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“Here we go.”
My eyes found Coen’s the second we walked into the chapel, and my heart began pounding as I looked at him standing there with Keegan and Parker. I knew I’d waited for this moment my entire life, and I knew I’d found the perfect partner, friend, and lover in Coen—as well as father for Parker.
We still argued instead of talking things out. It still worked perfectly for us; and not once had either of us walked away until everything was resolved since we got back together. Which usually meant Coen still had to pin me to a hard place when we argued, but in the end, I was thankful for it.
Parker had been beyond excited the night of my birthday when we’d shown up to get him, and hadn’t let Coen out of his sight except to sleep and go to school for the next week. Even though he didn’t care about the whys of Coen’s disappearance, Coen had still sat him down and apologized to him while trying to explain all that Parker really needed to know. That Coen had made a mistake, he was back, and he was never leaving again. Three months later, Parker called Coen ‘Dad’ for the first time as he was falling asleep—and Coen had sat on the end of Parker’s bed for ten minutes, fighting back tears.
Keegan made fun of him for that constantly, but it was one of the most beautiful moments I’d ever witnessed between the two of them.
We already had the paperwork ready, and after the wedding, Parker and I were changing our last name to Steele, and Coen was officially adopting him. Something Parker told anyone who gave him two minutes of their time.
When we got to the front, my dad kissed my cheek and handed me off to Coen.
A slow smile pulled at my lips as I stepped up to him, and I studied his dark eyes as they gave away all I needed to know. He was ready for our forever.
“We’re—” the pastor began.
“Dad!” Parker whispered.
Coen grinned and looked behind him. “Yeah, bud?”
Everyone sitting in the church began laughing as Parker stepped closer and stood on his toes. “Tell Mom she looks pretty.”
“Got it.” Looking back at me, Coen’s dark eyes brightened as his gaze bounced over my face. “You look beautiful,” he said breathlessly.
I squeezed his hand. “Not so bad yourself, Steele.”
“You can get married now,” Parker declared, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
Reaching behind him, Coen put his hand on Parker’s back and moved him so he was standing between us. Grabbing his right hand, Coen watched until I grabbed Parker’s left hand before looking back over at the pastor.
“Now we’re ready.”
The End
A Note from the Author
For a look at the pictures from the canvases in the studio, go to:
www.mollysmcadams.com/capturing-peace-photos
Keep reading for an early peek at Molly McAdams’s next book
SHARING YOU
The story of Coen’s friend Brody.
Prologue
Kamryn—Sept. 2, 2014
THE SOUND OF three familiar, masculine laughs stopped my retreat to my room and I quietly tiptoed back toward the study. What are Charles and his dad doing here? I peeked through the door they had left cracked and was thankful for the darkened hallway. I knew from experience they wouldn’t see me unless they were actively searching, and since all of them were huddled around a far table with drinks in their hands, I figured I was fine.
I pulled my cell out of my pocket and glanced at the time before dimming the screen again. Charles wasn’t supposed to pick me up for another four hours, and we’d just had brunch with his family. Couldn’t he go away for a while?
Charles. Good God what had he even changed into? He had brown loafers—no socks—khaki shorts, and a dark pink polo on. And, yeah, the collar was popped. His dark blond hair had that I-just-got-out-of-bed look, but I’d had the unfortunate pleasure of watching him spend twenty-five minutes to make it look that way this morning, so it lost its appeal.
I’d been dating Charles York since our junior year of high school, and it was safe to say that over the last six years, I’d really come to loathe him. His clothes, his too-perfect bleached smile, his fake tan, his laugh that had to be louder than everyone else’s in the room, the fact that he was the third Charles York, his signature silver BMW that he upgraded for a new one every two years like it was a cell phone or something. And this was probably worst of all: that he was so close with my dad that he was having drinks with him on his own time.
