Page 403 of Faking the Goal

"Fuck you."

Sam grins. "She's cured."

We all burst out laughing, and somewhere in the middle of it, surrounded by these three women who have seen me at my best, my worst, and every fucked-up place in between, I realize the fear isn't gripping me quite so tightly anymore.

It hasn't disappeared completely, and maybe some part of it will always be there. Maybe you don't spend years teaching yourself to expect the worst and suddenly wake up one morning without any trace of it left behind. But for once, I don't need to get rid of every ounce of fear before I allow myself to be happy. I can feel both and still choose which one gets to matter today.

A knock sounds at the door just as our laughter begins to settle, and all four of us turn toward it.

"Ladies?" the wedding coordinator calls from the other side. "It's time."

Every thought in my head disappears.

My heart gives one enormous thump before taking off so fast that I swear I can feel it beating all the way up my throat.

Oh, fuck.

I'm getting married.

The wedding coordinator gives me one last reassuring smile before the doors open, and the first notes of the music drift toward me from the ballroom.

My heart starts pounding again.

Not the panicked, suffocating rhythm from earlier. This is something completely different. Excitement. Anticipation. So much happiness crammed into my chest that my poor heart apparently has no idea what to do with all of it except beat the absolute shit out of my ribs.

I take my first step.

Then another.

The doors open wider, revealing rows of familiar faces, flowers, candlelight, everything I spent months planning down to the tiniest detail.

I barely see any of it.

Because my eyes find him.

Kentaro.

My groom.

My ridiculously handsome, beautifully dressed, patiently waiting groom standing at the other end of the aisle.

And just like that, every trace of anxiety I've carried all morning disappears.

Gone.

As though somebody reached inside me and flipped a switch.

Kentaro's eyes lock onto mine, and the expression on his face nearly stops me where I stand. His eyes are already shining, all that honey-brown warmth made brighter by tears he is very obviously trying not to let fall. There's pride there. Awe. Relief. Happiness so raw it almost hurts to look at.

And love.

God.

So much love.

Every bit of it aimed directly at me.

His lips part slightly, like he's forgotten how to breathe, and then that smile appears. Not his cocky one. Not the little smirk he uses when he's about to say something filthy just to make me blush.