Riley: I miss you. Come bacccccck.

Dylan: You wanted this, remember. But hey… if you’re lonely. You know where to find me.

Riley: Are you naked?

Dylan: Give me two seconds.

Dylan: Now I am.

Riley: LOL! You work fast.

Dylan: Are you coming?

Riley: No. I should stick to my plans. Sorry I made you get naked.

Dylan: I didn’t get naked. I’m eating cake.

Riley: Why would you say that then?

Dylan: You think I don’t know you, babe? You were never going to come in here.

Riley: You better be waiting for me tomorrow.

Dylan: You better show up.

Riley: I love you, Banks.

Dylan: I love you more, Hudson.

Like so many nights in my past, I don’t sleep. I can’t. But this time—it’s not because of the nightmares. It’s because of the dreams. I lie awake, dreaming of our future and all the absolute possibilities. I picture her smiles, her laughs, her insecurities and her sadness—and I’ve never been so sure about anything in my entire life… I want to have all of her. I want to have it all.

I wait until the right time before I get dressed and stand tall in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. It’s been a long time since I’d worn my dress blues.

My eyes focus on the Purple Heart medal attached to my jacket. Until today, it’d sat in its box. I never looked at it long enough to study it. I didn’t feel worthy of it. Today, I finally do.

*     *     *

The sun beats down, the grass dry beneath my shoes. I stand tall, my head lowered, my trembling fingers causing my hat to shake in my hands. “You nervous, son?” the celebrant asks. He’s old, but licensed, and the only one we contacted who was able to do what we wanted in the time we wanted it done.

“Yes. Sir,” I tell him, switching my hat in my hands so I can rub my sweaty palms on my pants.

He smiles and nods, then looks around us, rocking on his heels. “Beautiful day out…” he murmurs, and I return his nod. “Not as beautiful as her, though.” He points to my left, where Riley’s stepping out of a town car, pulling out the train of her dress.

For a second, I regret our choice to make this moment private. It’s not right that only myself and the man standing next to me are lucky enough to witness her looking as beautiful as she does. Her veil does nothing to hide the power of her smile when she spots us waiting for her. She thanks the driver, who closes the door after her.

She’d kept the dress a secret, not wanting me to see it until this moment. She picks the train of her dress off the ground and starts toward me. Every step closer, the air becomes harder to breathe through, until she’s standing in front of me—her hair loose from its knot, running past her shoulders to the lace of the top of her dress. A string of tiny buttons run down the front, between her breasts down to her waist, where her dress flares out, the fabric spread a few feet behind her and nothing, nothing, has ever felt more right, more real, more raw than every single emotion coursing through me.

“Hi,” she says through a shaky breath.

I place my hat under my arm and take one of her silk covered hands in mine, her other hand too busy gripping the glass jar. “Riley, you look…” I have no words to complete my thoughts.

“So do you,” she says, her head tilted, her smile just for me.

“Are we ready?” the celebrant asks, and we both nod, not once taking our eyes off each other.

And just like all those times I’ve said goodbye to the people we love, the words he speaks are generic. The feelings are not.

We say “I do” and kiss for the first time as man and wife and a moment later, we’re alone. Just me, Riley, and hundreds of fallen veterans, none more important than Davey O’Brien. She’s the first to break our stare, looking down and between us at the white granite marker with his name on it. She squats down, her legs hidden behind her dress and places the jar next to his marker. She runs her glove-covered fingers over his name and whispers, “It’s good to finally meet you in person.”

I laugh, because any other reaction would be too overwhelming. I sit down next to her, my knees raised, my elbows resting on them. “You wanted to be in my wedding, so here we are.” I take Riley’s hand. “Davey O’Brien, I’d like you to meet my wife, Riley Banks.”

Epilogue

Jeremy,

Sometimes I think about what it’d be like to meet you. Not the kid version of you I met years ago, but the version of you now. Crazy, I know, considering where you are but I can’t help it. I imagine walking into a bar or a party, holding Riley’s hand and you being there. You stand taller when you see us—or in Riley’s case—feel us, because you know as much as I do that it’s her presence that has heads turning. Not her looks, or her voice, just her.

I wonder what you’d say to me, or what I would say to you—or if we’d even acknowledge each other. And then I picture Riley… what she’d be like. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as clear as I do her.

She’d be looking down at her feet, all awkward-like and she’d probably let go of my hand… not because she’d be embarrassed to be seen with me, but out of respect for you. And you’d smile at her. The same way I would.

And that’s how I know that we’d get along—you and I—there wouldn’t be any awkwardness between us because we have one thing in common and, at the end of the day, it’s the only thing that matters.