Love in Slow Motion

21. Quinn

21 QUINN

3 years ago

There’s blood spewing out of my hand. Before I can stop it, it drips onto my dress. “Fuck!” I half-whisper, half-scream, rushing down the hallway. I can’t remember where the damn bathroom is in this massive castle of a church. So I go for the next best thing.

I throw open the door under the glowing EXIT sign and hold my hand out in front of myself, letting it bleed out onto the concrete at the side of the church. I need to put pressure on it, but I absolutely cannot get another dot of blood on my wedding dress. The damn thing is Vera fucking Wang, courtesy of the woman who is about to be my mother-in-law.

“Holy shit, Quinn. What happened?”

Reed appears out of nowhere. That’s what he’s good at, after all. Popping into my life when I least expect it. He takes my hand in his and wraps a long piece of fabric around it, which I quickly realize is his tie. Instinctively, my eyes go to his bare throat, where the top button of his dress shirt is open. They travel from there to where his sleeves are rolled up just below his elbows.

His voice snaps me out of it. “Do you think you need stitches? I can take you to the emergency room.”

I’m already shaking my head, pulling my hand away from his and cradling it against my body, now that there’s not blood free-flowing. “No, I just…” I don’t know what I’m going to say. I look down at the splatter of blood on my dress. There’s so much tulle that the blood is almost hidden in the folds of it.

Reed is looking, too. His eyes scan down my dress and then back up. When he sees that I’m watching him, he shakes his head in this really confusing way. “You look beautiful,” he says.

I swear something inside me cracks. Because I cut my hand on a pair of scissors that I was going to use to cut myself out of my dress. It laces up in the back and no one was around to help me out of it. But instead…I cut myself. And now I’m here, realizing how insane it is to be worried about getting blood on the dress when I was just ready to rip it to shreds. I grip my hand in a tight fist.

“What is it?”

I’m tempted to turn my back to him. Two years I’ve known Reed now, and more than anyone else, he always sees right through me. He can read me like a book he wrote himself. Turning my back will do no good. Nothing will. He’s already seen the doubt all over my face. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I whisper, halfway hoping that the words get swept away on the humid summer breeze.

Reed watches me, clearly trying to digest what I just said. This isn’t the time or place to have this conversation. We’re outside the far wing of the church, but someone is bound to come looking for us eventually. When I glance to my left, I can see the parking lot, can see my car. An escape.

“You’re having second thoughts.” It’s not a question. Of course it isn’t. Because Reed never has to question anything, it seems. He just always knows.

My face flushes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you into this. You’re his brother, for God’s sake.” I start to turn, not even sure where I intend to go, when Reed reaches out to touch my arm. His hand is a million degrees, his fingers on fire as he lets them slide from my upper arm, leaving tingles in their wake.

“Look,” he says when I’ve turned around to face him, “you can talk to me. Yeah, he’s my brother, but…” He sticks his hands in his pockets and looks down at the concrete, baking in the sun. “I think it’s normal to be freaked out on your wedding day.”

I let out a laugh that has no humor to it. “I don’t know about all that. I should be excited. And I am. I mean, this is the start of a whole new life for me, but…”

His bright eyes meet mine, so sincere, waiting to see what I’m going to say. There’s only one way through this: forward.

“I don’t know. We’re so young. And I’m worried that we’re going to regret this. I feel like…if my mom were here, she would tell me to wait. But if I call it off now, Chase will never forgive me.” That’s the first time I’ve said any of that out loud. Saying it makes it feel particularly true.

He’s silent for a moment, his eyes flickering over my shoulder. He takes a deep breath. “Quinn, you and my brother are great together. Everybody says so. You’re like puzzle pieces, fitting together perfectly.”

Yeah. Lives that make sense together, everything so perfect and logical and scientifically built to last.

“And not everybody waits until they’re thirty or whatever to get married. Some people just know they’ve found the One when they’re young.” He pauses, his eyes meeting mine. “Sometimes, you meet the right person, and everybody is telling you that you have to play the field and date a bunch of people, but you just know that the person you’re with is the right one for you.”

A lump forms in my throat. I think about that night, when I found out about my mom and called Chase. He was half-drunk, but he held me all night while I cried, fed me in the morning, took care of me for weeks after. Such a good guy. And he would make such a good husband. I don’t need Reed to convince me of that.

He takes a step toward me in this sideways fashion, so that we’re shoulder-to-shoulder, him facing the church and me facing the parking lot. “You’ve always known exactly what you wanted, Quinn. My brother loves you, and I know you love him. Don’t throw it away because you got scared.”

I turn my head to look at him, and he turns his head to look at me.

And I know he’s right.

I made the right decision, and I know that if I do something impulsive now, I’ll regret it forever. Impulsivity and I have never gotten along.

“Thanks, Reed,” I say. I look down at my wrapped hand. “I guess I need to figure out what to do with this. I’m guessing you don’t want your tie back.”

One corner of his mouth turns up in a smile. “That’s okay. Keep it. Something to remember this day by.”

I laugh and turn for the door. As I move past him, I pat Reed on the shoulder. “You look better without it.” I’m not even sure why I said it, but with my hand on his shoulder like this, I can feel the heat of him under his shirt, and my eyes get caught again on where his top button is undone.

“They’re probably looking for you,” he says, his voice low. My eyes travel up to his mouth and something in my stomach rumbles a little bit. It’s just nerves. Just weird, achy, uncomfortable nerves.

“See you at the altar,” I say.