Reining Her In

Chapter 2: Wedding Day Blues

The Past

In the past twenty years of my life, I don't think I'd ever been so focused on time as much as I was today. Maybe it was because I'd not only scheduled my wedding day with military precision, but I was barking out orders like a 4-star general. Everything from hair and makeup appointments to when to arrive at the church was meticulously timed. It was all part of my Type A personality. The loveable neurotic in me, as I liked to joke.

Six months ago when I'd announced my engagement to Declan St. James, time had also been on the minds of my family and friends. The question echoed most was, “Don't you want to wait until you get through veterinary school or at least your undergrad?"

I'm sure to most people my wedding went against type. Valedictorians with full scholarships to the University of Georgia didn't get married at twenty, even if they were from a small town. The rumor mill fanned the gossip that I must be pregnant. But after a few months passed by without a baby bump, people finally abandoned the idea.

Since I wasn't pregnant, it made it even more problematic why I wanted to get married at twenty. People just didn't want to accept the answer that I was in love, or that my fiancé, Declan, supported my decision to finish school and pursue being a vet. As he often said, “There's no reason in hell why we can't achieve our dreams together, Pey. I love you, and I want to marry you right now."

Considering he was not only my boyfriend of the last two years, but the town catch, you could say I was easily persuaded. He'd been the quarterback of the football team as well as Homecoming King when I'd been elected Queen. He had plans of his own to earn a business degree and work for his father's contracting business.

Now as I stood in one of the preparation rooms at the First Baptist Church of Hayesville, I couldn't imagine my life without Declan. Not only that, the minutes couldn't fly by fast enough until I became his wife. Even better would be when we arrived in Aruba late this evening to begin our honeymoon.

As I was smoothing my fingers over the strand of pearls at my neck, I caught the reflection of my bridesmaids in the mirror. They were huddled in a clump by the door. With their heads bent, they spoke in low, frantic tones. Turning around, I asked, “What are you guys doing?"

“We were looking for Declan," Becca replied.

My heartbeat accelerated at the thought of him in his tux. “How does he look?"

Becca gave a slight shake of her head. “He isn't out there."

I blinked at her. “What do you mean?"

“I mean, he isn't at the altar. He…" She threw a look at the others before she could finish. “He isn't even here at the church."

Unease pricked over my skin. “What do you mean he's not here? The wedding is in an hour. He knew we were going to take the pictures before."

It had been his idea to get the photos out of the way so we could get to the reception earlier, which in his case meant getting to party quicker. In the back of my mind, I couldn't help feeling slightly suspicious that it might be bad luck for him to see me before the ceremony.

“He's probably just running late," Mom suggested.

With a furious shake of my head, I countered, “Declan is never late. He is irritatingly punctual."

“Any number of things could be preventing him from being here. A flat tire. An accident."

“He could at least call to let me know he was going to be late."

As if on cue, my phone began ringing. A relieved smile lit up my mother's face. “See there. He's calling."

Always the pessimist, I said, “It's probably a telemarketer."

Becca dove across the table to grab it. Once she recovered it, her eyes widened. “It's Declan."

While I tried to act calm, cool, and collected on the outside, I found myself screaming with relief on the inside. “Hey, honey," I said pleasantly. After whirling away from the others, I hissed, “Where are you?"

“Aruba."

A maniacal laugh escaped my lips. “Now is not the time for jokes."

“I'm serious."

“You're already on our honeymoon?"

“Yeah. I took an early flight."

With my free hand, I swept my hand to the back of my neck to wipe away the beads of sweat. “Normally one gets married before they go on their honeymoon."

“I'm sorry, Pey."

“I'm confused. Are you sorry for leaving early, or are you're sorry for something else?"

His tone felt just as strange as he had last night at the rehearsal dinner. Well, as strange as one could sound when they only uttered four or five words. I'd chalked the somewhat sullenness up to him being exhausted from being out at his Bachelor Party the night before.

In his silence, I plowed on through. “I mean, excuse me for being slightly addled. I would imagine shell-shocked is a better description."“

I can't marry you."“

Wait, what?" Surely, I hadn't heard him right.

“I can't marry you."

Oh God. Even though the tiny voice in the back of my mind had dared to utter it, I couldn't fathom Declan was actually verbalizing it.

“You can't marry me," I repeated lamely.

“No. I can't." His ragged breath crackled through the phone. “More than anything, you shouldn't want to marry me."

“I'm wearing a two-thousand-dollar wedding dress while two hundred of our closest friends and family are on their way to the church. That should cement the fact I want to marry you."

“I'm sorry, Pey. I should have never let it go this far."

Let it go this far? What. The. Hell? My hurt and rage suddenly channeled Adam Sandler from The Wedding Singer, I screamed, “You know that information would have been a little more useful YESTERDAY."

“I know. I'm a bastard, and I don't expect you to forgive me."

“You're lucky you're in Aruba because so help me God if you were close, I would break every bone in your body!"

“And I would deserve it."

Damn it, how was he being so resigned and calm while I felt like I was being shattered into thousands of tiny pieces? How long has he been thinking this? That's when I was assaulted with a nauseating thought. “Is there someone else?"

An image formed in my mind of him lying on one of the sandy beaches under an umbrella with another woman. A blonde with bigger breasts and a smaller ass.

“God no. It's nothing like that."

His response had the opposite effect on me. Instead of feeling relieved that he hadn't strayed emotionally and physically, a hollow feeling echoed within me. “Then what is it?"

His ragged sigh rattled in my ear. “It's hard to explain. It's been coming on so gradually, but I didn't want to acknowledge it."

“What has been coming on gradually?"

“Doubt."

“About us getting married?"

“Yes. And everything else."

“I don't understand."

“Since you moved back from college this summer, I've had these suffocating moments. Like my entire life was already all planned out for me at twenty years old. There were no what-ifs. No curves in the road. Nothing but a straight line from now until I dropped dead."

That isn't true. Neither of us know what the future holds. There could be lots of crazy curves, but we could navigate them together."

“I'm sorry, Pey. I just can't. It's like we just drifted apart these last few months you were at school."

“Bullshit. The last two years of our relationship have been long-distance. Why didn't we drift apart then?"

“I don't know. Maybe we did, and you just didn't realize it."

“Oh no. I'm not the delusional one running off to Aruba and jilting the man I love at the altar."“

You're right. You'd never do that. You've always been too good for me, and you always will be."

“That's not true, and you know it."

“It is. Even though I hate myself for doing this to you, I know it's the right thing."

Rage burned through me. “Yeah, well, I bet I hate you more. May your d**k rot off before you die a long, painful death!" I then hung up on him.

The overbearing silence of the room crept up on me. Slowly, I turned around to see my bridal party and mother staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at me. Pity radiated back at me from their eyes. Sure, there was anger mixed with it, but for the most part, it was overwhelming pity. After all, how else are you supposed to look at a jilted bride?

No one would be looking at Declan with pity. He was probably heading to the beach now to relax in the sun and feel guilty and horrible about himself. But no one nearby would know. He was blissfully anonymous. The coward.

“Get me out of this dress," I commanded. My five bridesmaids lunged forward, and a flurry of hands and arms began to dismantle me from my satin prison. Instead of dissolving into weeping and gnashing of teeth, I just stood there, staring ahead. I didn't even flinch when one of their nails poked me in their frenzied pursuit. My heart should have been aching in grief, but instead, I felt numb.

“Why isn't she crying?" my cousin, Sarah, whispered—both concern and fear vibrating in her voice.

“She's…in shock," Becca replied.

Once I was freed from the yards of beautiful satin and beading, I took a few slow steps away from the dress. When I got to the mirror, I stood in nothing but my white bustier, gut-sucking-in spanx, and my lacy garter. As I'd slid the garter on, I'd giggled at the thought of Declan removing it with his teeth just before he tossed it to his awaiting groomsmen. Instead, it was my French manicured fingers that slid it down my thigh before tossing it into the trash.

“Honey, what do you want us to do?" Mom asked.

I want you to get a backhoe in here so I can erect an actual hole in the floor for me to crawl in and die. “The guests will be arriving soon. Someone needs to stand at the door and tell them not to waste their toasters or flatware on me because the wedding is off."

After giving me yet another pitied look, Mom nodded. “Your father and I will take care of it. Why don't you go on home and rest?"

“That sounds like a great idea. Just as soon as I stop off at the liquor store." I winked at my bridesmaids. “Our house is dry as a bone since Daddy is a preacher."

Inside of dissolving into laughter, the girls remained silent. I c****d my head at them. “Oh, come on. Don't tell me your sense of humor has died just because I'm a jilted bride?" I widened my eyes at Kara, my best friend. “Do you know what I just realized?"

She slowly shook her blonde head. “What?"

“I'm Granny Weatherall."

Her brows furrowed. “Who?"

With a roll of my eyes, I replied, “Oh my God, don't you remember? The Jilting of Granny Weatherall that we read in eleventh grade. We had to write an essay about it, and we both felt so bad for Granny because the worst thing in the world that could ever happen would be getting left at the altar?"

Tears sparkled in her blue eyes. “I don't remember the story."

“Aw, Kara, don't cry about it. It's okay if you don't remember."

“But I'm not crying about not remembering."

Right. “Oh, I get it. You're crying because you just realized I'm Granny Weatherall."

Mom stepped between us. Placing both hands on my shoulders, she then spoke slowly and evenly like I was a little girl. “Peyton, we're going to get you dressed. I'm going to have Becca and Kara take you home, and then I'm going to get Dr. Preston to come by to give you a sedative."

When your dad was a minister with a straight line to the big guy upstairs, he reaped certain VIP benefits. One of those was the local family doctor would make a house call to administer some happy juice to knock your jilted daughter out of her misery.

Words escaped me, so I merely bobbed my head in agreement. For the next few minutes, I was a dress-up doll as my mother and sister put me back into the button-down shirt and capris I'd worn to the church. Once I was dressed,

Mom nodded to Becca. “Go ahead and crank the car."

As I watched Becca leave the room, I whispered, “I don't want to see anyone." “

You won't. Papa pulled the car up to the back door. Everyone else will be at the front."

“Good."A knock came at the door, which caused me to jump out of my skin. At what must've been my panicked look, Mom gave me a reassuring look. “Don't worry. I'm not letting anyone in here."

“Thanks."After cracking the door, she peered into the hallway with a steely look of determination on her face. I was pretty sure in that moment she would have physically taken out anyone who tried to bust in the room, which was saying a lot considering her diminutive frame.

When her expression softened, a relieved breath whooshed out of me. “Come on in, Harris."

At the sight of my grandfather's face, the dam holding my emotions together imploded, and I once again began to cry. “Oh, Peybug," Papa murmured. When he opened his arms to me, I gratefully fell into them. From the time I was just a little girl, I'd always felt safest in his arms. Although I couldn't ask for better parents than my mom and dad, there had always been something special between Papa and me. “I'm so sorry, honey."

“I keep thinking I'm going to wake up to find it's been a horrible dream."

“I wish it was just a dream, too. It breaks my heart to see you in this much pain."

I shook my head against his chest. “How could he do this to me?"

A ragged sigh rumbled through him. “I don't know, Pey. I honestly don't know."

Pushing back, I stared into his wise brown eyes. “If you'd asked me twenty minutes ago if I ever thought Declan would jilt you, I would have said no with absolute certainty. But sometimes in spite of how well we think we know someone, we don't, and no matter how hard we love them, we can't save them from failing."

“Oh Papa, what am I going to do?"

His hands left my back to come to cup my cheeks. “This day won't define you, Peyton. You're far too strong for that."

“No offense, but I'm pretty sure getting jilted by the love of your life isn't just a little blip along life's road. It's more like getting hit by a semi."

“You will overcome this. It won't be easy. There are many tough hours and days ahead of you. But at the end of your life, this will just be a faint memory in retrospect to all you have overcome and accomplished."

Cocking my brows at him, I countered, “How can you be so sure? I could start drowning my jilted sorrows in alcohol, which would become the gateway drug to heroin."

Papa shook his head. “The only addictive tendency you have is pleasing people and working your butt off to succeed at everything you do."

“Yeah, well, I didn't succeed at being a bride, did I?"

“We are only accountable for the wrongs we make in life, and today isn't your fault. You did everything within your power to be a wife. I mean, you showed up and got in a poofy white dress, didn't you?"

The corners of my lips quirked slightly. “I did."

“Then you succeeded."

“I'm pretty sure no one else is going to see it that way. To everyone in town, Peyton Beasley wasn't enough to keep her man. Peyton Beasley failed."

“To quote another exceptional woman, Eleanor Roosevelt, 'No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.'"

I didn't quite share Papa and Eleanor's resolve. The thought of seeing anyone outside my family sent a crippling panic through me. That panic caused my stomach to churn, and I fought my gag reflex. Since I couldn't find my voice, I merely shook my head.

“Peyton, I don't speak with certainty about a lot of things. But I can say without a doubt in my mind that you're going to become a damn good veterinarian. You're going to save the lives of animals, and by saving those lives, you'll enrich the lives of their human counterparts. Your life will have purpose. And one day when the time is right, your Prince Charming will come along."

It wasn't just his words that gave me a renewed sense of purpose, but it was also the conviction in which he delivered them. I knew he wasn't just blowing smoke up my ass in my time of distress. He honestly believed every word he had said. And that fact alone gave me the strength I desperately needed. Maybe I would find a Prince Charming, but even if I didn't, my life would matter. I would matter. With tears clouding my eyes, I whispered, “Thank you."

Papa smiled. “No need to thank me. We'll get through this together."

I nodded. “Yes. Together."