Page 3 of Second Chance Saloon

Hunter reached for the tie and put it around Mitch’s neck. “I’d have loved for you to be there, but it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. We eloped to Isle of Skye with two friends from Aboyne as witnesses. If I knew you were going to be so sour about it, I’d have asked you to fly out.”

Mitch huffed. “I’m not sour about anything.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow, his lips pursed like he was biting back a smile. He smoothed the tied bow tie and crossed his arms over his chest, admiring his work. “There. She’s a lucky woman.”

Mitch turned to the mirror, touching the perfectly shaped bow tie around his neck. He swallowed hard, adjusting the cuffs of his black tuxedo. “Do you really think so?”

He didn’t hear Hunter’s footsteps as he approached.

“I know so.” Hunter bumped his side with his elbow.

Sweat gathered on his palms, and he fought the instinct to wipe them on his trousers. His heart clambered up his throat as he pushed away the memory of another time when he thought he would one day be sliding a wedding band on a different woman’s finger. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“What if she doesn’t think that? What if she’s never thought it?” he asked in a low voice.

Hunter scoffed. “She’d be an idiot not to. You’re a catch, Craigton.”

Warmth rushed up to his ears. “Yeah, right.”

“Eve loves you. You love her. There’s only one outcome to that.” Hunter grinned. “I’m waiting to be the coolest uncle to your kids, you know.”

“You’re already an uncle.”

Hunter shrugged. “The more the merrier.”

Mitch snickered under his breath. “Let me get married first, yeah?” His hand flew to his bow tie one last time. His chest expanded with a deep inhale, and he smiled at Hunter as he let the breath go. “I’m ready.”

A dense carpet of white rose petals covered the red runner lining the aisle, which was dressed in spectacular green foliage. Dozens of tealights flickered and winked from within their glass lanterns, both on the floor and stacked on every other flat surface.

For Mitch, it wasn’t about the location or the decoration. It wasn’t about the number of guests, or the skill of the harpist. The only thing he ever imagined was the feeling that would clutch at his chest, squeezing it tight with an unimaginable and unmeasurable amount of love.

His heart raced against his ribcage.

His green eyes weren’t scanning the faces of the guests seated in the pews adorned with intricate floral arrangements, but focused instead on the closed door at the other end of the aisle.

He couldn’t wait to see his bride.

“Psst, Mitch.” Hunter leaned over his shoulder. “Do you want them to play the video now?”

The video was a montage of their photos, starting from when they were both children and ending on the clip of his proposal. Once Eve shouted, “Yes, I’ll marry you!” the video would fade, and the harpist would start playing “Steady Heart” by Kameron Marlowe. Then, Eve would walk down the aisle on her father’s arm. When their eyes locked, all his nerves would vanish, making space for the only possible conclusion to their story.

A happily ever after.

He nodded. “Tell them to go ahead.”

Hunter took the microphone from the wedding coordinator and tapped his finger on it. “Dearly beloved, the groom—our old pal, Mitch—has prepared a little something to give you a glimpse into his and Eve’s love story. If I could ask you to please switch your phones to silent, that’d be much appreciated.”

Mitch swallowed, clasping his hands in front of him. He looked up at the large TV mounted at the wall above the altar. Doubts swirled inside his mind: was this too tacky? Would Eve hate it? She wasn’t one for soppy public displays. Maybe he should stop it before the video started playing.

Hunter gave a thumbs up to the wedding coordinator hidden in the narrow passage.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the audio came through. But it wasn’t the soft instrumental soundtrack Mitch had chosen.

Moments later, an image filled the screen. Not a photo of baby Eve held in her mother’s arms, wrapped in a lavender blanket, but present-day Eve, in a white satin wedding dress hitched up around her waist. Her chestnut hair, pinned in an elaborate updo, was lopsided; a single hairpin with a shiny pearl was falling to the floor. Her legs were wrapped round a man’s thighs, her nude Louboutins digging into his bare ass as her companion thrust into her.

Mitch recognized him right away.

Lionel fucking Webster.