Beyond These Walls (The Walls Duet #2)(20)

I ignored his comment and kept with my current plan of wearing a hole in the hardwood before the end of the day.

“You should have planned a morning wedding. Lailah’s a mess as well.”

My eyes darted up to Brian’s, remembering the errand I’d sent him on. “How is she? Is she okay?”

He smiled smugly. “Well, she wasn’t dressed when I saw her . . .”

My eyes widened as I took a wide step forward, intent on grabbing Brian’s neck, but then I stopped myself when I saw his innocent child between us.

His free hand went up like a white flag. “Kidding. Mostly. Shit, Jude. Relax. I’m just messing with you. She was in a robe, and she was getting her hair done. It’s too bad you don’t drink, man, ’cause you could use a little something for those nerves right now.”

My hands went through my hair, and I took a step back, falling into the oversized chair positioned by the large windows overlooking the city. “It’s not nerves. I’m just sick of waiting. I’ve been up since the crack of dawn. I just want to see her already.”

“I get it, Jude,” Marcus chimed it. “I waited over twenty years to finally marry the love of my life. The morning of, I was a nervous wreck.”

“We should have eloped.” I sighed.

“And left me to deal with Molly when she found out? You would have done that to me? After everything I’ve done?”

A small chuckle escaped my throat. “No, I guess not. But damn, if you could make that clock move a little faster, I’d appreciate it.”

He smiled warmly, moving toward the chair where I’d chosen to fall into a useless slump. “Come on, Jude,” he said, holding out a cupped hand.

I firmly gripped it, and he pulled me to a standing position.

“Let’s go get some lunch and see if we can’t talk away some of these hours. Sitting around here will be like watching a pot of boiling water.”

Brian sighed. “I’ll be right back. I’ve got to go take back a few snide comments.”

I had no idea what he meant, and before I had a second to ask, he was gone.

Marcus’s arm fell loosely around me in a fatherly gesture—one I’d seen but never really had the pleasure of enjoying as a kid. My father’s love had always been shown in his devotion to the family business, not in physical gestures.

“One must always provide for his family,” he’d once told me.

And he had. It had been his number one goal, his life’s ambition. Even though I’d missed out on an abundance of hugs and trips to the zoo, my father had shown his love in his own way.

Still, as Marcus looked at me with admiration and pride, like a father admiring a grown child, I couldn’t help but wonder what an embrace like this would have felt like from my own father.

“I never thought I’d be eating here on my wedding day,” I commented, looking around at the shabby interior of the hole-in-the-wall restaurant Marcus had chosen at random after we’d walked down the frozen streets of Manhattan.

“That’s exactly why I picked it. You’ll have plenty of time for that hoity-toity crap your mom has set up for later. Let’s just relax, play a game of pool, and talk.”

I nodded, feeling a bit calmer already, as I ordered a round of beers for Marcus and Brian. I indulged in my usual Coke, but since it was my special day, I added a cherry just for kicks. Seeing my fiancé die after the two of us had partied a bit too hard one weekend had officially ended my partying days in one devastating night. Nowadays, I just didn’t see the point.

I’d learned to move past my guilt, the all-consuming raw fear that my every action had caused that accident to happen that night. If I hadn’t introduced us to the group at the club, if we hadn’t stayed and followed them to their home, if I’d only gone back to the hotel when Megan asked, if we hadn’t been drunk . . . there were so many factors, so many reasons, and I’d decided it all came down to one guilty party—myself.

But over time, after much healing, I’d learned that blaming myself would never bring her back, and living in the mountain of regret I’d built around myself would never solve anything. Would Megan be happy to learn I’d given up my life as well?

So, I’d freed myself from the shackles I’d sentenced myself to and learned to live again—with Lailah.

But some things never change, and the idea of drinking scared me to death, especially since I’d been entrusted with the greatest gift on earth. If anything happened to Lailah because of me, I didn’t think I could live with myself. When it came to her, I could never be reckless.

As our drinks arrived and greasy burgers and French fries were ordered, we made our way over to an empty pool table and began setting up our first game.

“So, seeing as I’ll be a married man in a few hours,” I said as I rubbed a little blue chalk along the tip of my pool stick, “how about you entertain us with a few stories about my beautiful bride, Marcus? Tell me something I might not know.”

His motions mimicked my own as he readied his pool stick, and then he began to collect the scattered balls that had fallen into the pockets from a previous game.

“Hmm . . . let me think,” he answered, placing each ball into the triangular form before sliding it up to the silver marker on the table.

Each painted ball rolled and spun around as they made their way across the green felt. He lifted the triangle and centered himself, leaning over to take in the perfect position.