Page 3 of When the Sky Falls

“Figure out your shit in Horseshoe Bay,” she says, pulling back just enough to lock eyes with me. Hers are glossy, too, but she’s still wearing that stupid newlywed glow like it’s Dior. “And text me. Updates. Regular ones. I want all the details.”

I sniff, smile, and dab at my cheek with the back of my hand. “You are not allowed to work on your honeymoon.”

“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes so dramatically, it’s practically a full-body motion. “Checking your texts doesn’t count as working.”

“Says the woman who brought a color-coded itinerary to her own wedding.” I jab a playful finger into her arm.

“Touché.” Her grin fades into something softer. “I’ll text you when we land. Promise.”

“Only after you’ve had at least one cocktail on the beach,” I insist. “With one of those tiny umbrellas.”

Reese holds out her pinky. “Promise.”

We pinky swear like we’re twelve, and suddenly I’m hugging her all over again because if I don’t, I might shatter.

Behind us, Thorin hugs Maggie and Carson while Benji tugs at his pant leg, too tired to keep his eyes open but unwilling to let go. It’s such a picturesque family moment that I almost look away, like I’m intruding. But then again, when it comes to Reese and Thorin, everything feels like a goddamn movie.

Fletch hovers near the limo like a shadow that doesn’t know where it belongs. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders tight like he’s bracing for something—an earthquake, maybe, or an emotion he can’t afford.

Thorin pulls away from Maggie and strides toward him, and for a heartbeat, I swear Fletch is going to bolt.

Instead, he lets Thorin hug him. Quick. Awkward. Like it burns.

“You better take care of her,” Fletch mutters.

Thorin just smiles, that quiet, confident smile that says always without needing the word.

Then they’re climbing into the limo, Reese turning to blow me one last kiss from the open window, her veil gone but the spark in her eyes still brighter than any star in the Texas sky.

The door clicks shut.

The engine purrs.

And just like that, the limo disappears down the long gravel driveway, headlights slicing through the dark until they vanish behind the wrought-iron gates.

Gone.

I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold in my satin dress, heels sinking into the dewy grass. The silence settles, soft and suffocating. Like a blanket woven from all the things we didn’t say.

Carson and Benji disappear into the main house. Fletch doesn’t look back. Doesn’t pause. Doesn’t hesitate.

The door slams behind him with a hollow thud, like the punctuation mark on a chapter I wasn’t ready to end.

Maggie catches my eye, her gaze gentle in a way that makes my throat ache.

She steps toward me without a word, arms outstretched, and I fall into them like a wave collapsing on the shore. Her sweater smells like cinnamon and peppermint shampoo and safety. My chin trembles against her shoulder.

“It’ll be better in the morning, sweetheart,” she whispers, brushing my hair from my face with weathered fingers that have surely mended more hearts than I could count. “The sun has a way of making things seem less impossible.”

I want to believe her. God, I want to.

She pulls back, her eyes searching mine. “Do you want me to come with you tomorrow? To the doctor?”

For a moment, I almost say yes. Almost beg her not to leave me alone with the reality of it. But then I shake my head, once, firm. “No. I need to do this by myself.”

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes—worry? Respect? Maybe both. She cups my cheek, presses a kiss to my temple, and whispers, “You’re stronger than you know.”

Then she’s gone. Just like the others.