“Heck no,” he scoffs. “Ain’t blind or dumb, either. Your mom and I always assumed the two of you’d end up married someday.”

“You did?” That’s certainly news to me.

“You think we didn’t notice the way you two were always making eyes at each other?” He smiles. “Or the many afternoons y’all wound up missing at the same time?”

Guess we weren’t half as sneaky as we thought. “But you never said anything…”

“Wasn’t my place. I just kept him scared enough to know better than to get on my bad side.”

Well, I’ll be damned. “You certainly succeeded there.”

He beams. “Your old man had a few tricks up his sleeve.”

“I guess you did,” I murmur.

“Lyle’s a good boy,” Dad proclaims. “He’ll take care of you.”

“Yeah,” I say with a smile brimming from ear to ear. “I think he will.”

Our conversation’s cut short when the organ sounds.

“Ready?” I ask, with a mouth full of sand.

“Ready or not,” Daddy answers, sporting a shit grin as he nudges his elbow into my side. “It’s now or never, ain’t it?”

His morbid sense of humor has me wanting to both laugh and burst into tears as the enormous, cathedral-style doors swing open and dozens of eyes fix in our direction.

I draw a shaky breath and hold it for what feels like the longest—and definitely the most significant—walk of my life.

With every step I draw closer to that altar—to the future I’ve always dreamed of, that until minutes ago I’d given up on. I’m bidding farewell to not only my past as a single woman, but to my father.

It’s both bitter and sweet as a litany of contradictory emotions war within.

I can hardly see through the tears pouring down my face.

The significance of my dying father quite literally holding me up to get me through this, as opposed to the contrary, is not lost on me. This man, who can hardly make it to the bathroom on his own anymore, has somehow found the strength to carry his little girl one last time.

“It’s okay,” Daddy says, as we approach the center of the church and wait for my groom to come out of the shadows and join us. “You’re doing so good, Sweet Pea.”

There’s a loud series of gasps when Lyle steps into view, but it’s quickly drowned out by the erratic beating of my own heart.

“Mr. Wayne,” he greets, dipping his head as he reaches for my father’s hand, pulling him in for a hug.

I nearly fall over at the sight of their bodies shaking with the force of their tear-filled embrace. And I can’t help the thought that passes—that had it been Trent, this exchange wouldn’t have been nearly so meaningful.