Page 52 of Groomsman to Groom

“After Sarah died,” I say, the words feeling rough. “There’s this constant fear that I’m not enough, that I’m failing August in ways I won’t even recognize until it’s too late.”

Brielle’s hand finds mine again, her touch gentle but grounding. “From what I’ve seen, you’re an incredible father.”

“I try.” I look up at the stars, finding it easier than meeting her eyes for what comes next. “But I wasn’t always an incredible husband.”

The admission sits heavily between us. I can feel Brielle’s attention, patient and unwavering, giving me space to continue or retreat. The night holds its breath around us.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she says when the silence stretches too long.

“I want to.” And I do, I realize with some surprise. I want her to know me—the real me, not the edited version that appears on television screens or even the carefully curated version I present to the world. “It’s just... complicated.”

“Most important things are.”

I take a deep breath, organizing thoughts I’ve kept buried beneath grief and guilt for three years. “Sarah and I—our marriage wasn’t perfect. Especially toward the end.” The words feel like betrayal, but I push forward. “I was traveling a lot for photography gigs, trying to build my career. She was home withAugust, carrying so much of the parenting load. We were just... missing each other. Physically, emotionally.”

Brielle listens without judgment, her eyes steady on mine when I finally look at her.

“I should have been there more,” I say, the closest I’ve come to speaking the full truth aloud. “I was chasing success, recognition, trying to prove something—to my absent father, to myself, I don’t know. And then suddenly, she was gone, and all those career ambitions seemed so meaningless compared to what I’d lost, what August had lost.”

I swallow hard, stopping short of the detail that haunts me most, and I move on. “I promised myself that August would always come first after that. No career opportunity, no nothing would ever take precedence again. And August wanted me to find someone...”

“And then you signed up for a reality dating show.” There’s a hint of wry understanding in her voice.

“Ironic, right?” I let out a humorless laugh. “The ultimate contradiction—seeking personal happiness while leaving my son for weeks. I rationalized it: the exposure would help my photography business, finding a partner would be good for August long-term, and it was only temporary. But then his call, his voice so small and lost...”

“Hayes.” Brielle shifts to face me fully, her expression intense in the moonlight. “Being a good father doesn’t mean sacrificing every moment of your life. It means being present for the important things, yes, but also showing August how to live a full, balanced life. Including finding love again.”

Her words unravel something tight in my chest. “You sound like my mother.”

“Smart woman.” Brielle smiles. “And for what it’s worth, I think Sarah would want you to be happy, too.”

The mention of Sarah’s name on her lips creates a strange collision of worlds—past and potential future briefly occupying the same space. I search Brielle’s face, looking for judgment or jealousy or the discomfort most people show when discussing a dead spouse. I find only compassion, understanding, and something warmer that makes my heart rate quicken.

“There’s more,” I say, the words catching. “About Sarah, about what happened. Things I haven’t told anyone.” The secret weight of that day, of my choices, presses down.

Brielle cups my face with her hand, her touch impossibly gentle. “You don’t have to tell me everything tonight,” she says, somehow understanding exactly what I need to hear. “Some stories take time. I’m not going anywhere.”

The simplicity of her acceptance breaks something open inside me. Without conscious thought, I lean forward, drawn to her like a tide to shore. Her lips meet mine halfway, soft and certain, tasting faintly of the hospital’s antiseptic and something sweeter that’s entirely Brielle. Unlike our careful kiss in the hospital, this one deepens immediately, her uninjured hand sliding into my hair, my arms circling her waist to draw her closer. I pull away, just enough to murmur, “I meant what I said at the hospital. I’m falling for you.”

“I’m falling for you, too, Hayes Burke.”

18

Supernova

HAYES

We’re standing on the street, kissing like that night on the beach. After our admissions of feelings and the events of the day, the intensity is high octane explosive. Electricity hums over my body as my hands roam her soft skin and perfect curves. And before I realize it, I’ve opened the back door of the SUV, and Brielle slides into it, wincing as her injured arm brushes against the leather. I follow, my body immediately aware of how small the space feels with both of us inside. The door clicks shut with a finality that makes me shiver in anticipation.

We’re finally alone, in the back of the SUV with darkened windows, and for a moment, we just look at each other. The dim light filtering through the windows casts shadows acrossher face, but I can see the pulse fluttering at her throat, the slight part of her lips as she takes a shallow breath. Everything I’ve been holding back since that hospital room—hell, since St. Sebastian—rises to the surface like a tide.

My chest heaving, I say, “What now?”

“I want everything, Hayes,” she rasps, the moonlight catches in her dark hair, illuminating her face in a way no photographer could ever properly capture. The vulnerability in her eyes makes my chest ache. She put a hand on my chest. “Well, I did before, but I haven’t been so sure after hearing you’ve been intimate with at least one other woman.”

I pull back, shocked. “Wait. What?” My face twists. “I haven’t been intimate with anyone. Besides kissing, that’s it.” I shake my head. “Who told you that?”

She shakes her head. “Oh, no. I’m not getting into that trap, Hayes. I can’t tell you who told me—that will come back to haunt me. I’ve seen that one play out too many times. She told me in confidence.”

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