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Outwardly, my blonde hair was styled perfectly; every little strand I never seemed able to tame was pulled back in a flawless side braid. My blue eyes stood out more than ever, the black mascara and fake eyelashes making my eyes pop. Makeup artistry I could never recreate highlighted and bronzed my face into something you’d see on a magazine cover. My average looks had been transformed into a stunning woman, to the point I didn’t recognize myself.
But for all intents and purposes, I looked like a beautiful bride ready to marry the man of her dreams.
I was the epitome of a classic and elegant bride, even if my shoes were cleats instead of heels and my bouquet was in the shape of a baseball. But with my veil perched just so on my head, you didn’t even notice the oddness. The ring on my finger sparkled, mocking me as I tried to figure out what was wrong with my reflection.
Why wasn’t I blushing? Or even smiling?
Clutching my stomach, I took a deep breath.
“I don’t think baseball can solve this one, Dad,” I whispered, the sound of my plea disrupting the quiet space. “There’s no relief pitcher, and it’s the bottom of the ninth with two outs.” My lip wobbled at the thought.
No, there had to be something. I just needed to find the winning hit. The magic play that would bring the runners home. As Yogi Berra said, “It ain’t over till it’s over.”
Pacing, I ignored how the cleats pinched as I tried to reassure myself this was what I wanted.
“You love Brandon. He’s been there for you through school and your illness. He’s solid.” I paced some more, my breathing increasing as I tried to find more reasons to marry him. “He has that dimple you love!” I snapped my fingers, feeling victorious at remembering. “And… and…”
Shit. Had I really agreed to marry a man because he was consistent and had a dimple? Damn. I knew I didn’t like to rock the boat, but when had I completely given up driving it?
Staring at myself in the mirror again, I knew the real reason I’d said yes to his proposal. It was the same reason I’d gotten my MBA despite having no intention of using it. The same reason I’d gone to college in my hometown, regardless of offers from universities across the United States. And the same reason, at twenty-five, I was still a virgin.
I’d spent my whole life playing it safe, doing what everyone else wanted.
It was hard not to when you’d spent the formative years of your life mainly living in hospitals being poked and prodded. Being born with a genetic disorder that wanted to kill you taught you to take each moment for what it was worth.
But somewhere along the way, I’d gotten scared and tired of seeing the fear on my parent’s faces each time a new bruise would appear. So, instead of living, I existed.
Tears fell down my face, ruining the flawless makeup airbrushed hours ago.
What was the point of living if I let everyone else do it for me? When would it be enough? My penance for being born sick? For causing them to worry? For needing so much care?
When could I step away from the manacles of gratitude for saving my life?
Surely, when given a second chance, one wasn’t expected to live from the shadows? To allow everyone else to feel better while you slowly drowned on the inside?
“I can’t do this anymore.”
My chin wobbled, and I could feel the sob crawling up my throat, ready to wrench itself free as all the pain and sadness from a life spent hiding, surfaced.
A knock at my door had me whipping around in a flurry of satin and tulle as I desperately searched for a place to hide, to run, to do anything but walk through that door and marry someone only because they’d asked me to in a crowd and I’d been too chicken to say no. A cute dimple could do a lot, but a lifetime of commitment wasn’t one of them.
“BB, you ready?” my brother asked as he opened the door, freezing when his brown eyes met mine. “Shit. Okay. Um. What do you need? Who should I kill?” he asked rapidly as he hurried into the room, closing the door behind him.
And this was why I loved my brother. Not only had he saved my life as a young boy by giving me his bone marrow, but he was truly my best friend, protector, and biggest ally.
His warm hands landed on my arms, running up and down them as he transferred his heat into me. He didn’t rush me but gave me the time to find the words.
“I’ve been such a fool. A scared idiot. I’ve been standing here, staring at my reflection and realizing that I hated everything about how I looked and had no idea why I was marrying Brandon.”
“I don’t know, Blanket. The raccoon look you got going on is pretty you.”
A choked sob and half laugh bubbled out at the childhood nickname as my tears and snot splattered down my face. Bryce lifted his brow, daring me to prove him wrong.
“Not that you didn’t look gorgeous, but I had wondered why you went along with all of Mom’s choices.” He grimaced as he scanned me.
“It was just easier to let her have her way. She was so happy and kept saying how she thought at one time she’d never get to experience this moment with me. How could I tell her, Bry? She’s been miserable since the divorce, and I—”
“It’s not your fault, Sis. You have to stop blaming yourself for everything that went wrong.” He narrowed his eyes, daring me to protest.
