Page 195 of Unleashed
Jett sighs. "So you're into torture now. Great. I'll add that to your dating profile."
I shoot him a look that could put a man in the ground. He holds up his hands and shuts up.
Romeo pulls up the main feed. The country club's internal security system was cracked through a back door in under four minutes. Four cameras cover the ceremony room. It’s a clear enough picture, but no audio.
I don't need to hear it. I just need to see it happen so my brain will finally accept what my heart won't.
The room is packed. White chairs arranged in perfect rows. White flowers on every surface. A string quartet in the corner, bows moving in silence on my screen. And standing at the end of it, beside a minister in a room full of people who mean nothing to me, is Hudson Blake.
He looks relaxed. He’s smiling. Of course he is, he won a war he didn’t even know he was part of. And I’m the one who lost everything. Again.
"There," Romeo says, pointing at the screen.
The doors at the back of the room open.
And there she is.
Harper. In a white dress. Walking down the aisle.
The air leaves my body and doesn't come back.
She's holding red roses. Her hair is down, loose and golden, the way she wore it the night I caught her in the desert. The dress is simple. Thin straps. No train. No veil. She looks like she was carved out of sunlight, and she looks miserable in a way that only I can see because I've memorized every version of this woman's face, and this is the one she wears when she's already gone. When she's left her body and is somewhere else entirely, going through the motions while the real Harper hides somewhere deep enough that nobody can reach her.
I want to reach for her. Even now. Even watching her walk toward another man. I want to reach through the screen, pull her out of that room, and carry her home.
Her friend, I assume Emma, walks behind her as Harper reaches the altar. I see Gianna and her brothers sitting in the second row.
Harper turns to face Hudson. He takes her hands.
I grip the edge of the desk. My knuckles go white. Then past white. The tendons stand out across the backs of my hands.
Colten puts his hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off.
The ceremony plays out in silence. The minister is speaking. The guests are watching. Hudson's thumb is tracing circles on the back of Harper's hand. I want to tear his fingers off one by one and feed them to him.
The minister looks between them. I see him speak. I see Hudson's mouth form two words.
I do.
The minister turns to Harper. She pauses. A beat that lasts a lifetime on a screen with no sound. And then her mouth moves.
I do.
Two words. Mouthed in silence. From the woman who, less than a month ago, told me she was coming home forever, to a man who doesn't know what her laugh sounds like at three in the morning, or that she talks in her sleep, or that she sings off-key in the shower and doesn't care who hears.
The minister gestures. Then it all happens in slow motion. Hudson leans in.
His lips touch hers.
Her hand rests on his arm. Not pulling him closer. Not pushing him away. Just there.
It all looks real. Too real for me to handle.
Harper Jones should be marrying me. I should be the man waiting for her. Kissing her after we say I do.
She should be Harper Sterling. And now, that won’t happen. It can’t. Because I might have had all of her firsts. But she wouldn’t give me this one. The most important one.
She wouldn’t let me be the only man to marry her. And we can never get that back.
