I take a deep breath.
You got this, Addy.
My pulse pounds a syncopated confession I’m not ready to voice:
Maybe I’m not the glue after all. Maybe real strength is letting someone else be steady.
Lightning backlights the arch, and I see Dylan’s silhouette locked against the storm.
More deep breaths.
I’m unsure how much time has gone by when I see a truck pass by my car, then another one.
What’s happening? Who are those people?
I can’t breathe. My hands are white-knuckled on the steering wheel, the wipers slashing away the rain I’m not even seeing anymore. I should leave. I should.
But I can’t.
My name is tied to this wedding, to this moment. And so is Dylan. And the thought of him holding everything together while I unravel in a Civic — that stings more than any gossip ever could.
I let fear win. Again.
I let the silence settle. “Show up, Bennett,” I whisper. “Even if it’s messy.”
I open the door and step into the storm’s breathless aftermath — not sure if I’m walking into redemption or more regret, but at least I’m walking.
21
NIGHT SHIFT KNIGHTS
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 18
A little while ago, when Addison ran to her car
Dylan
The wind and rain begin to settle. Addison is still in her car. At least she didn’t leave. I was unsure for a moment. The arch groans behind me like a wounded thing, and the Mr Langford’s glare could drill holes in bedrock. One crisis at a time.
“Ms. Bennett is clearly overwhelmed,” he snaps, trench coat flaring in the storm’s dying wind. “We’ll retain a professional crew first thing tomorrow.”
I plant a boot beside the tilted center post. “With respect, sir, there isn’t a crew within fifty miles that can get here before dawn. And this arch has about thirty minutes before gravity wins.” I tug the ratchet strap snug around the cedar leg, and the frame straightens another half-inch.
Meredith’s dad folds his arms, but rain has stripped his authority to damp wool. “You’re dismissed.”
“Can’t dismiss someone who wasn’t on your payroll.” I sight along the beam, gauging the lean. “I volunteered to help Addy, not you. And I’m not letting a storm ruin all our hard work. If you want Meredith walking a stable aisle tomorrow, grab that spare brace or get out of the way.”
His jaw works. I ignore him and thumb out a group text.
Arch down at the orchard in Bluewater Cove. Need string fairy lights, ladder, cordless drivers. Bring coffee. SOS.
I send it to two lists: Station 14 crew and Hawks parents. Another to Leah & Morgan because my sisters collect string lights like other people collect socks.
“Help is coming,” I tell the orchard manager, who’s hovering by the tool crate. “We need dry tarps and a generator.” He scampers off, relieved to have an order.
Then I fish my wallet out of my pocket, retrieve my builder card and shove it in his face.
“Not that I owe you anything,” I grit through my teeth.
