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“I want to write our vows, Charlotte,” he says, somehow reading my mind. “I don’t want to say those things.”
“What things? That you’ll love and obey me?” I tease.
“No, the death do us part things.” He’s serious—so serious. Ever since the diagnosis, I don’t think he’s cracked a smile once. I’m afraid his face is going to become petrified in the stern, never have laughed freeze frame.
“Then let’s write our own vows. It’s a very hipster thing to do. I’ll post them on Pinterest after our wedding with soft focus pictures of my bouquet.”
“What is with all the fucking jokes, Charlotte? Nonstop. One quip or mocking comment after the other. That’s not you.”
“How would you know?” I shoot back, stung by his criticism and cursing. “It’s not like you stuck around to find out. If I’d had my leg amputated before, would you have run off like a scared little boy?”
He stares as if he doesn’t recognize me and then pushes the door open and stomps out.
I struggle out of the chair and run after him. The wind has whipped up, and it slams the door behind me. The sharp crack alerts him, and he turns toward me, a towering mass of anger and hurt and fear.
I hurtle myself into his arms, and he clutches me tight against him.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter against the warm skin of his neck. “It’s either laugh or cry at this point, and crying has never done anything for me.”
“God, baby, I want to be strong for both of us, but I can’t get a grip on this. I’m scared shitless. Tell me what to do.”
“Just love me.”
“I do.”
“And be honest with me.”
“I am.”
Drawing back, I press his face between my hands. “I don’t want to be a charity case—someone you’re with because you think I’ll be an old maid if you don’t marry me.”
Shock and then surprise flickers in his eyes. “Is that what you think? That I’m with you because I feel sorry for you? Jesus, I’m the lucky one here. A teammate of mine told me that the entire time he was with me, it was like looking at a dead man. I’m not alive unless I’m with you. How many limbs you have means fuck all.”
“All right.” I laugh with giddiness. “You owe your mom’s curse jar a hundred dollars.”
“If you don’t marry me, I’m going to have to pour my whole trust fund in that jar because I won’t stop cussing.”
He swings me around until we’re dizzy. Grace comes out to tell us that the doctor is here, and Nate carries me inside. He sits beside me while the drip is inserted. He holds my hair later that night when I’m sick. He feeds me little bits of toast and then curls his entire body around mine as we fall asleep.
* * *
“This dress is beautiful,” Lainey says reverently. The stiff satin is folded strategically, baring my shoulders. It’s nipped in at the waist, and a sea of organza floats over a heavy silk skirt. Grace’s strand of pearls hangs around my neck, representing the old and borrowed, while my parents’ wedding present, a sapphire and pearl bracelet, covers the blue and the new.
My hair is curled and falls down my back in golden waves, which is Nate’s preferred style. He loves my hair loose.
I decide against high heels, choosing instead a pair of delicate crystal studded shoes with a kitten heel. I’m not certain how long I’ll be able to stand. Treatment has left me as weak as I suspected it would.
“How’s the office?” I ask.
“It’s all motoring along perfectly,” Lainey says.
Outside of the sunporch I can hear the sound of people chattering. Despite the quickness of the wedding, a surprising number of people have shown up. Colin arrived yesterday and proceeded to flirt the pants off of half the female guests. Nate looks on with tolerant amusement while Nick scowls because Lainey has shown a surprisingly positive response to Colin’s lures. And why not? He’s handsome, famous, and he has this amazing ability to make the silliest things sound suave. He’d told Lainey upon meeting her that the only way he’d be able to live in the Windy City was if someone as warm as her would be by his side. Of course, it’s summer so he has no idea how cold it can really get but panties hit the floor. No lie.
Our parents footed the bill for chartered planes from San Diego and Dallas to bring teammates of both Nate and Nick to the wedding.
The other night, our parents tried to convince us Nate should leave his team.
“We’ll call in every favor and get you out early,” Noah vowed.
“For a price, anything can be purchased,” Dad said.
“No.” I put my foot down. “I don’t want that. I’m going to beat this, and so we’re going to go forward with our plans. I’m staying here while I get treatment, and then after surgery and whatever amputation I have to get, I’ll move to San Diego. There are veterans groups I can rehab with. Probably no one knows more about amputations than the military.”
