The Wedding Knight: Code of Love

"What can a man do but try his destiny?" — Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

"Do the right thing cause after the tears come the cheers." — Earl Simmons (DMX)

Chapter 1 

It was a chilly spring night, and winter's sharp teeth were still slobbering over the cursed lands of New York City. Instead of heading home after the wedding reception, we were stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Long Island Expressway, with nothing but miles of red taillights in front of us. Every time I jammed on the brake pedal, I felt the nagging gremlins of tomorrow crawling up my strained calf muscles.

With the moon climbing faster into the cloudy night than the gridlock pushed forward, fatigue was setting into my back only twenty minutes into this unexpected sidequest. The thermal heat radiating from my damp satin dinner jacket battled the frigid outside air for control of our foggy windshield.

In the passenger seat next to me, my wife kept staring at the climbing ETA on the dashboard's bright screen. According to the sorcery of Google Maps, the route would take us an hour and a half away from home. Against our will, the gods shoved us toward a kingdom we had never heard of, deep in Billy Joel Country. It was obvious that our much-needed night away from the children was dead on arrival, decapitated by the ghost who haunted our backseat.

The mosh pit of cars on the I-495 strangled itself somewhere between Brooklyn and Queenslanding, ominously trapping us in between several historical cemeteries. The somber sea of lonely headstones along the roadside raised the tension in the car slightly. "What type of evil builds a highway through hallowed ground?" I thought, inching farther into the Nowhere. A dreadful, intrusive thought brought a smirk to my face as I thought about the perfect analogy for tonight. It was the dark comedy only a guy named Edgar could appreciate.

Between the snail-like traffic, I couldn't help but steal glances at the gorgeous woman sitting next to me. Carolina looked stunning in her skintight black one-shoulder cocktail dress. It accentuated every inch of her beautiful, tanned collarbone that my lips craved to kiss. Her luscious golden-brown curls gracefully cascaded down her soft copper-toned cheeks like wild vines in an enchanted rainforest. The blood coursing through my chest knew she was my forever, and I couldn't wait to continue our happily ever after back home, whenever this long, emotional day came to an end.

After an incredible Saturday of dancing, drinking, and partying like teenage fauns, my lanky, aching legs felt every stupid second of the forty-something years I had jousted in this world. There was no doubt that getting out of bed tomorrow was going to suck, but it was all worth it after seeing my queen smile again.

As Carolina's smooth bronzy skin seductively shimmered in the crimson glow of the brake lights ahead, I thought about my boundless obsession with her. I loved her in ways that even many of my closest friends would never understand. She was more than my wife and the mother of my children; she was my salvation. I worshiped her in ways only warriors at death's door cherish a second chance at life. Her undivided attention meant everything to me, and knowing she treasured me in the same glorious dawn made my addiction to her presence feel guilt-free, like devouring pasta before a run.

However, our dream night of parental freedom took a startling turn back into reality as soon as we left the banquet. Our romantic plans for the evening were hijacked by the obligation to do what was right. The body wanted to go home and lie with my wife on our new bed, but the code would not allow me to act on my desires. The world entrusted this burden onto my soul, and I felt bad for my wife, caught in the middle. With every inch we pushed into the literal dead end of New York, my guilt for ruining her night grew.

Still in shock but looking fabulous in her smoky eyeshadow, Carolina stared out at the congested road when her cellphone suddenly started vibrating. Breaking free from her exhausted trance, she whispered, "It's your mom," as if we had just been caught making out on the couch. Her face grew anxious as she pressed the Apple-forged blade to her ear and said, "I'm so sorry. We had an emergency." Turning my attention to the traffic, the barricade of red brake lights began to miraculously dissolve, and we rushed forward into the black night.

Finally picking up speed, our mighty steed of steel and rubber dashed through a plethora of sinful Long Island drivers who lacked both proper signaling etiquette and honor. With Mobb Deep's "Front Lines" playing from the speakers, crossing the endless darkness of the L.I.E. was as intimidating as the River Styx. We were ascending into a suburban underworld that even the great Dante would avoid.

As we drove by the numerous roadside memorials to slain motorists of the beltway beast, I sat up straighter like my life depended on it. Their tragic endings, marked by white crosses and fresh plastic flowers, made me grip the wheel tighter than the shame of wearing a purity ring. I wanted no part of New York's unofficial sixth borough and couldn't wait to escape across the Whitestone.

About a half hour into our journey, I could feel my eyes becoming ironclad heavy with every blink. Looking over at Carolina, I could see that her eyelids had lost the battle with gravity as she peacefully swayed with the car. Suddenly, a disembodied, husky voice from the backseat came to life, blurting out incoherent nonsense about the miserable Metropolitans of Queenslanding.

The haunting exclamation pulled my wife out of her "just resting" coma, and she carefully looked at the backseat, afraid of what she might encounter. I adjusted the rearview mirror and saw the dark silhouette of a pale, ghostly face, severed from the shadows. If my eyes didn't know the phantom head floating in the darkness, I would've been terrified beyond the dungeons of Elm Street. It was as if Sir Zordon of Celestial Grove hitched a ride with us to the afterlife.

As I tried to make out the details of the familiar swollen face sitting right behind me, a trail of blood started running down his cheek. Was his eye bleeding?

Fuck!

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Chapter 2 drops June 1st, 2026.