Page 168 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

“You look beautiful, Jessie.”

I look up at my tall, blonde, handsome daddy and tears prick my eyes. It saddens me that he’s not had any luck when it comes to love. A first wife who ran off with another man. A second who left because he hadn’t gotten over the first. Maybe one day he’ll find his happily ever after. I do hope so. I don’t like to think of him getting old and spending his life alone.

“Thank you for letting me wear Mom’s dress today, Daddy.”

His own eyes mist over. He nods because he can’t speak. I know he’s thinking about her. About their wedding day. One day, I’ll ask him what happened. Why she left.

And why she never came back.

Father Murphy motions his head to let us know it’s time.

The old church organ bursts into life. Even with the occasional bum note, it’s still clear it’s the wedding march that’s being played.

Taking my daddy’s arm, we enter the church. Tears fill my eyes as I take in Dylan standing at the altar, waiting for me in all his handsome glory.

My shy, reserved nerdy boy has embraced what he is and reached his true Duster potential. Not that it matters to me. I loved him then. I love him now. I love every single kaleidoscopic part of that beautiful soul of his.

I was born loving him.

He’s still wearing his black suit but now with an open-necked white shirt. Cill is wearing the same.

My eyes never leave his, and I watch as my big tough Irish mobster wipes away a tear. When we reach him, my daddy takes my hand and places it in his.

He’s given me away. I’m no longer his to protect. I don’t have to look to know he’ll now be wiping away tears of his own.

The rest is a blur. Dylan and I repeat what we have to as we stare at each other.

His face his solemn. Unlike my siblings and me, I know he embraces his religion. Moving forward, I’ll have to change. For Dylan as it’s important to him, but also for our children, as it’s important to both our families.

He kisses me almost chastely, most likely because we’re under the watchful eye of my daddy. I know then we must have reached the ‘you may kiss the bride’ part which can only mean one thing. That I am now Mrs. Dylan O’Connell.

Jessie O’Connell.

I’m conscious my hand is being held firmly in his. He’s looking after me. Guiding me. Caring for me. Loving me. As he will always.

Because I am his for life. And I know that Irishmen take that commitment extremely seriously. I know family means everything to them.

Ace pulls me in for a hug having live-streamed the whole thing to Jaine. He wipes away a tear, no doubt as today has reminded him of when Jaine and he took their own vows.

I squeeze his hand. “Thank you, Ace. Without you. Without Jaine…” I can’t speak after that, and neither can he, so he just pulls me in for another crushing hug.

“Jessie, it’s time to go,” Dyl interrupts as he jangles the keys to the cage in my face.

I turn to look at him, and he smirks darkly.

Well, there’s no need to ask what’s on his mind.

CHAPTERSIXTY-SEVEN

DYLAN

Motel, Colton, Nevada

“What are you doing?”

“Carrying my wife over the threshold.”

“It’s a motel room.”

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