two sons with a smile on her face. Not with the woman who told me we’d do a synchronized dance when I finally got hitched. That woman faded with the sickness and fuck, I missed her so much.
I dragged in a slow breath, rolling my shoulders back, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral despite the fucking heartbreaking feeling clawing its way through my soul. Michelle shifted beside me, watching me carefully, but she didn’t say anything.
Sweat pooled on my forehead and I cleared my throat, the aching, froggy feeling not disappearing despite the deep breaths. I did my best to not break down since receiving the news two years ago. Even when Logan cried, or when mom had a bad day, I held it together. I had to. I was the oldest brother, the man of the family, and yet all it took was one father-daughter dance to unravel the brickhouse of emotion I carefully built.
The song came to an end, Fiona giving her dad one last tight hug before the DJ spoke again. “And now, let’s welcome Gideon and his mother to the dance floor.”
More applause. More cheers.
I watched without meaning to, watched as Gideon’s mom beamed at him, her smile wide, her eyes a little misty. Watched as he bent to kiss her forehead before leading her into a slow, careful sway. The song was different this time—something a little more upbeat, a little more playful.
His mom whispered something to him, and he laughed, shaking his head. She swatted his shoulder lightly, rolling her eyes like she’d done it a million times before.
My throat went tight. I swallowed against it, tried to breathe past the heavy weight pressing against my ribs, but it didn’t budge. Michelle’s fingers curled around my wrist—soft, grounding, warm—and I realized I’d clenched my hands into fists against my thighs.
I forced them to relax.
She didn’t say anything. Didn’t push.
Just let me sit there, let me feel it, let me work through the fact that this moment—this stupid, beautiful moment that no one else in this room would think twice about—was one I’d never get to have.
She traced her pointer finger over my wrist, making small circles over and over as the song continued. I focused on her touch, how calming it was, and finally the song ended and the emotional grip on my soul lifted. I almost broke down at a teammates wedding in front of the woman I was trying to convince that we could be more.
Jesus. Get it together. I took a large swig of the champagne, then another, before Michelle stilled my arm to prevent me from downing the entire thing. Glancing at her, I sucked in a breath at the worry on her face.
“Brooks,” she whispered, worry and sadness and an inner strength shining out of her. She said my name like it hurt her to even say it, like she was holding a piece of my pain for me. “What do you need?”
Fuck, I could fall so hard for this woman. There was no pity in her words, none of the are you okay bullshit because obviously, I was not. She asked what I needed. “I want?—"
“Alright, now it’s time for everyone to get on the dance floor! Grab a partner, because we’re picking up the tempo!” The DJ’s voice cut through our moment, once again interrupting our conversation.
Michelle arched a brow at me. “Let’s dance. Come on.”
“You?” I arched a brow. “I could barely get you to dance at the rehearsal dinner, Mitch. We don’t have to dance. I’m sorry?—”
“Listen to me.” She moved one hand, cupping my face gently, like I was something fragile for once. “You are allowed to feel however you need to feel,” she murmured. “And you don’t have to apologize for it.
I blinked, startled by how much I needed to hear that. “Michelle?—”
“No. None of that.” She stood, gripping the back of her chair as she narrowed her eyes a time. “We will dance and we will have fun.”
My lips twitched. “Is it weird to say you bossing me around is hot?”
That did it. She smiled my favorite smile, the one where her eyes crinkle and she shows almost too much teeth. “Goddamn it. I’m trying to comfort you, not the other way.”
I stood, taking my time nearing her as I took in how fucking breathtaking she was. The fabric hung to her curves, her hair was in the half-up, half down thing she always wore which I loved because it showcased her neck. I ran a finger over her collarbone, my thumb resting where her pulse raced and I bent down to kiss her jaw. “Thank you, Mitch. I needed you in that moment.”
She gasped, but I didn’t look back at her as I held a hand and led us to the dance floor. It was for all couples now, no special parent dance anymore. Those were done and I survived. Now, I breathed Michelle’s perfume in, remembering how it’d linger on my clothes after seeing her two years ago.
