Hold On (Page 186)

Her smile got bigger.

Keirry made it to him and grabbed his arm.

“Joe, Kate wants to talk to you.”

He looked down at her. “Come again?”

“Kate wants to talk to you,” she repeated.

He looked to the doors of the church that had been closed after Vi was escorted down. They were supposed to open so Kate’s friends and sisters could walk down the aisle before Kate marched down it to get married way too young to a Chicago cop who Vi, Keira, Angie, Sam, and Ben all adored but Cal fucking hated.

He looked back to his girl. “Keirry, now’s not the time for a chat.”

She reached to Angie and pulled her sister out of his arms. “Then you better hurry.”

Jesus, maybe she was having cold feet.

That would be the best news he had all day.

Though it would make her mother lose her mind.

He growled.

No words came out, he just growled.

Then he prowled through the vestibule and around the corner where the girls got ready.

He stopped dead when he saw Kate standing in the hall there.

He also stopped breathing.

“Hey, Joe,” she whispered.

Fuck, his girl was beautiful.

Not his girl.

But still.

His girl.

She moved to him.

She hadn’t gone big, not Kate. No humongous skirt. No humongous price tag.

He and Vi would’ve given her a wedding on the moon if she’d wanted it.

She wanted what she was getting.

Easy. Elegant.

Kate.

Now, Keira’s was gonna mean selling a kidney, and Cal could say that even being loaded.

Juggling her bouquet, Kate reached for his hand.

The instant she touched him, his fingers curled around hers.

“I gotta say something, Joe,” she whispered.

Oh no.

They weren’t gonna do this.

He could barely handle what was happening that day.

They sure as fuck weren’t gonna do this.

“You don’t gotta say it,” he whispered back.

Her fingers tightened in his. “I gotta say it.”

“Katy—”

“Joe.”

He shut up and held on to her hand and her gaze, giving in.

As usual, with his girls.

She spoke.

“No one on earth I’d wanna be right here, right now, but you.”

Christ.

“Baby…” His voice was so rough, that word grated his throat coming out.

“No one, Joe.”

Cal swallowed and pulled her closer.

“He’s with me. He’s always with me,” she told him. “So I’m glad I get to be with you too.”

“He’d be proud of you, Kate.”

She nodded, her eyes getting bright. “I know.”

“So fuckin’ proud, honey.”

“I know, Joe.”

“You’re so beautiful, baby, it hurts lookin’ at you,” he told her.

Katy pressed her lips together.

He wasn’t done.

“And it is no lie that this is the proudest moment of my life, gettin’ to walk you down that aisle.”

She made a noise.

He yanked her in his arms.

He held on. He did it tight.

Because it was the last chance he’d get.

After a while, Kate tipped her head back. “I probably should go get married.”

Cal grinned at her. “Yeah.”

He took her arm and turned her around.

They both stopped.

Keira was there, close, Angie to her hip.

Her eyes were bright too.

“Get over here, dork,” Kate ordered.

Keira rushed to them.

And Cal walked down the hall and through the vestibule, Kate on one arm, his other arm around Keira’s shoulders, Keira’s arm full of her sister.

He had to let two of his girls go so he could walk one of them down the aisle to give her away to the man she loved.

Five minutes later, he did that.

He didn’t lie.

It was the proudest moment of his life.

And it hurt like a bitch.

* * * * *

Violet

I held Ben in my lap.

Sam was in a little boy tux up at the altar, leaning against Tony’s best man’s legs, swinging his ring bearer pillow, his father’s son, totally bored out of his skull.

Angie was standing by Keira, Keira’s mini-me with her father’s eyes, staring with rapt attention at her big sister getting married.

My husband had his arm wrapped around my shoulders.

He gave me a squeeze.

I turned to look up at him.

He dipped down and touched his forehead to mine, his nose resting along mine.

I held my breath.

Then he pulled away just as Ben shifted, jerked, pushing out of my arm and launching himself at his dad.

With ease, Joe caught him and settled him against his chest.

I watched.

Our little guy had this thing. It was weird and it was wonderful.

Any time he hit his dad’s chest, he just calmed. Even when he’d been teething. Even when he’d fall and scrape something. Like all he needed was evidence of his father’s solidness, his strength, and he could just let go.

I knew how that felt.

This was what he did then, curling in, cheek to his dad’s chest as Joe tucked him close, Ben resting his hand light against his father’s lapel, his eyes shifting sideways so he could keep them on one of his big sisters, all of whom adored him, all of whom my baby boy adored right back.

Joe’s eyes were on Kate.

I returned mine to my daughter.

I knew what the forehead touch was. I didn’t need to ask. Joe didn’t need to explain.

It was his way of saying I’d unbalanced our scale…again. The scale of our life, where he gave and I gave, and it was supposed to go back and forth, staying balanced.