I step onto the pedestal, heat crawling up my neck. Mom fans herself with a tissue. Sage grins, wolf-whistling under her breath. Grandma Jo squints over her champagne and mutters, “While it’s fabulous, it’s more suitable for a Vegas lounge singer than a bride.”
I laugh on cue, but it catches in my chest. The straps dig into my shoulders like they’re trying to hold me down.
By the eighth dress, I’m numb. Slim silk, plunging neckline, illusion mesh crawling up my chest like ivy. Theothers smile their approval, but all I see is Bradley’s shadow, all I hear is his voice in my ear.Smile, sweetheart. Look the part.
I fold my hands in front of me, diamond flashing. I wonder if the mirror can see through skin to the screaming underneath. My throat is raw from holding everything in, chest aching with the effort of standing tall.
Sage tilts her head, her smile faltering. “Noah, you okay?”
“Of course.” I force the words through lips that won’t stop trembling. “Just a little overwhelmed.”
Mom dabs at the corner of her eye, mistaking my strain for sentiment. “It’s okay to be emotional, baby. Weddings always are.”
Grandma Jo narrows her gaze, and I know she’s not fooled for a second by the false facade I’m presenting. I’m seconds away from snapping, and I’m surprised she’s the only one who sees it.
I swallow against the lump in my throat. “I’m fine.” But when Elena guides me back into the dressing room, the mirage evaporates into thin air. “Can I have a minute?”
“Of course. I’ll be back in five.” The curtain swishes shut. I sink onto the little velvet bench, my head falling into my hands. The mesh at my neckline scratches my skin, the boning digs into my ribs, and still I can’t catch afull breath. My chest heaves, ragged. My reflection in the mirror blurs as tears gather, hot and heavy.
“What am I doing?” I whisper to the empty room, to my own reflection that doesn’t look like me anymore.
The first sob breaks loose before I can swallow it down. It scrapes out of me, ugly and sharp, and then another follows, ripping through the dam I’ve been holding back since the second I stepped foot in this store.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, willing myself to stop, to pull it together, to paste the smile back on before anyone notices. But the harder I try, the harder the tears fall, hot tracks streaking down my cheeks.
The curtain rustles. A hand slips through the gap, gnarled but steady, holding a dress draped over one arm.
Grandma Jo’s voice comes low, the humor stripped back to something softer. “None of those uppity gowns out there are you, Noah Lane. Try this one.”
I blink up at her, startled, tears still clinging thick to my lashes. She pushes the fabric toward me, and I take it in trembling hands.
The dress is nothing like the others. No stiff satin. No suffocating beads. It’s light, creamy lace with flower embroidery stitched along the hem, soft tulle layers that would float when I walk, not weigh me down. A deep V-neck, delicate but free, a ribbon tie at the waist. Country boho that’s effortless and alive. Me, before all of this.
My chest caves in. The tears I’d been trying to hidespill harder, slipping silently down my face as I trace the fabric with shaking fingers.
Grandma Jo steps in fully, closing the curtain behind her, and eases down onto the little bench beside me. Her sharp eyes cut straight through the mess of my soul. She pulls me into her arms, her perfume warm and familiar, cedar and powder and years of Sunday dinners. She strokes a hand over my hair and sighs. “This isn’t about the dresses, is it?”
I choke out a broken laugh that catches on another sob. My shoulders shake against her chest.
Her voice steadies, fierce and sure. “I was married to the love of my life for thirty-five years, Noah. And never once—never once—was that man the reason for a tear on my cheek. So tell me, showgirl, do you love this man you’re marrying more than you loved my grandbaby?”
Her question carves me open, straight down to the marrow. The air disappears. My throat works, but no sound comes out because the answer—the real one—is buried under three years of silence and bad choices.
And just like that, I’m gone.
The mirror, the lace, the smell of champagne—they vanish, and I’m standing in the old farmhouse kitchen again.
February. Snow piled high outside the window. The air thick with woodsmoke and grief.
Pap’s chair sits empty at the head of the table, his old Stetson still hanging by the door, like hemight walk in any second and bark at his grandsons to finish their chores. But he won’t. He’s gone. A heart attack took him quick, left the family gutted, and the weight of Black River Ranch on Rhett’s broad shoulders.
Seventeen-year-old Kade leans against the counter, hollow-eyed, pretending he’s strong enough to carry half the load. They all try to be strong enough, they really do, but it’s the eldest who everyone looks to. Rhett, who everyone expects to fix what’s broken.
And then there’s me—standing there with one suitcase half-packed upstairs, a one-way ticket to LA burning a hole in my back pocket, and a heart splitting in two.
When we’re finally alone in the safety of his room, Rhett looks at me like I’m the only thing keeping him from drowning. His hands are raw from work, dirt still under his nails, grief carved deep into his face. “Noah,” he whispers, voice ragged. “I’m coming with you. We’ll figure it out.”
I want to believe him. God, I want to. But I can see the truth plain as day. The ranch needs him. Kade needs him. His grandma needs him. His younger twin brothers need him. He’s already torn in half, and if I drag him to LA, I’ll be the one who breaks him for good.
