All The Ways You Saved Me Page 15

  “Bianca, wait,” he called after me as I walked away.

  I turned around but kept walking backward. “It’s fine.” Lifting my phone in his direction I said, “No big deal. I’ll see you tonight. Eight o’clock.”

  “I’ll be here.” Ian shoved his hands in his pocket, his mouth twisting to the side. It was the last image I had of him before I stepped out into the overcast afternoon, the door slamming closed behind me.

  Chapter 24: Ian

  5 Years Earlier

  The wipers thwapped back and forth over the windshield, doing absolutely nothing to stop the full-on blanket of white that was bearing down on us. Ben’s knuckles were equally white as he clutched them around the steering wheel, trying like hell to keep the van on the road.

  Static buzzed through my phone, reminding me that Maggie was still waiting for my answer. “We’re coming down Old Mill Lane, I think, and . . . shit!” I slammed my hand against the roof to try to keep myself in my seat. Snow blurred around us as the van fishtailed around the corner. The cell phone flew out of my hand, skidding across the rubber mats to the backseat.

  With a jerk, the van straightened out, and Ben unclenched his teeth, blowing out a breath. He muttered something under his breath that I didn’t catch, but I doubted was worth hearing anyway.

  A head sporting nearly white-blond hair popped up next to my arm rest. Leaning one arm against the back of my seat, Felix passed me my phone. “I think you dropped this, man.” He swiped a hand through his long hair. “Hey, Ben, try not to kill us, would you? Seriously, you need me to drive?”

  Ben’s glare was wasted on the windshield. “Fuck off, Felix.”

  Felix flopped back onto the bench seat, giving Gavin a punch in the arm as he laughed. Gavin gave him a tense smile, but tightened his grip around the edge of the seat.

  The phone in my hand was yelling at me, “Ian! Oh my God, Ian! Are you there?”

  “Sorry, I’m here.”

  “What the hell just happened?”

  I quadruple-checked my seatbelt, giving it a sharp tug. “Just dropped the phone. Nothing to worry about.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “Points for effort?”

  A frustrated sigh crackled through the earpiece. “You guys should have been here last night. I can’t believe you missed our rehearsal dinner, and now you’re out there driving through a blizzard.” There was a quick beat of silence on the other end. “Ugh. Ignore me. I know it was important that you stayed and met with the label rep, but I’m freaking out over here. The lights are flickering, the roads are a mess. I have no idea how we’re going to pull this off.”

  “Would this be the time I remind you which one of us thought it was a good idea to get married on Christmas Eve?” I flinched and ducked as something hard slapped against the front windshield. A tree branch, maybe.

  “I don’t know, would this be the time I remind you that with our classes and someone’s busy schedule, this was one of the only times we could make it work?”

  “Babe, take a deep breath. Try to relax.”

  Her snort came through loud and clear. “I don’t know Ian, we—”

  “Maggie.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We just pulled in the driveway. Can we have this conversation inside?”

  The line clicked off, and I shoved open the door, stepping into a good foot of snow. The icy stuff slid right into my shoes, and a shiver stole itself up my spine. Christ, it was freezing. We stomped toward the front door, making gaping holes in what was a giant expanse of untouched snow as the wind spit chunks of ice and snowflakes right into our faces.

  It took less than thirty seconds to make it from the van to the front door, but in that time Gavin’s cheeks had gone bright red, Ben practically had icicles frozen to his eyelashes, and Felix’s hair was peppered with snow. He brushed a hand over his hair as he stepped inside, nearly needing to duck underneath the doorjamb. Tall bastard.

  I kicked off my shoes and wet socks, leaving them in a damp puddle in the entryway. The parents, Maggie, and Rachel were all gathered in the living room, the fireplace crackling and coating the entire room in a warm orange glow. They all glanced up as we walked in, their expressions caught somewhere between happiness to see us and anxiousness about the weather and what that meant for the rest of the day.

  “Mags.” I held out my hand for her and nodded toward the hallway.

  Abandoning her perch by the window, she released her grip on the curtain and let it flutter back into place. Her fingers were cold when they slipped between mine, so I gave them a quick squeeze. “Bad news first, let’s hear it.”

  She nodded, blowing out a breath and stirring the wild curls around her face. “The florist, caterer, DJ, the reception hall—they’re all out. The pastor’s snowed in at his house, and I haven’t even been able to reach the photographer.”

  “Is there any good news?” I asked, running my fingers over my jaw. Stubble jabbed at my fingertips, yet another reminder of things that had not gone as planned today.

  She let out a short, humorless laugh. “I guess that depends on your definition of ‘good news.’ Most of the vendors have agreed to give us a refund under the circumstances. So, I guess that’s a positive.” Her shoulders drooped, and she reached across to flick away a stubborn snowflake that clung to my sweater. “I think we’re gonna have to call it.”

  I sucked in my lower lip and scrunched up my face. “Well . . . maybe not.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah? You have some magic pull over the weather you haven’t mentioned before?”

  A smile eased itself across my face, and I surprised her by swooping in for a quick kiss.

  “What was that for?” She asked, an answering smile curving the corners of her wide mouth.

  “Because I wanted to. I think it’s good practice to always kiss your wife hello.”

  “I’m not your wife yet.”

  “You could be, today, if that’s what you really want. I’ll make it happen. I’ve been working on a plan, but if you want to wait, I get that too. If you want to hold out for the big fancy place and the hand-passed hors d’oeuvres, I’m all for it. Whatever you want, Mags.”

  Her grin intensified, making her eyes sparkle. “What do you want, Ian?”

  “You,” I said simply, skimming my thumb across her cheekbone.

  She turned her face into my hand, kissing the center of my palm. “That’s what I want too.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  I clapped my hands together, rubbing them back and forth. “Alright then. You get upstairs and get ready.”

  “You’re not going to tell me the plan?” Her eyes narrowed at me.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  She huffed and folded her arms across her chest, so I gave her a light shove in the direction of the stairs. “Get going. I’ll send your mom up.”

  Her curls bounced as she shook her head, but she blew a kiss in my direction before hurrying up the stairs.

  I walked back into the room and stepped to the front, clearing my throat to get everyone’s attention.

  “Alright guys, here’s the plan.”

  Five hours later, the wedding was off to a late start, but the fact that it was happening at all was a damn miracle. The pastor stood to my right, the cuffs of his black pants soaked from his trek through the snow after Ben retrieved him from his house. Icicle lights were tacked to the beams that ran the length and width of the barn, and a combination of folding and dining room chairs were scattered in front of me as seats for anyone who could make it.

  Surprisingly, everyone in the area made the effort—some trekking by foot, others putting their faith in their oversized four-wheel-drive vehicles, or even breaking out an ATV if they had one. Mom had cooked just about everything we had in the freezer and pantry. There was an interesting combination of lasagna, fried chicken, and hot dogs, with side dishes of mashed potatoes, cubed cantaloupe, and green beans.


  The generator kept up a steady hum, supplying energy to the space heaters that were making this drafty old barn passably warm. A set of speakers with a playlist quickly crafted by Gavin sat off to the side, waiting patiently for the end of the ceremony. The only thing we were waiting on was Felix and Maggie.

  With a squealing of unoiled hinges, the barn door swung open and was quickly kicked shut, letting in an icy blast of air. Maggie was draped across Felix’s arms, her hands locked around his neck. He’d insisted on carrying her so that she wouldn’t get her dress wet. For a big guy who looked almost savage as he pounded away on the drums, he could be surprisingly sensitive.

  Setting her down on her feet, he strutted up the makeshift aisle with a wink in my direction. Maggie ran a quick hand over her hair, her eyes traveling from the people gathered in front of her, to the twinkling lights, to me.

  I couldn’t stop looking at her, drinking her in. My throat closed up like I was having some type of allergic reaction, and for a second there I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to breathe again. To say that she took my breath away would be cliché and trite, but it would also be entirely accurate.

  Her dress, like her, was beautiful without being overstated. Vintage and delicate, lacy and white. A thick white ribbon wrapped around her waist, and the smallest of trains trailed behind her. Her thick hair had been gathered up, but small ringlets had fought their way free, brushing against the smooth column of her throat.

  As she walked down the aisle, her hand tucked in the crook of her dad’s arm, Ben plucked out the chords to “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” serving double duty as Best Man and instrumentalist. My fingers found the heavy weight of the gold pocket watch, hidden in the front pocket of my pants. I squeezed it as I thought of Dad, naively hoping that somehow, some way, he was with me in that moment.

  With every step forward she took, my heart slowed, beating with a certainty that was strong and sure. When she was standing right in front of me, eyes overflowing with tears that twinkled on her eyelashes, she threw her arms around my neck, sealing her lips to mine with a fierceness that was like a brand to my soul. I wrapped my arms around her slim waist, pulling her closer and staking my claim right back.

  A loud clearing of a throat had us drawing apart.

  The pastor adjusted his wireframe glasses on his nose with a slight twist of his lips, like he was fighting down a smile. “Maybe save a little bit for after the ceremony, eh?”

  The crowd behind us chuckled, and Maggie’s cheeks flushed red—or really just redder, since they were already chapped from the arctic wind. I tweaked her nose, and she stuck her tongue out at me, stepping back into her place and sliding her hands down so they twined with mine.

  The words came with ease, flowing without conscious thought as we vowed to love each other unconditionally, forsaking all others, and all that good stuff. It might have been the first time I was uttering them aloud, but my heart had already settled on those things a long time ago. The thin, platinum band I slid on her finger (no stone, no engagement ring by her insistence) shone in the low lighting, and I ran my thumb over it, excitement flipping my stomach at the sight.

  We did it. She was mine. Mine. Just as much as I was hers, and always would be.

  This time when we kissed it was as husband and wife, with a round of cheers going up around the room and the blinding flash of a camera. Someone had the bright idea to bring in buckets of snow, so as we walked back down the aisle we got pelted with the cold stuff. Felix, Gavin, and Ben snuck up behind me, shoving a handful of snow down the collar of my suit.

  We were wet and freezing, but Maggie demanded wedding photos—outside, in the snow, with Rachel’s little point-and-shoot. By the time we made it back inside, Maggie’s dress was soaked, and we were all shivering and tinged blue. We laughed, we danced, we loved.

  Underneath the cover of the stars, I carried a half-delirious Maggie back to the house, a honeymoon suite at the Marriott substituted with my old bedroom. My fingers were so numb, I could barely feel the tiny zipper between my fingers to pull it down and free Maggie from her dress. She giggled, her frozen fingertips struggling equally with the elusive buttons of my shirt.

  The white fabric puddled at her feet, and she stepped out of it, left only in a white lacy bra and matching panties. Kicking off my shoes, I crossed to her, pressing her back into the wall and lifting her arms. I threaded my fingers through hers and pinned them above her, dipping my lips to her neck and licking at the dampness of melting snow.

  She moaned, arching her back to press firmly against me. Hooking a foot around my leg, she tugged me closer, running her toes underneath the hem of my pants. I ground my hips against hers, making her gasp and flex her fingers in my grasp.

  A heavy fist banging against the door had my lips briefly pausing against the cool skin of her breasts. “Go away!”

  “Ian!” Ben yelled. “Open up, I forgot to give you your wedding present!”

  I couldn’t tell if he was drunk or just insane. I had to bite my lip to stifle a groan as Maggie sunk her teeth into my earlobe, only letting up to shout at the door, “Not now, Ben!”

  “Trust me, you wanna open this door.”

  Clearly, he wasn’t giving up.

  I blew out a frustrated sigh, and Maggie thumped her head back against the wall. “This better be freaking amazing,” she muttered.

  Readjusting myself in my pants, I cracked open the door and stuck my head out.

  Ben grinned like he’d just won the lottery, and Felix and Gavin hung back just a few steps with shit-eating grins of their own.

  Felix smirked at me. “Getting an early start to your wedding night?”

  “You doin’ alright in there? Need any pointers?” Gavin asked, running his thumbs under the length of his suspenders.

  I let out something that sounded close to a growl and went to slam the door shut, but Ben’s hand appeared on the door, shoving it back open. He held up his phone. “You’ll never guess who I just talked to.”

  “I don’t know, Ben. Santa Claus?” He had to be kidding, he was interrupting this over a phone call?

  “Ewan Marx,” he said, harshly enunciating the words.

  I straightened, letting the door slip open another few inches. “The Ewan Marx? Of Red Ocean Records?”

  “The guy we talked to last night sent him our demo—”

  “They want us,” Gavin interrupted.

  “Record deal, tour, the whole shebang,” Felix added, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

  “Holy shit, are you serious?” I ran both hands over my head and kept them there, holding it so it didn’t explode with excitement.

  “Dead serious,” Ben replied, with a small shake of his head like he was still trying to wrap his mind around the whole thing. “I told him I’d get back to him after I talked to all of you, but I have a feeling our answer is—”

  “Hell yes!” Felix interrupted with a whoop.

  “What do you say, Ian? Gotta ask the missus?” Gavin asked, waggling his eyebrows at me.

  The door was ripped from my grip as Maggie yanked it open, dropping a hand to her hip and staring them all down in her underwear. “The answer is obviously yes, you idiots. Now go away.” She slammed the door closed, but not before the three of them broke out into whistles and catcalls.

  “Feisty!” Felix called.

  “I love a woman who takes charge! You gonna tie him up, Mags?” That was Gavin.

  Ben was too busy choking on his laughter to say much of anything.

  I scooped her up, and with two quick strides, tossed her on the bed. She bounced on the mattress, slipping her arms up and tucking her hands under a pillow. Sliding one foot up and down the comforter, she sucked her lower lip into her mouth. “So, Mr. Mathis, looks like you’re about to become a rock star. How does it feel to have all your dreams coming true?”

  Slipping my shirt off, I tossed it in the corner and crawled on top of her, leaning down to give her one quick kiss on the tip
of her nose. I smiled at her, loving the way her hair fanned out across the pillowcase in a crazy tangle. “You don’t get it, Mags.” I twisted one curl around my finger. “They already did.”

  Chapter 25: Bianca

  If one more thing went wrong I was going to scream.

  I handed the cabbie a soggy twenty and slipped out the door, alone. Harper had been called into work last minute due to a no-show waitress, and here I was, using my purse as an ineffective umbrella in the monsoon that was flooding New York.

  By the time I made it to the door of the Blackbird, my hair hung in straggles around my shoulders, any makeup I had on was a mess, and my clothes were soaked through and clinging to my skin. Gathering my hair in one hand, I wrapped it around my fist and wrung it out. Water dripped onto the floor, pooling at my feet.

  The place was packed, the music loud enough to almost drown out the buzz of voices. Someone was working their way through an awful rendition of “Mr. Jones,” and as for Ian, he was nowhere in sight.

  I shoved through the crowd to the bar, shedding my coat and pulling at my shirt to try and un-suction it from my stomach. It was warm in here, but it’d have to be a whole lot hotter to dry me off. Leaning against the rough surface of the bar, I flagged down the bartender and ordered a shot of tequila. He took one look at me, and gave it to me on the house.

  I must have looked awesome.

  I downed the shot, and it was like swallowing fire. Lifting my hand so I could cover my mouth with the back of my wrist, I coughed and coughed and coughed some more. The bartender looked on in amusement, and it was the very first time in my life I was tempted to give someone the finger.