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“A great big growly guy like you with a big chopper?”
His voice drifts back laced with laughter.
“I’d ask you to be my plus-one in a heartbeat.”
2
HAYDEN
Be his plus-one at this wedding? My grin at that thought drops the moment I reach the chapel, where it looks like the wedding has been completely called off. There are no flowers around its doorway, no signs of guests inside. That old building seems empty, another abandoned ghost ship, silent instead of joyous.
Shit. Ididruin her big day.
Low sounds draw me from the tree line to the side of the building. A man stands there with his head hanging. If he is the groom, he’s much more casually dressed than that silently laughing stranger I met in the woods. But even without a smart suit, there’s no mistaking the hunch of his shoulders while the school padre consoles him, and man, I recognise the posture of someone who’s lost everything he ever wanted.
That unwelcome blast from the past makes it almost painful to inch closer instead of away. I push through that discomfort, no team doctors here to dull what comes out sounding rough and grating. “Hey.” I have to clear my throat. This still rasps. “I’m sorry.”
The padre stops his quiet consoling to turn my way, one eyebrow raised in question. Not because he’s snooty. He’s a nice guy. Of course he is—he’s Adam’s other daddy, and the scar that stops him from raising his other eyebrow doesn’t stop him from conveying compassion. “What on earth do you have to be sorry for, Hayden?”
“For being too noisy.” I heft the culprit that I backtracked to retrieve. Then I lower my chainsaw while fighting the urge to pull a Homer Simpson. Merging back into the woodland would be easier than continuing, but I’ve done that once already—hidden myself away after causing chaos. I’m not a teen these days. I’m older and more than man enough to face distress I’m to blame for. “I know how loud my chainsaw gets.” There’s a reason I wear ear defenders. “If I’d known a wedding was in progress, there’s no way I would have ruined it.”
The padre shakes his head. “You didn’t ruin a wedding, Hayden.”
The man I found him consoling agrees. “You really didn’t.” He also gives me a reason for his jeans and T-shirt. “This was only a run-through. A service rehearsal. Just for me and Willow. The wedding is tomorrow.Wastomorrow.” He looks sick for a moment before asking, “You were chainsawing out here?”
I nod at him as the padre answers, “I didn’t hear you.”
The groom confirms it. “Me neither.”
Relief rolls in, strong and sudden. So does awareness that this is the second non-Cornish accent I’ve heard this morning. Australian this time, I guess, instead of inner-city. I quit my wondering as soon as he speaks again. “And it’s my fault that the actual wedding won’t happen tomorrow, not yours.”
The padre reacts before I can, which is good. He must have had a lot of practice with unsure students. Today he steadies a groom who I guess had a change of heart with only twenty-four hours to spare.
No wonder his bride took off running.
Or maybe she changed her mind first.
Perhaps a third option is more likely. I’ve never been a fiancé but I’ve had my fair share of pre-match nerves, and I’ve witnessed plenty of non-players have them. Even Marc got a bad case of the jitters last year on that sea-view headland before exchanging vows with Stefan.
Nerves didn’t stop them both from getting their happy ending. Not with me as Marc’s best man, and maybe the definition of masochism was me marching him across the grass to where Stefan waited under an arch that I’d decorated with gorse blossom, but it does mean that I can say this with conviction.
“Honestly, nerves are normal. Weddings are bloody stressful.” I make an accent-based guess. “You’ve been planning yours long distance?” The groom nods. “That’s gotta be even more stressful, but it will be worth it and itwillall work out. Just hang in there, yeah?”
I nod firmly and I don’t know when the school’s headmaster got here to nod right along with me. I only know that him taking over with a pep talk shouldn’t surprise me. What does surprise me is hearing my name used for reassurance.
“Yes, Finn. Listen to Hayden. He’s absolutely right. Everythingwillwork out.”
Here’s what else I’ve picked up about Luke Lawson—he’s good at calming jittery people.It will all work outis what he says whenever Rowan gets wobbly about teaching music and his boyfriend isn’t around to be his firm foundation.
That is what Luke repeats now to someone just as shaky, but to be honest, this groom also reminds me of being stuck between big-league goalposts with less supportive coaches yelling at me. Luke doesn’t use any of their aggressiveyou wimpvocab. He clasps this groom’s shoulder to make a gentle promise, one Ishould back away from to let him make in private. And I would, only what he shares roots me.
“Finn, this only feels like the end of the world.”
The end of the world?
Fuck. Has this poor sod really been jilted?
A wave of something all too familiar floods me. Not that I’ve ever been anywhere close to marriage, but switch out a wedding for a life-changing place on a team, and yeah, I’ve been inches from that chance, and lost it.
