Page 109 of The Bodyguard's Fall

He smiled. I was waiting for him to say more, but instead, he only pulled me closer, tighter, as the last chorus belted through the crowd.

Images of standing across from Tate in a courthouse while he wiped a tear from my eye came to mind. We would forever be a part of the other’s story. No matter what happened, our history had intertwined for a brief moment. There was something so beautiful about that thought.

When the song was over, we grabbed a drink. Though the champagne was flowing, I reached for a glass of water and noticed Tate doing the same. He seemed more relaxed with me, but now I wondered if it was performative more than anything. His eyes were constantly in motion. We moved to an empty table where we sat side by side, taking a breather to watch the crowds. Tom and Ann had stolen away for a quiet moment together on the dance floor.

I had just taken my first sip of water when Tate said, “We need to pick a song.”

I stilled, holding the water in my mouth for a bit until I could swallow. The DJ was currently calling a couple of people up to the mic to make a toast to the happy couple.

“What?”

“It just came to my attention tonight that we never picked a song, and we never had a first dance.”

“I can’t believe those details escaped us in all of our planning,” I remarked, a finger at my chin.

“I know. So…let’s pick one.”

“Why should we have a song? Wouldn’t that just…” I trailed off.

He held out his hands. “Hey. It’s going on my record either way. And I’m not going to be slacking as a husband. We need a song. Maybe we should pick up a cake on the way home.”

“Wait. We can get a cake? Now we’re talking.”

He grinned. “The grocery store’s already closed.”

I sighed. “Dang. So we need a song that commemorates our time together? What, like ‘Goodbye, Earl’?”

He laughed, low and husky, and I wanted to bottle up the sound.

“I’m thinking more sweet and less murder, Rawlins.”

“Rawlins?” I asked, his playfulness leaving me feeling bold. “Here we are talking about our wedding.”

He leaned back in his seat, his arm around the back of my chair, while his hand lightly tugged on my hair.

“You really want to do that, Liv Walker?”

At the sound of our names together, my brain suddenly rewired to some alternate universe. One of Tate and me kissing and snuggling on the couch. Suddenly, I was pregnant, and Tate was a beaming soon-to-be dad. Then we were bringing our first baby home from the hospital. There we were dancing in the kitchen, me taking a fresh loaf of bread from the oven. Shooting hoops in the driveway with our kids. Picnics, tractor rides, and popsicles on the front porch. Like a family from a movie.

I blinked, not sure what to say.

“Probably not. To be safe,” I said—self-preservation at its finest.

“Do you have a song in mind?” he asked, his eyes looking pensive. Melancholy, even.

I thought for a moment, not sure if there was a song that would capture the feeling of our whirlwind few weeks. Maybe it would be better to leave it to chance.

“How about whatever the DJ plays next is our song?”

A smile broke out across his face. “Deal.”

To my surprise, he stood and held out a hand to pull me up. A groomsman had just finished his toast, leaving all the guests laughing through their tears. Tate tugged me to the dance floor.

“Why are we doing this again?” I asked, my arms going too willingly around his neck and thinking of things like collateral damage.

“I’ve never been a husband before, so I’m practicing. If we get divorced, it’s gonna be your fault for sure.”

I laughed, but I couldn’t look at him. I wouldn’t look at him. Because by this time, a familiar song began to play.