Three Buses And A Father’s Pride, All Pushed To The Spare Table Chapter 03

Three Buses And A Father’s Pride, All Pushed To The Spare Table Chapter 03

Caleb reached for the run sheet back.

I didn’t let go.

The paper made a tight sound between us.

He lowered his voice. “Don’t make a scene.”

I asked, “Why isn’t my father on here?”

Caleb looked around.

The staff, the makeup artist, the coordinator—all pretending to be busy.

“This run sheet was finalized a long time ago.”

“Finalized without my father?”

His jaw tightened more.

“He’s not used to this kind of event. Calling him out would just make him uncomfortable.”

I looked at Chloe.

“And her parents are comfortable?”

Chloe’s eyes welled up again.

“Clara, if you’re upset, I don’t have to go up there. Caleb just thinks my parents have helped him so much over the years. He’s loyal…”

She bit her lip.

Caleb stepped in front of her immediately. 　　“Enough.”

He looked at me, his voice cold now. “There are dozens of guests out there. Do you have to turn every little thing into a battle?”

Before I could answer, my father stood up.

He wiped the blood from his hand with his sleeve and put that hand behind his back again.

“Clara, stop asking,” he said quietly. “They don’t have to mention me. I don’t care about that kind of thing.”

He looked at me and tried to smile. 　　“As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”

I looked at that smile and couldn’t speak.

His suit cuff was wet. His hand was bleeding.

And there was a tiny pinhole on his chest where the corsage should have been.

He was the father of the bride.

And he looked like the one person who didn’t belong at this wedding.

Patricia Vance walked over.

She glanced at the run sheet in my hand, then at me. Her smile had faded.

“Clara, the ceremony is starting.”

Her voice wasn’t loud, but everyone nearby could hear her.

“When you get married, you learn your place. Your father already said he’s fine with it. Do you really need to embarrass everyone like this?”

My father nodded right away. 　　“I don’t mind. I really don’t.”

Then he pulled at my sleeve.

“Clara, don’t change anything. Don’t make more trouble for them.”

Leo stood off to the side. His fists were clenched tight.

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something.

My father shot him a look.

Leo’s shoulders dropped.

Then Dylan Miller walked past and deliberately slammed into Leo’s shoulder.

Leo stumbled half a step.

Dylan smoothed down the boutonniere on his chest and laughed.

“Don’t block the way. I’ve gotta get on stage in a minute.”

That boutonniere had been Leo’s.

Leo kept his head down. His throat moved. He didn’t say a word.

I looked at my father’s bleeding hand. At my brother’s empty chest. At the run sheet without our father’s name.

I didn’t ask again.

I just folded the paper slowly.

Caleb thought I was finally backing down. His face relaxed.

He stepped closer, his voice softer.

“That’s better,” he said.

“We’ll deal with everything after the wedding.”

The coordinator ran up with the final script and handed it to the host.

I looked up. On the first page, in bold, one line:

Special thanks to Ms. Chloe Whitmore and the Whitmore family.

My father’s name still wasn’t there.

The lights dimmed outside.

The host’s voice came from the ballroom:

“Ladies and gentlemen, the ceremony is about to begin.”

“First, let’s thank the special family members here today…”

My father straightened up automatically.

He rolled down his wet cuff and smoothed the wrinkles in his old suit.

Like he was afraid he wasn’t presentable enough.

But the next second, a cameraman walked past him and muttered under his breath:

“Sir, could you move to the side? You’re blocking the shot of the familytable.”

My father froze.

He stepped back slowly.

He didn’t stop until he was standing right next to the kitchen service door again.