Trish's heart squeezed painfully. She wanted to reach out, to hug him but the look on his face stopped her. It was faith—the desperate kind that hurt to watch.
She glanced toward Joey, hoping for some kind of reassurance, but he merely shrugged. His eyes, though, told a different story—full of pity, frustration, and the unspoken truth that none of them wanted to say aloud.
Trish sighed, her chest tight. As she turned to walk back toward Sylvia, she murmured under her breath, "God, I hope she gets her head out of her ass soon."
Joey leaned toward Winn. "I'll go talk to the guests," he murmured. "Try to buy you some time. Tell them to be a bit more patient." His eyes scanned the pews — the restless movement, the whispers, the sideways glances. They were all waiting, half out of curiosity, half out of pity.
Nothing was more brutal than the collective anticipation of a wedding that might never happen.
