Chapter 63 The Dance
Harper's POV,
The DJ announced the father-daughter dance. Brianna stood up, looking around the room with confusion before her face fell. Her father was in prison. There would be no father-daughter dance.
The DJ, realizing his mistake, quickly moved on. "And now, we invite all couples to join the newlyweds on the dance floor."
Crew extended his hand. "Show him what real looks like."
We moved to the dance floor along with dozens of other couples. The music was something generic and romantic, the kind of song that plays at every wedding.
Crew pulled me close, one hand on my waist, the other holding mine. We swayed together, and for a moment, I forgot where we were. Forgot about Joel watching from the head table. Forgot about the three hundred guests and the photographers and the performance of it all.
"You're a good dancer," I said.
"Don't sound so surprised. Hockey players have excellent balance and coordination."
"You've been practicing, haven't you?"
"Mike's wife taught me last week. Said every man should know how to dance with the woman he loves without stepping on her feet." He spun me gently. "Am I doing okay?"
"You're doing perfect."
The song changed. Then another. We stayed on the dance floor, dancing through three songs, just existing in our own bubble.
Until Joel tapped Crew on the shoulder.
"Mind if I cut in?"
Every muscle in Crew's body went rigid. I felt his hand tighten on my waist protectively.
"Actually, I do mind," Crew said evenly.
"It's just one dance. Harper and I have history. I think I deserve—"
"You don't deserve anything." Crew's voice was still calm but with an edge that made Joel step back slightly. "You had ten years with her. You chose to throw that away. You don't get to interrupt our dance at your own wedding because you're feeling nostalgic."
Joel's face flushed. "Harper, do you want to dance with me or not?"
I looked at him. Really looked at him. He was sweating slightly, tie loosened, desperation in his eyes. He looked like a man drowning and reaching for anything to keep him afloat.
And I realized: I didn't want to dance with him. Not even for closure. Not even to prove I felt nothing.
I just wanted him to go away.
"No," I said simply. "I don't want to dance with you, Joel. I want to dance with my boyfriend. At your wedding. To your wife. Who's sitting right over there watching this entire interaction."
Joel glanced back at the head table. Brianna was indeed watching, her face a mixture of humiliation and rage.
"Right. Of course. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—" He backed away, stumbling slightly. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."
He retreated to the head table. Brianna said something sharp to him. He sat down heavily, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him.
"That was satisfying," Crew said.
"That was sad." I rested my head on his chest. "He's completely falling apart."
"Not your problem to fix."
"I know. But it's still sad to watch."
We danced for another few minutes before I felt eyes on us. I looked up to see several of Joel's groomsmen watching us, whispering to each other. Then Joel's mother, staring with barely concealed disgust. Then more guests, phones out, clearly filming or photographing.
"We're the entertainment now," I murmured.
"Want to leave?"
"Not yet. One more thing I need to do first."
I pulled away from Crew and walked across the dance floor, past the other couples, straight to the head table where Brianna sat alone. Joel had disappeared, probably to the bathroom to have a breakdown.
Brianna watched me approach with wary eyes.
"I'm leaving," I told her. "Crew and I are going back to Seattle. But before I go, I wanted to say something."
"Let me guess. You're sorry? You didn't mean to make a scene?" Her voice was bitter.
"No. I wanted to say that you deserve better than this." I gestured to the reception, to Joel's empty chair, to the whole elaborate disaster. "You deserve someone who chose you first. Not someone who settled for you because he was too scared to be alone. And your baby deserves parents who actually love each other."
"You're giving me relationship advice at my own wedding?"
"I'm giving you the advice I wish someone had given me ten years ago. It's not too late to choose yourself. To admit this isn't working. To get out before you waste a decade like I did." I took a breath. "You're not trapped, Brianna. You just think you are."
"Easy for you to say. You're not seven months pregnant and married to a man who's still in love with someone else."
"You're right. But I was someone who stayed in a relationship long after it stopped working because I thought leaving meant failure. And I'm telling you—staying in something broken isn't strength. It's just fear with a different name."
Brianna was quiet for a long moment. "Why are you being nice to me? I slapped you. My father tried to send you to prison."
"Because holding onto anger was hurting me more than it was hurting you. And because you're not my enemy. You're just another woman who made choices based on fear instead of self-respect. I know what that's like." I stepped back. "Good luck, Brianna. I genuinely mean that."
I returned to Crew. "Now we can leave."
We collected our things from the table. Said quick goodbyes to Todd from accounting, who drunkenly told us we were "the real love story of the evening." Made our way toward the exit.
We were almost to the door when Joel intercepted us.
He looked wrecked. Hair disheveled, shirt untucked, eyes red.
"Harper, wait. Please."
"Joel, go back to your wife."
"I can't. I can't do this. Any of this." He was talking too fast, words tumbling over each other. "This whole wedding is a lie. The marriage is a lie. I'm standing up there making vows I don't mean to someone I don't love while the person I actually love is walking out the door. How is that fair?"
"Life isn't fair. You taught me that when you dumped me six months ago." I looked past him toward the reception, where guests were starting to notice this conversation. "Joel, you made your choices. You proposed to Brianna. You planned this wedding. You said vows in front of three hundred people. Those were your choices. And now you have to live with them."
"What if I don't want to? What if I want to leave? Get divorced. Come to Vancouver. Prove I can be the man you deserve?"
"Then you're still making it about what I want instead of what you want. And that's the problem, Joel. You've never known what you want. You just know what you think you should want. What other people expect. What looks good." I felt surprisingly calm saying this. Clear. "I'm done being part of your identity crisis. Figure out who you are. What you actually want. But do it without me."
"Harper—"
"Goodbye, Joel. I mean it this time. Actually goodbye. Don't text. Don't call. Don't show up in Vancouver in six months with some grand romantic gesture. We're done. Forever. Accept it."
I walked past him, Crew at my side. We pushed through the doors into the cool evening air.
Behind us, I heard someone call Joel's name. His mother, probably. Or Brianna. Someone pulling him back into the performance.
We got in the car. Crew started driving.
I waited for the tears. For the breakdown. For the overwhelming emotion of closing that chapter.
But it didn't come.
I just felt... empty. Wrung out. Like I'd been carrying something heavy for so long that putting it down left me feeling weightless and strange.
"Are you okay?" Crew asked after twenty minutes of silence.
"I think so. I thought I'd be more upset. But I just feel relieved." I looked at him. "Is that weird?"
"Not even a little bit."
"I wasted so much time with him."
"You lived so much life with him. There's a difference." He reached over, taking my hand. "Harper, those ten years weren't wasted. They taught you what you don't want. What you won't accept. What you deserve. Without those years, you wouldn't be who you are now."
"That sounds like therapy talk."
"It's true therapy talk. Dr. Okonkwo would be proud." He kissed my knuckles. "You're allowed to grieve the time. But you're also allowed to celebrate who you became because of it."
We drove in comfortable silence. The city lights of Seattle appeared in the distance. Home. For one more night.
Tomorrow we'd start packing. Loading the moving truck. Saying goodbye to Maya's apartment and the city that had broken us both and somehow helped us heal.
But tonight, we'd just survived.
Joel's wedding. The final performance. The last chapter of a story that had defined me for too long.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"For what?"
"For not punching Joel when he asked to cut in. For defending me without making me feel like I needed defending. For being exactly what I needed tonight."
"Always." He squeezed my hand. "Now let's go home. Maya's probably pacing a hole in her floor waiting for details."
"She absolutely is."
We pulled into the apartment complex. Took the elevator up. I was still in my burgundy dress, makeup smudged, hair falling out of its style. I looked like I'd been through a war.
I felt like I'd won one.
Maya opened the door before we could knock. She took one look at my face and pulled me into a hug.
"You did it," she whispered. "You actually fucking did it."
"I did."
"How do you feel?"
"Free."
And for the first time in six months, I actually meant it.