Man of Honor (Battle Scars #3) - Diana Gardin Page 0,63

all. If they don’t, they can’t function. My mom dated a few like that when I was growing up. Your mother was a victim of his, probably more than you even know.”

“She died…” Her voice has dropped to a whisper, one broken and full of years of perfected sorrow. “She died a few months after. After Mikah and I were sent to live in North Carolina. My aunt brought us back to Kentucky for a quick funeral, but I still don’t know exactly what happened to her. I always thought…she just ended it all. There was nothing left for her.”

I rest my chin on her shoulder. “I’m sorry she had to endure what she did. And I’m sorry that you had to be so damn strong all the time…it wasn’t fair for a kid. But, Mea…I’ve never known anyone with more strength than you. And I served with men who could bench-press two or three of you. You are the strongest person I know.”

She leans back against me, allowing me to fully wrap her in my arms. She fits there, against my chest. I don’t know if I believe in the idea of two people being created to be together. I’m not even sure if I believe there is a higher power that created us all. Not with the childhood that I had. And now that I know Mea, I’m even less sure that God would allow a child to suffer as much as she did.

But if I did believe in any of that, it would be pretty damn hard to deny the fact that she is my perfect complement in every single way. Now that we’ve both stopped dancing around each other and have realized that we’re better together than we are apart, I can’t believe I spent the past few years keeping my distance.

What a waste.

“Sometimes, being strong is exhausting.” Her confession sounds like something she’s never said aloud. Her voice is weary, down to the very core of her. Her body sags against me, her head heavy against my heartbeat. But I know without a doubt how true her admission is.

“And those are the times that you lean on me, sweetheart. Let me be strong for you.”

I will be strong enough.

20

Mea

A few days after I brought Drake lunch at the garage, I’m sitting in Wilmington’s trendiest wedding boutique sipping a mimosa while watching Berkeley be fitted for her wedding dress. The frothy drink tickles my lips. On this Saturday morning, Berkeley isn’t the only bride-to-be donning a white gown, but in my opinion she’s definitely the most beautiful.

“Holy hotness, girl.” I eye her from top to bottom with true appreciation. “Every guest on that beach is going to hold their breath when they see you coming down the aisle.”

Berkeley turns this way and that, admiring her choice of dress in the three-way mirror while the seamstress looks on with happiness behind her.

“It’s amazing, Berk.” Chase’s wife, Shay, joins us today, and she looks positively radiant with her short, stylish garnet-colored hair and rockabilly flair.

Greta admires Berkeley’s dress with equal admiration. “I swear. Dare is going to have trouble standing there waiting for you to come to him. He’s going to want to leap over wedding guests to get to you.”

Berkeley’s lush curves are encased in an off-white fit-and-flare gown made of the softest crepe satin. The material fits flush on her torso and drips with the most delicate embroidered lace I’ve ever seen. The satin flares out at her knees, rippling into waves of silk that pool around her feet and trail out into a perfectly formed train behind her. More lace finishes the hem of the gown, framing the entire thing with pretty accents.

She turns around, and we all sigh at the appearance of the backside. The scooped back is dramatic, reaching down to the top of her tailbone. An illusion back gives a sense of modesty despite the plunging drop, and it’s littered with rhinestones and pearls. Wide lace straps finish out the stunning, runway-ready look.

Standing, I place my glass down on a side table. I glide over to my best friend and gather her into a tight hug. My own set of tears begins to prickle the backs of my eyes, and I blink rapidly to keep them at bay

“You are more than beautiful,” I whisper. “And I’m so, so proud of you.”

Two more sets of arms fold around us, and then we’re all entwined in a tangled mess of a group hug. When