Their Freefall At Last by Julie Olivia

63

Ruby

Two Months Later

Ruby & Bennett are Thirty-One Years Old

“Hey, this is a little awkward, but that’s my ship.”

I kick my feet out from the branch, letting them swing below me.

“This one?” I ask, gesturing to the tree. My long white dress is overflowing down the sides, the train cascading onto the forest floor.

Bennett walks toward me with a devilish smile, hands tucked into his navy-blue suit jacket pockets.

“That one,” he confirms.

“Guess you’ll have to commandeer it, Pirate.”

He steps between my legs with a grin.

“I’ll commandeer you,” he growls.

“That makes zero sense.”

“Oh well. By the way, you look stunning.”

I pull in a mock gasp. “You can’t say that.”

“No?”

“You’re not even supposed to see me.”

“Oh, right.” Bennett snaps his fingers. “Superstition and all.”

“Eh, it’s fine, I guess. I’ve never been one for silly rules anyway.”

My best friend, my fiancé, and my future husband—in T-minus ten minutes—places his hands on either side of my waist, caging me in where I sit on the tree branch.

On his wrist is the solid pink line he got as a present on our thirty-first birthday. A tattoo circling his wrist. It’s the only pop of color on his skin below the tattooed sleeve. He looks good in pink.

“What a pirate thing to say, Rubes.”

I scrunch up my nose. “Yarr.”

He chuckles, leaning in for a kiss. I cup his face in my palms and let his lips explore mine. Even after a year, the spark hasn’t left. Before pulling away, he tilts his head to the side, kissing my wrist and my own tattoo adorning it—a thirty-first birthday gift to myself as well—a solid pink line exactly like his, wrapped in a circle around my bone.

I watch Bennett absentmindedly run a thumb over my dress, across the intricate cream tulle and lace.

“You nervous?” I ask.

“With you? Never. But … I am worried about the reception.”

“Orson and Landon?”

“Yeah, I’m second-guessing making them masters of ceremonies.”

I exhale. “Probably not our brightest idea. Is Landon wearing the top hat?”

“Yep.”

“Yeesh.”

“Their speeches are gonna be unhinged. You know that, right?”

“Don’t I ever.”

But unhinged speeches aren’t exactly foreign to us. There have been a lot of those the past few months.

First, there was Brittney’s.

“Now, I should be angry that you didn’t propose with me around,” Bennett’s mom told us over bacon and biscuits at Chicken and the Egg.

We nodded like two children getting into trouble—something that had happened too many times when we were kids.

“But, well …” Brittney shrugged and smiled. “That anger is for another day. Now, come here, my precious gemstone!” She gathered me in her arms and whispered, “You’ve always been like a daughter to me anyway.” She slapped Bennett’s arm and said, “Took y’all long enough. Jesus.”

Next, there was Emory, who asked if I wanted to travel to other countries to expand the company’s reach.

“I mean, I’m not trying to drag you away from your happy life or anything, but—”

I was already texting Bennett.

“Are you kidding? It sounds like a dream.”

Emory, Lorelei, Bennett, and I spent the following month in Europe. We ate our way through Germany, the Netherlands, and England, visiting every theme park nearby and networking with industry leaders. Lorelei spent this time gathering ideas for a sister Honeywood Fun Park she’d be pitching to the board in a few weeks.

Finally, there was the unhinged speech from my dad, who insisted that we get married in the little white chapel on Main. Bennett and I said no—mostly because he’s banned from it. But also because we wanted a wedding in our new backyard. We wanted to be at home, a place where we had started our new life together, where we’d literally placed roots and grown flowers and made memories—not in the chapel downtown, where it seemed all marriages we knew went to die.

I went out to dinner with my dad and my mom a week ago—just the three of us, like we hadn’t done in years—and told them how I felt. Finally. After so many years.

“I’ve never been your priority,” I admitted. “But I forgive you for that. Because I think that need for someone is what gave me Bennett.”

All my mom did was nod in silence—in what I assumed was guilt. Because, if it wasn’t, I wasn’t sure how I’d feel.

Then, my dad said, “Well, I’m happy you’re marrying the man who treats you as his priority.”

“He doesn’t just treat me that way,” I replied, straightening my posture because I refused to feel small around the parental figures in my life. “He really, truly sees me like that. I am his priority.”

So, now, here I am, ten minutes from the ceremony, with my soon-to-be husband meeting me for a secret kiss at our tree. I thread my fingers through his rock-and-roll locks that are right back at his shoulders. He places a final kiss on my freckles.

“Ready to go?” he asks.

“Been ready for far too long.”

* * *

I walked down the aisle, arm in arm with my dad. He walked slow, but I was too busy grinning at the man waiting for me at the end to notice. About halfway down, I completely dropped my dad’s arm and ran. I ran away from the man who could never choose me first and toward my best friend—the man who always has—until I leaped into his arms with his palm splayed over my lower back. The crowd laughed, and my best friends oohed from the bridesmaid line, but I only had eyes for Bennett.

I honestly don’t remember much after that. They always say your wedding day is so hectic that it becomes a blur of faces and songs and feelings. They’re right.

I don’t remember Lucas’s best man toast about soul mates and true happiness, but everyone told me afterward that it made Miranda cry. If Lucas hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, I’m not sure I’d believe it.

I don’t remember Lorelei repeatedly turning down alcohol or Theo calling her out about it at the bridesmaid table even though Lorelei told me afterward that she really did try to hide how pregnant she was that day.

I don’t remember Emory, Orson, and Landon sneaking off to decorate Bennett’s motorcycle with empty cans and ribbons, saying Finally!, but I found out later that Landon had forgotten the string, so they had just stuck the cans on the handlebars instead.

But the memories I do have—the ones I will always remember—are the little moments of hanging out with my best friend.

I remember eating dinner together in our bedroom, how he made sure to sneak us a plate of wings before the reception started to ensure I got some of my favorite food.

I remember our first dance, how he kissed my neck and whispered the lyrics to Etta James’s “At Last” into my ear, sniffing every so often because my tattooed pirate could cry if he liked.

I remember how, every time we passed each other for even a moment, he traced his thumb over my new tattoo, and I mirrored the same to him.

But mostly, I will always remember how my husband smiled. How there wasn’t a single second I looked at him and he wasn’t beaming from ear to ear, proud that I was his wife.

We ended the night running between two rows of our friends and family as they clapped and cheered and threw random fistfuls of confetti at us. Bennett lifted me onto his motorcycle first, then climbed in front, tossing the random handlebar cans to the side and revving the engine.

I wrapped my arms around my husband’s waist as we roared down the roads of Cedar Cliff. And on that ride, with my head leaning against his back, I had the best memory of all—the realization that I got to spend forever with my best friend.