Bee’s eyes searched for Matt, whom she spotted on the other side of the tent, devouring slices of wedding cake with his mother, Barb, the two of them laughing about something. Bee’s shoulders relaxed.

“I’ll walk you out first,” Bee told Joe, smiling warmly at her uncle, who kept his arms around Hannah’s waist as they took slow steps toward the tent’s exit.

Phil

Phil hadn’t expected anyone to leave the wedding just yet, or at least he hadn’t thought about what would happen if the bride herself walked outside to find him sitting on the lawn, his shirt soaked with the blood that had poured from his knuckles after he’d punched the tree.

But the bride was in front of him now, in her long white gown, horrified and suppressing the scream she’d almost let out when she found Phil sitting in the dirt, with his bloody hand in his lap and his oversized frame slumped in front of a patch of shrubbery.

“Oh, God!” Bee said, quickly backing up, as if he might attack.

Even worse, the cute bridesmaid was there. She was being led out of the tent by one of the older men at the party, who held her around her waist as she tried to walk.

“Perfect,” Phil muttered to himself, realizing that the one positive moment of the whole horrible night would be ruined as soon as the bridesmaid, Hannah, noticed that he was bleeding in the mud.

But when Hannah lifted her head and opened her eyes to see what had caused Bee’s scream, she smiled warmly, as if she’d run into a friend she hadn’t seen in years.

“Larry Bird!” Hannah squealed, pulling away from Joe and running to Phil. She took two steps, fell into his lap, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Watch out, Kate Winslet,” Phil whispered in her ear. “I’m bloody.”

“No, you’re not,” she whispered back, hiccuping. “You’re Larry Bird.”

“You’re not going to remember this,” he told her, wrapping his cleaner arm around her back and kissing her forehead softly. Her skin was warm. He rocked her from side to side.

“Hmm,” she purred. “You smell like yummy chicken.”

When it was clear, seconds later, that she was already falling asleep against his chest, Phil looked up to the older man, whom Bee referred to as Uncle Joe, and nodded to him for help.

Joe bent down and took Hannah by the waist, ignoring her as she whimpered and resisted being pulled from Phil’s lap. Frustrated, Joe placed his arms under Hannah’s thighs and lifted her over his shoulder. Phil could hear her muttering angrily as Joe walked her to the parking lot.

Still standing in front of the reception tent, Bee winced and asked, “I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you?”

“I’m Nancy MacGowan’s son,” Phil replied from the dirt, shrugging. “She couldn’t come so she sent me in her place.”

Bee’s face softened. She smiled. “Nancy was one of my singles.”