Brent roared Hayden’s name and began pounding on the door with heavy fists. A few minutes left? At this very moment, Hayden could already be gone from him forever. No, she couldn’t be. He wouldn’t accept it. Knowing Daniel and Matt were working on getting the guard to open the door, he did the only thing he could do. He tried to stop the wedding through the door.
“Hayden Winstead! Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare marry someone else. We will fix this, do you understand me? If it means I have to work ten jobs. Your family will be fine. You don’t have to do this. Please, please don’t do this.” He banged his head against the door, grateful for the pain somewhere besides his heart. “I know I’m an asshole but I’m working on it. I’m sorry for what I said. So sorry. Hurting you…it might be the worst thing I’ve ever done, but I don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve this. If you marry him, Hayden, I won’t recover. I only got to spend one night holding you, but it was enough to know I have to hold you every single night.”
Brent waited for a moment, to see if he could hear anything on the other side of the door, but only silence greeted him. He felt a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. Couldn’t focus on anything but getting through to her. “What do I need to do, baby? Do you want me to sing ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’? I’ll do it. I’ll deafen everyone in this building if that’s what you want.” When the silence remained, Brent’s head dropped against the door with a curse. “You’re really going to make me do this, aren’t you?”
Then he gave Bette Midler a run for her money.
…
Hayden stood stock-still, flanked by her mother and father, watching in fascination as Brent belted out the Beaches classic at the city clerk’s door. The one she’d ran out of five minutes ago. Halfway through his impassioned speech, from which her pulse still raced like crazy, the security guard had relented and stepped forward to unlock the door. Matt, however, finally noticing her standing ten yards away, had held him off with a look, allowing her to stand there while Brent poured his heart out.
Seconds after Story’s needless, yet effective, intervention, her father had come bursting through the chamber door. He’d actually managed to pull off a deal with a foreign investor to keep the company afloat. Her mother, realizing Hayden’s marriage to Stuart was now unnecessary, had fessed up to her father and told him about Hayden’s plan for the afternoon. Thank goodness she’d already decided not to marry Stuart or they might have been too late with the news. And she would be hearing this perfectly, beautifully, uniquely Brent speech from the wrong side of the door.
Her heart thumped so hard, she put her hands on her chest as though she could keep it from bursting free. This rough-edged, dirty-talking, wisecracking giant was singing to her as though his life depended on it and she’d almost given up the chance to be with him. Relief, powerful and encompassing, rolled through her in waves, accompanied by regret. If she’d believed for one minute that Brent had married someone else, she’d be devastated. Hayden could only imagine how he felt at that moment, thinking she’d discarded him without a word. Guilt poked holes in her relief. She needed his arms around her. It’s the only thing that would calm the riot of emotions. Reassure her that she’d avoided catastrophe.
“Brent.” Her voice came out sounding like a croak, so she tried again. “Brent.”
He spun around, eyes moving over her in a panic. “Oh God. I’m too late,” he said dazedly, then slumped hard against the door.
Pain twisted in her chest, her throat constricted. “No, you’re not too late. I couldn’t do it.”
Brent’s head jerked up. He looked as though he wanted to believe her, but was unable to see past his fear just yet. “Why? Why couldn’t you do it?”
“You know why,” Hayden whispered.
“I just sang the theme song from Beaches. Tell me anyway.”
She swallowed hard, words eluding her. Nothing she said could compare to the heartfelt speech he’d delivered moments before. So she closed her eyes and spoke from the heart. “I want you to leave your socks on my floor.” A breath shuddered out. “Not on Beth or Betsy or Becky’s floor. I want you to teach me how to grill. That’s something you do, right? In parking lots before sporting events or…or something?” She shook her head, knowing she rambled. “I want to…I want to be the one who worries about you. When you’re at work. I want to zone out while you talk about baseball.”