Page 202 of Wait for Him

"Water," Bennet says, already moving. "I'm getting him water."

"I don't need water."

"You need something, and it's not available in this room," he mutters, and the door opens behind him and Blaire walks in.

"I heard there's panic afoot."

She's finally, properly showing, in a gorgeous burgundy dress that puts her baby belly on full display, poked-out belly button and all. She crosses the room like a woman on assignment.

"Jack-Jack. What's going on?" She pulls me up off the bench, straight into a hug, and I bury my face in her hair.

"I'm panicking. I can't breathe. I don't know if this is a mistake." The words tumble out into her shoulder. "She deserves better than me. They both do."

"Any woman on this earth would be lucky to have you — Rian's just the one holding the winning ticket today. Don't you dare downgrade yourself." She pulls back and pats my cheek. "You need a stiff shot and you'll be good as new."

Then she reaches into her bra — her bra, in a cathedral — and produces a flask.

"Lucky for you, I came prepared." She levels a side-eye at her husband. "Maybe I should've been your best man."

"We're in a church! I wasn't going to pack a flask in my pocket in a house of God, baby." Bennet's hands go up in defense.

"See what I mean?" She unscrews the cap, hands it over, and I down the contents in record time — the burn landing in my chest right next to everything else that's on fire in there.

It doesn't touch the actual problem. But then, nothing in a flask was ever going to.

"I love you so much right now." I hang my head back and breathe through the sting as it burns down my chest. "You're right. I can do this. I need to do this."

"If it's the right thing for you — and you only — then yes, you can do this, Jack-Jack. I love you too." She reaches up and sets my tie straight, smooths my collar, pats it flat. "So handsome."

She crosses to Bennet and gives him a kiss, and he pulls her into a hug with a full handful of her ass, church be damned.

"Thank you, baby," he murmurs.

"Thank the new boobs. Where else was I going to keep a flask?" She pecks him once more, throws a wink back at me, and leaves the room a few degrees lighter than she found it.

"She's so much calmer than Jenn," Joe says, staring after her in genuine awe. "Like a fairy."

I squint at him. "Have you been drinking?"

"Don't tell her."

So that's the state of the groom's room, twenty-odd minutes out: one best man on a water run he never completed, one groomsman secretly half in the bag, one groom running on smuggled liquor.

"I can do this," I tell my reflection.

My reflection looks like a man who's been told that before.

Rose

I want to leave.

I want to walk back out those doors, get in Gerald's waiting car, go back to my seclusion, and never look back. The urge is so strong my legs actually tense beneath my dress, ready to get up and make the decision for me. I could be halfway to Catalina before the reception even starts. Nobody would blame me. Hell, half the people who know the situation would probably applaud the decision.

Then my breath catches because Jackson and his groomsmen walk out.

Jesus Christ.

He looks so handsome it's genuinely unfair. His long blond waves are pulled into a neat, deliberately messy bun, and his beard has been trimmed down to just past a five o'clock shadow. His tux is dark gray and tailored within an inch of its life, doing criminal things across his arms and thighs. He looks good. Really fucking good. The universe couldn't let him develop a stress rash or a bad haircut for me today? Nope, that would've been too generous.