In the years since my injury, the way my family treats me has felt like that same kind of violent reaction I had to ignore so it didn’t fester. Whatever I do, I cannot scratch it. I assumed that in time, the swelling would lessen, and I could tolerate it.
I was wrong.
It’s only getting worse.
Especially after four days with Poppy, finally connecting the way I’ve always wanted to connect. That longing burns like a fresh bite I can’t stop scratching, no matter how raw it leaves me.
The pain of missing her is swelling, too. And it’s only been a few hours.
But this onehasto heal. My body has to adapt. She betrayed me. Lulled me into thinking she was my person, my dugout—the place I could finally breathe between innings.
Sloane’s mom comes into the narthex and flags Mom down. “Gotta run, sweetie. I’ll see you in an hour.”
“Is Dad around?”
“He’s with Evan in the groom’s lounge.”
“Isn’t Evan already dressed?”
“Sloane’s mom told him to take off his tux so she could steam it. Evidently, he got it wrinkled on the drive.”
“That sounds fun for him.”
She pats my hand. “One day, I hope your future mother-in-law will care just a little less than Evan’s.”
It’s supposed to be a joke, but it lands like a jab.
“I should be so lucky.”
Mom points toward the front of the chapel. “Your grandfather is up there, talking to Evan’s groomsmen.” Then her gaze lingers on mine, and her eyebrows pull together. “Did Evan tell you about them?”
“No,” I say, though he’s brought them up a couple of times.
“You should go meet them before the service starts.”
“Does it matter?” I ask.
Her eyes flit past me. “I think it does.”
That’s all she has to say.
I steel myself and walk up the center aisle to where a group of six men are standing. I recognize two of Evan’s old high school friends and three of his college teammates, but there’s a manas broad as a barn with short hair I don’t know talking to my granddad.
“Fletch, man, how are you?” one of the groomsmen says, and I nod, say hi, shake one hand and then the next. All around us, members of Sloane’s family and her wedding party are setting up candles along the pews and fixing flowers. The string quartet has just shown up and is tuning, the scraping of strings setting my teeth on edge. In the corner, someone’s talking with the pastor. It’s all bustling but contained, except for Granddad’s boominglook-at-melaugh when the man he’s speaking to makes a joke.
Granddad claps the man’s shoulder. “You spill beer on your father-in-law’s suit and still stand up to give the toast? Now that’s how a man handles disaster.”
My grandfather’s eyes fall on me, and he gives me a nod. “Ollie, come over. You need to hear this.”
I do as I’m told, approaching the two men dutifully. Granddad loves pushy, arrogant jerks, so I already have my reservations. I learned early on that anyone my granddad wanted me to meet was someone I had no interest in actually knowing.
But this man is in Evan’s wedding party, important enough that my brother wants him present on the most important day of his life. I owe it to Evan to give him a chance.
I reach Granddad’s side, and he’s introducing me before I can even reach out a hand. “This is Ollie, Evan’s brother.” I extend my hand and watch as a hand the size of a catcher’s mitt engulfs mine. My stomach plunges like I’ve just missed a step on the stairs.
“Ollie,” Granddad says, “this is?—
“Darren Murphy,” I say at the same time as he does. I yank my hand back like I’ve been burned. “What are you doing here?”
