Page 91 of Bitter Beats

Is he?

“Forever?” I question, a thread of vulnerability in my tone.

“Forever,” he promises, sealing it with a kiss. His lips are warm against mine and I smile before closing my eyes and kissing him back with everything I am.

I don’t remember the ride from the florist to the little white chapel, but Elvis smacks my ass and makes me laugh. I crack up even more when Mav gives him a warning look and a few terse words.

I dance and spin. Mav watches on with stars in his eyes—as if I’ve managed to daze him. As if he hasn’t flipped my world upside down.

Is this what being in love is like? God, it’s magical.

Elvis takes my picture. I throw up a peace sign and we all laugh.

Mav and I say our vows with a solemnity I feel with every fiber of my being. Committing to him roots me. He gifts me the unshakeable foundation I’ve yearned for. A refuge.

When he says “I do,” his eyes sparkle and I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.

“You may kiss the bride,” Elvis announces.

I beam at myhusband. Husband!

He’ll never let anything happen to me. He’ll never let anyone—another man, my family, Branson—hurt me. No, Maverick will always keep me safe.

Mav slides his hand beneath my hair to hold the back of my head. He dips me carefully and kisses me hard. Our first kiss of many. I laugh as he pulls me upright.

“You’re mine, Mckenna,” he says.

“Always,” I agree. As if I could ever belong to anyone else?

Mav clasps my hand and pulls me from the chapel.

I toss my flower crown into a fountain, throwing it like a frisbee. We both giggle as it skitters across the top of the water, and I make a wish.

Please, let us always be this happy.

Then, we’re in a loud club. There’s a tequila shot and a salted lime. A diamond band glitters on my ring finger. I sing “Chapel of Love” by The Dixie Cups on a stage to raucous cheering.

See, I can a be a rockstar, too!

“I love you more than anything, Maverick Tate!” I announce it, like a solemn declaration.

There’s more sickly-sweet bubbly. There’re photographs and flashes. There’s dancing and joy and pure merriment.

There’s Mav and his kisses, his touches, his soothing caresses.

I lose a shoe. Who needs it?

Mav carries me over a threshold and my head bangs against the doorframe. I laugh; he swears. His mouth against my injury is gentle. Healing.

Pure love.

When I wakein the morning, my head throbs. My throat is parched. My eyelids hurt. My feet ache. The side of my head, by my temple, feels bruised.

“Fuck,” I mutter, wondering how much I drank last night. Perhaps my body weight in alcohol? Maybe double.

“Oh God,” I croak as my stomach clenches and roils. I feel seasick. Nauseous. Unsteady and unstable and—“Don’t you dare fucking vomit,” I tell myself harshly, but my voice comes out as a whisper.

The bedroom isn’t dark, but the shades aren’t pulled back completely either. It’s morning but…what time? How long have I been asleep?

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