Once the speeches are finished, I breathe an internal sigh of relief, thinking that we’re through the hardest part. At least until the father-daughter and mother-son dance.

And that’s when the reality of today truly hits me.

I will never have this moment with my son. I will never walk down the aisle beside my own child. And it stings.

I slip out of my chair, excusing myself to the bathroom as the song is coming to a close, unable to keep my emotions in check. I don’t head for the pool house, which is closer. Instead, I slip around the edge of the yard and carefully make my way back to the main house. Once inside, I toe off my heels and walk down the hall, ducking into the spare bedroom. I close the door behind me with a quiet click and will the tears away.

But it’s too much.

CHAPTER THREE

A Shoulder to Lean on

Jake

“WHAT’S THIS ABOUT you and King meeting before you started working as my personal assistant? And how come this is the first I’m hearing about it?” I ask Queenie as I move her around the dance floor. Mostly I’m digging for information. Queenie and I don’t keep much from each other. She usually tells me what’s going on in her life, and the only times she’s kept things from me that I would consider important are when she’s worried I’d be upset—or disappointed.

But this little piece of information and King’s reaction, which was to turn the color of a beet, make me curious.

Her smile grows wry. “We met at a bar.”

“King doesn’t go to bars. Not unless he’s with the team.”

“It was the night he found out about Hanna.”

“Oh.” I pull back so I can see her face. “That must have been hard for him.”

Queenie smiles. “It was. I didn’t know he was one of your players, and he obviously didn’t realize I was your daughter. He was trying to get drunk.”

“King was trying to get drunk?” I glance across the dance floor where Ryan is expertly waltzing with his mother. Like he’s taken lessons. He probably has. It seems like something he’d do.

Queenie throws her head back and laughs. “I know, right? To be fair, trying is the operative word. He had six drinks lined up in front of him and they were all full because he genuinely doesn’t like the taste of alcohol. He said he was a fan of milk, so I ordered him a White Russian. We traded secrets and promised to keep them for each other.”

“And that was it?” I arch a brow.

“The rest is history, isn’t it? All you need to know is he was the gentleman he always presents himself to be, even while slightly intoxicated.” She pats me on the chest. “Anyway, fate seemed to have plans for us with the way it kept throwing us into each other’s paths, and now here we are, starting the rest of our lives together.”

“He’s a good egg.”

“The best.”

With each rotation on the dance floor, I catch a glimpse of Hanna sitting at the head table, a small pile of tissues sitting on top of the pale purple linen. Her gaze is fixed on the other side of the dance floor, and it looks as though she’s struggling to keep it together.

I know today has been hard for her. I could see it on her face when her mother and father spoke about what a remarkable man King’s become and how he came into their lives at the right time.

As the song comes to an end, we do another rotation and I notice that Hanna’s chair is empty.

The deejay changes the music to something upbeat and guests flood the dance floor, allowing me to step back and survey the room. I don’t spot Hanna anywhere. She may have stepped out to use the bathroom, so I grab a drink from the bar.

After a few minutes and still no sign of her, I poke my head into the pool house, but it’s empty, so I make my way to the house. The bass of the music vibrates under my feet. The kitchen has already been tidied, thanks to the cleaner that Hanna hired to help manage things today. Another reason for me to thank her.

I make a stop in my bedroom and retrieve the small gift box, tucking it into my pocket. I hope if she’s having a hard time tonight, this will cheer her up.

I stop at the closed door to the spare bedroom and knock three times. “Hanna?”

“I’ll just be a minute. Is everything okay?” she calls.

I debate waiting in the kitchen or the living room. I decide neither is ideal. “Is it okay if I come in?”

I’m greeted with silence for a few long seconds before the door finally opens. I slip inside and close it behind me.

“Are the kids okay?” She wrings her clasped hands. Her eyes have that slightly watery quality about them. The kind I associate with tears.

“The kids are fine. They’re dancing and drinking and doing what they do when they’re celebrating a wedding and have no idea what the future holds for them, apart from a lot of love.”

She exhales a relieved breath. “Okay. Good. That’s good.”

I set my drink on the dresser and take a step forward and put my hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Her focus is on my shoes.

“Hanna.” I slip my finger under her chin and tip her head up. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for me.” Over the past several months, our relationship has evolved in a lot of ways. We share similar histories, although the way they unfolded is very different. But we get each other in a way not many can understand. It definitely doesn’t hurt that she’s beautiful, and kind, and fun—both in and out of bed.

She nods once and her eyes fall closed. She breathes out slowly as her hands settle on my chest. “I know. I just need to keep it together for a few more hours.”

“If you need to let it out, then let it out. I’m not afraid of tears, Hanna. I raised a teenage girl on my own. If I can handle irrational teenage girl tears, I can certainly handle reasonable, adult emotional tears. Hell, I’ve cried more than once today, and I don’t feel like I need to have my man card revoked for that.”

She chuckles and then bites her bottom lip as two tears track down her cheeks.

“Aw, babe.” I sweep them away with my thumbs. “Today has been hard, hasn’t it?”

“I didn’t think it would hurt this much,” she whispers.

“Not being able to take the role that’s yours?” I ask.

We’ve talked about this before—about how her relationship with Ryan has changed ever since he found out the truth about their family dynamic.

“Logically, I know it’s not my place. I know that. But it just . . . I really didn’t expect it to be so hard. And the mother-son dance. Without my parents’ support neither of us would have had the opportunities we did. I could never have afforded the hockey teams, or the travel, or any of the stuff my parents were able to give him—” She sucks in a tremulous breath.

“But it doesn’t change the fact that it hurts,” I say gently.

“I thought I could handle this. I need to be able to handle this. For Ryan.”

“You have been handling this, Hanna. And you can fake being okay for everyone else, but you don’t have to do it for me.” I pull her against me and press my lips to her temple.

She melts against me, body shaking, even though her cries are silent. “Thank you for being such a rock, Jake.”