My eyes immediately well when I see my cousin in her wedding gown. The bodice is a pastel baby blue with multi-colored, glittering rhinestones. Baby blue tulle upon tulle fills the bottom of the dress with more gems sewed throughout.
She looks like a fairy princess.
And when her arms fly around my shoulders, it’s hard not to burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Jane,” I say at the same time she says, “I’m so glad you made it.”
I wipe roughly at my face. “I didn’t make it.”
We break away and she brushes the remaining tears off my cheeks. “You’re here, aren’t you?” She must see the guilt in my eyes. “It’s not your fault, Sulli.”
It is my fault. I could have finished climbing a day earlier. A week earlier. Fuck, the trip could have been postponed until after the wedding. Until next year. Banks would have made it in all of those scenarios. I would have made it. Akara would have made it.
It will always be my fault.
No matter who tells me any fucking differently. No matter how many times Banks professes that it’s not, the guilt will stay in my heart where it belongs. I’ve learned a lot over this trip. How forgiveness is hard for me. It’s going to be even harder to forgive myself.
“You’re going to regret coming,” Thatcher tells his brother. Jane and I both catch their conversation and look over. Thatcher has an uncharacteristic smile on his face. “Everyone wants to hear this story. You’re going to end up talking to more family than me.”
Banks grimaces. “How about we do another twin-switch for a couple hours?”
“Hell no. I’m going to be the one dancing with my wife.” Thatcher grins wider and then his face grows more serious. “You were right.” He takes a beat. “I felt him there.”
Banks nods more than once, too choked to speak. He must be referring to Skylar. I watch as Banks pats the necklace against Thatcher’s chest: two gold horns.
And then Thatcher brings his brother into another tight hug.
Right as they pull apart and Thatcher hugs Akara, Jane squeezes my hand. Grabbing my attention as she says, “Your parents have been worried about you.”
I suck in a tight breath. My parents. I had a quick phone call with them at the airport, so I know their worry is at the top of Mount Everest right now.
I give Jane a smile and squeeze her hand back. “Congratulations, Mrs. Moretti.” It’s been wildly speculated in the media if she’d take Thatcher’s name.
She told me her decision weeks ago.
Jane Eleanor Moretti.
She dropped the Cobalt. But in her words, “Being a Cobalt isn’t in name. It’s in blood and heart.” I believe that as much as being a Meadows is in spirit.
My cousin lights up at hearing me call her a Moretti, and I hope to feel that happiness one day. Completely swallowed up in someone else that you love sharing everything. Time, companionship, clothes, down to a name.
But a prick of anxiety nips at me. My ribs tighten thinking about that choice.
A name.
Kitsuwon
Moretti.
I’m not talking about marriage. That’s not even on my fucking radar. I just want the feeling, the relationship, the romance, and I definitely wish I could just detach from the doom and gloom of losing one of them and enjoy Jane’s wedding.
So I try my best to forget.
Jane and I give each other another hug before I leave her side to hunt down my parents. As soon as I shift away, I’m surprised when Akara doesn’t follow me. Instead, a temp bodyguard edges closer like he’s been silently instructed to take my detail.
Glancing around for Kits, who’s left Thatcher and Banks’ side, I find him speaking to an older-looking man who’s well over Akara’s six-foot-two height.
Michael Moretti.
Akara is finally able to formally greet Banks’ dad.
49
BANKS MORETTI
Cousins swarm me, and thank Christ I’m great at brevity because I fling cliff-notes versions of what happened every which way.
While my brother and Janie make rounds thanking guests, I position myself near a cluster of red rose bushes. As far from the outdoor heaters as possible, which warm the three fully stocked bars, the packed dance floor, a three-piece orchestra playing Italian classics, a crooner singing way too much Sinatra (Sorry, Grandma)—plus a DJ, four dessert tables, and several round, wicker tables for guests.
I’m hoping to shake off some of the extreme talkers, but apparently, everyone wants to freeze their ass-cheeks to come hear my story.
Staying in one spot isn’t working, so I just slip between chatting guests. Moving like a shadow throughout the gardens. And my eyes return to Akara and my dad. They speak near a pond where pink rose petals float across the water.
Really looking at my strict, hardass dad stops me in my tracks.
My nose flares.
I was twelve the night my brother died. Twelve the night that my gutted, grief-ridden dad looked me in the eye with this dark hollowness and said, “You’re the dispensable one. It should’ve been you.”
It hurt to hear when I was a kid.
But as an adult, looking back—for my dad to tell his twelve-year-old son that he wished he died over his fifteen-year-old…it’s unthinkable to me. I’d never do that to someone, let alone a kid.
Sucks for him, I’m still alive.
And I’m not planning on going anywhere.
My dad laughs at something Akara says, and Akara smiles back, a hand to my dad’s shoulder who laughs more. Looks like they’re already hitting it off.
Good.
I only ever told Sulli and Akara half the story about what my dad said. Because I genuinely want good things for Kitsuwon Securities, for my best friend, and I’m not sure what Akara would do if he knew my dad told me I should’ve been the one to die.
I take in the reception around me.
Smiling faces. Dancing bodies, and I’ve always felt like air. Able to go anywhere, but I feel in limbo. Purgatory.
Stuck.
But my lip curves, seeing my brother twirl Jane towards the dance floor. His happiness tries to lift me. Maybe if I lose Sulli, it’ll be enough just to be happy for him.
Who am I kidding?
I’ll be devastated if I can’t be with her.
I shove my hands in my blue cargo jacket.
Uncle Joe comes up next to me. Besides me and Thatcher, he’s the only other person to reach six-seven here. A hand to my shoulder, his hoarse voice is nothing but kind as he says, “Whadda you doin’ here all alone, huh?”
“Moping, I guess.” I sigh, trying to look anywhere but at the happy couples. Goddammit, there are so many. Weddings.
Uncle Joe squeezes my shoulder. “You’re here. Family’s all together now. Fuhgeddabout the rest.”
I nod.
“Come, let’s have a drink.”
Having a lot of love for my uncle, I always do what he says. And I forget about the rest. For now, at least. Following him to the bar, we cheers over glasses of whiskey on ice. I smile, and after he’s caught in another conversation, I spot Farrow near a frozen ice sculpture of a lion.
I excuse myself and jog over to the neck-tattooed maverick. “Hey,” I nod.
He’s digging in a diaper bag, a strand of bleach-white hair in his eyes. His pierced brows lift to me, but his hands keep moving. “Nice to see you made it here. Jane thought you might get lost through the mansion.”
“I did,” I admit.
Farrow’s smile stretches into a laugh. “No shit?”
I bounce my head, then smack his chest as he rises. “Thanks, by the way.” I pause. “For being there for him.”
Farrow filled in as best man. He stood next to my brother. He handed him the ring.
I add, “And I know Charlie and Beckett were up there too, but that’s not the same as having a friend. It meant a lot to me that my brother wasn’t alone.”
Farrow’s smile softens. “Anytime.”
“Hey, Farrow!
” Loren Hale calls from afar, who has Ripley in his arms. They must need something in the diaper bag, so I nod goodbye to Farrow and dip out.
I end up on the edge of the dance floor where my four-foot-eleven Grandma Carol sips on a glass of brandy and shimmies left and right to Sinatra. “Banks!” she exclaims as soon as I approach, and I bend down and kiss her rosy-red cheek.
“My boys are all together.” She cups my face as I’m bent down. “Oh, don’t youse look so handsome.”
I’ve never seen eyes that smile as brightly as hers. None of us would’ve made it without her in our lives.
I stand up fully. “You look more beautiful than I look handsome, Grandma.”
She waves her hand like I’m full of shit. “Let’s dance. Youse hear that?”
Sinatra. “Andrea Bocelli?”
My mom snorts, coming up to us, “You go to Yellowstone and come back a smartass.”
“Hey, Ma,” I greet, and my grandma is still grinning as I spin her again. With my hand still in Grandma Carol’s, I kiss my mom’s cheek. “You look beautiful tonight.”
She doesn’t even glance down at her black sequined pantsuit. She’s just smiling at me like she knows I’ve been through the ringer and need all the love I can get. “Banksy. We missed you.” She reaches up and cups my cheek. “Don’t get into any more trouble. Not without your brother.”
Trouble.
I laugh. “I thought we were the good sons.”
“Still are. Always will be.” She kisses her fingers to reach up to place them on my cheek.
The women who raised me are my world.
I dance with my mom, with my grandma, and I look around for Sulli—but I can’t see her. Not even as my mom’s wife, Nicola, sneaks up behind her. They laugh and kiss, and my grandma asks me, “When’s your turn to find that special someone, Banks?”
“Yeah,” Nicola chimes in, “any lucky girls recently?”
Sulli.
Can’t say that. Can’t even say if it’ll last past tomorrow.
Before I find an answer, my mom adds with a smile, “Or any lucky guys.”
She’s trying to be inclusive, just in case. I try to crack another smile, but it flickers fast. “You three are trouble when you’re all together. You know that?”
They grin, and my grandma passes around her brandy as they dance.
Right when I turn my head, I finally spot Sulli.
She just now detaches from the chatty girl squad, and she’s heading to her parents.
50
SULLIVAN MEADOWS
Under the twinkling fairy lights, my mom and dad linger next to a chocolate fountain. Goldilocks sits cutely at my mom’s feet with a bow around her collar, tail wagging. With my mom and dad’s parental eyes on me, I’m pretty fucking positive they’ve been staring at me since I arrived.
They wanted to give me a moment with Jane, and my appreciation is second-chair to my urgency to see them. To talk to them. Especially since all the younger girls trapped me into rehashing the story in grave detail.
I’m not a good fucking storyteller.
Kinney even said, “Blah,” at the end.
That was my review.
Blah.
My trip to Yellowstone was not blah. It was…it is…
I inhale deeply.
Maybe there are no words. Maybe it’s just a feeling. Maybe it’s always just been an inexplicable feeling.
As soon as I near, my mom wraps her arms around me. I know everyone says Aunt Lily gives the best hugs, but in my biased opinion, nothing beats hugs from my mom. Secure and warm and full of unyielding love.
“My peanut butter cupcake.” She kisses the top of my head, a couple inches taller than me in her heels. “I’m so, so happy you’re home. And you’re safe—”
She cuts herself off to pull back and check my face. Dirt and scrapes exist, but the scratch from the cougar attack is hidden underneath my shirt. Her green eyes are the same bright color as mine and they carry years of wisdom, risks, and explorations.
“I’m sorry, I smell,” I say.
“You smell like adventure.” She wags her brows.
I laugh and rub my running nose with my sleeve. “So I smell like royal shit.”
“You smell like the woods,” my dad says, and he leans in for a hug. His hugs are pretty fucking close to bear-hugs. Rough, protective, and full of strength. I want to siphon off that last bit of strength from him. To get through this.
When we break apart, it’s hard not to look around at the guests that keep gawking at me. There are so many more people here than just my family. So many more people here than the mountains I left.
“Hey, Sul,” my dad says. “You don’t have to fucking stay here. If you want to leave—”
“I can stay.” For Jane, I should stay.
He nods slowly, his intense eyes zoning in on me for a second. His strong worry is like the waves of an ocean, crashing against me in rough swells. “You’ve had a long fucking day. Are you alright?”
Pressure compacts on my chest. Usually now would be the moment I’d gush to them about how it’s my fault Banks missed the wedding. How I’m in a Bachelorette scenario and the final rose is coming up. And I’m going to hurt Akara or Banks. How I free-soloed one measly rock face the whole trip and it feels like it wasn’t enough.
I want to tell them I survived a cougar attack with two people I’m falling in love with.
But I can’t say any of it. It feels too raw. Like if I touch it, the words will explode in my heart and shatter me apart.
In the end, I just nod to my dad and say, “I’m alright.” I shrug. “I’m running off Lightning Bolt! energy drinks and adrenaline, so just waiting for the crash.”
My parents share a look I can’t decipher. Have I been gone so long that I can’t even read their looks anymore? Or am I changing so much that this is a new look I’ve never seen before?
I can’t think too long.
My mom flicks my nose playfully. “I have a theory.” We share a smile.
Her theories are my favorite.
And very softly, she tells me, “When you crash someplace where you feel safe, you’ll wake up happy in the morning.”
I take a big breath. “I think I agree with that one.” I wipe a smudge of dirt off my cheek. “At least tonight, it sounds good to wake up in my own fucking bed for a change.”
Everyone is supposed to be staying overnight at some five-star hotel near the venue. A car service is even shuttling guests to the hotel in case they’re too hammered to drive.
My dad tells me, “Nona saved you a piece of vegan coffee cake at one of the tables. It’s not like the real fucking thing, so just beware.”
I smile.
Jane is so thoughtful to include a separate little vegan cake for guests. It’s even the same coffee flavor as her big wedding cake. I could go back to eating dairy—but I love how going vegan has excited my sister so much.
After a couple more hugs, we part ways. I find my sister again just as Jane gets ready to throw the bouquet. Chatting for a bit, we catch up about more than just Yellowstone, and I try the vegan cake.
Not sweet enough for me, but my stomach appreciates any food at the moment. I scarf down every bite during the bouquet toss.
The bundle of pastel flowers flies in the air and lands right into Audrey’s hands. Not anywhere near me. It doesn’t mean anything, Sulli.
Yeah.
It’s definitely not a sign that Akara and Banks are going to choose each other.
Not a sign at all.
I hate being superstitious, but I fixate on Jane’s thunderstruck little sister. She hugs the flowers to her chest with a swoony look.
I laugh and my little sister darts away, bouncing on her feet to congratulate her best friend.
Akara finds me by the round table near the dance floor as I lick cake crumbs off my fingers. His smile reaches his eyes as he lands by my side. “You can take the girl out of the wild. But you can’t take the wild out of the gi
rl.”
I suck icing from my thumb and then slug him in the shoulder with my free hand.
He barely moves. “I rest my case.”
“Hey, it’s not good cake unless I’m licking each little crumb off.” I look him up and down, about to ask how things went with Michael Moretti, but his expression shifts to utter affection as he cradles my gaze. I slowly pull my thumb from my mouth, my pulse double-beating. “Kits…?”
We’re interrupted by an MC on the mic. “All those beautiful couples, come onto the dance floor. This is your slooooow jam.”
Unchained Melody by The Righteous Brothers begins to play, and I back up from the edge of the dance floor where Akara is in a frozen stance.
His eyes only rest on me.
As couples join hand-in-hand and singles drift away, the dance floor becomes more open, and I notice Banks standing by himself only a few feet from Akara.
He turns his head, his eyes on my eyes, and I breathe harder, looking between Akara and Banks.
Banks and Akara.
As the most romantic fucking song plays, this is the part where the girl runs into the arms of the man she loves. Where I pick who I want to be with.
Instead, there is just an aching longing to run towards both.
We all seem to be breathing in at the same time, and I break the synchronicity and find Winona again. My fifteen-year-old sister leans against the dessert table where there’s a massive chocolate turtle spread. I slip my hand in hers.
She smiles and drags me onto the dance floor before I can drag her. We twirl each other, passing Akara and Banks, but I feel their eyes on me the whole time.
I can’t forget them.
I’ve tried all night. And a huge part of me never wants to forget. Forgetting them means forgetting how they make me feel. And I always, always want to remember.
51
AKARA KITSUWON
Once the reception begins to end, Sulli tells me she wants to go home instead of crashing at the hotel. Tonight, nothing sounds better than being far away from all of these people. Away from everyone. Everything was simpler in Yellowstone.
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