Page 99 of Lock ’N’ Load

He turned to shake hands with his dad. They’d gotten off to a rocky start, but Doc Lawrence was also helping him to repair that relationship as well.

His dad surprised him by pulling him into a bear hug. “Good to see you, Son.”

“You, too, Dad.” He clapped his father on the back, grateful for his family’s presence and support. Maybe I can get through tonight after all. Then he lifted his gaze and spotted Mr. and Mrs. Wilshire in deep conversation with a large group of people at the far end of the hall.

His stomach clenched. A bead of sweat ran down his back between his shoulder blades. Again, his throat constricted, and he could barely breathe. What the fuck? He had never had one before but knew the signs. He was on the verge of an all-out panic attack.

Clenching his hands to hide their shaking, he pulled away from his father. I can’t do this. I’m not ready.

Like a coward, he turned to run but froze, barely feeling his father’s hand grabbing his arm. He blinked, shaking his head to clear his vision. He had to be dreaming. Trista was walking toward him, looking like a beautiful woodland nymph, and he drank her in like a man who was lost in the desert and had just spotted an oasis.

The full-length green dress shimmered and swirled around her legs as she glided across the floor. The tight bodice held up by thin spaghetti straps drew his gaze to her beautiful breasts. Her honey-blond hair was piled high, with delicate tendrils framing her heart-shaped face. The only jewelry she wore were long, dangly gold earrings and a matching necklace that dipped low into her cleavage.

Stunning didn’t cut it. She was…extraordinary. But it was more than that. Her unexpected presence lit up his world. Just when he thought he’d been about to choke and run, she was there, like a lifeline, saving him from drowning and dying right there in front of hundreds of people.

As the crowd parted for her to reach him, people began to whisper, but he couldn’t make out a single word. Every fiber of his being, every cell in his body, was focused on the woman now linking her fingers with his.

“Hi,” she said, looking up at him with smiling green eyes that looked even more verdant thanks to her dress. “You know, you could kiss me. That would be a good icebreaker.”

Still in shock, he did as she asked and dropped a light kiss on her lips. Only then did he take in her perfectly applied makeup. Since he’d never seen her wear any before, he began to suspect his sister had something to do with it, and for Trista being here. And she smelled amazing, like flowers, and vanilla, and sugary spice. He also noticed that she was taller than he remembered and glanced at her feet.

“Like ’em?” She held out one foot, revealing a strappy gold sandal. “They took a little getting used to before I could walk in them without falling on my face, but I’m a full four inches taller. I love that.”

And I love you, he nearly blurted, his heart about to burst with the power and intensity of the emotions he was feeling. But he was so blown away by the fact she was there that he was rendered speechless. Besides, with all these people crowding around him now—including his own family—he wanted to say it in private, when they were alone.

“You look incredible.” He ran his hands up and down her bare arms, admiring the light muscle definition that hadn’t been there before. “You been working out?”

“Every day.”

“Looks good on you.” He couldn’t wait to see what other body parts she’d been working out.

More to his shock, his father leaned down to kiss Trista on the cheek, as did his sister and mother.

“You all had a hand in this, didn’t you?” He narrowed his eyes, feigning annoyance, when what he really felt was gratitude for their foresight and thoughtfulness. They’d known he’d need help, that he would falter, and they were right.

“We might have helped out.” His sister linked her arm through Trista’s and the two women shared a conspiratorial wink. “A little.”

“I hope you’re not mad that I’m here.” Trista suddenly looked worried.

“Mad?” He laughed in disbelief. “Hell no.”

“Language,” his mother admonished, and they all laughed.

Not caring that his entire family was watching, along with half the people in the banquet hall, he slipped his arm around Trista’s waist and pulled her in for a none-too-chaste kiss. When he lifted his head, there was no mistaking the love he saw mirrored in her eyes.

He clasped her hand to his chest. “Come with me?” he asked, looking over her shoulder to where the Wilshires were watching him.

“Anywhere,” she answered in a firm voice.

“Excuse us,” he said to his family, then led her toward the Wilshires. Along the way, his chest tightened, but his body no longer trembled, and his throat didn’t close up on him. All because Trista was at his side.

Before they got to the Wilshires, she squeezed his hand and pulled his head down. “You got this.”

He couldn’t help smiling back at her, but when they reached Jerry’s family, he sobered in a heartbeat. Jerry’s parents had aged since he’d last seen them but not unusually so. In his black tux, Bob Wilshire looked distinguished as always. Jerry’s mom, Anne, though frailer now, still reminded him of a debutante in her white evening gown. Liz and Alex, Jerry’s brother and sister, looked pretty much the same, just older, and married now, with spouses at their sides.

Though he’d rehearsed this moment over and over in his head for the past week and a half, words fled him now. What do you say to a family whose son died because of you?

Mrs. Wilshire’s eyes glistened, then she gracefully wrapped her arms around him, her body shaking as she cried against his chest. He held her gently, swallowing repeatedly, desperately holding back his own gushing waterworks.