Title: Last Time
Summary: "I'm sorry it took me so long, and I'm sorry for leaving you. For Joel. For everything. I just don't want you to go." ZW
Pairing: Zoe/Wade, post 3x21
Dislaimer: Don't own 'em. Also don't own "The Last Time" by Gary Lightbody and TSwift. Listen to it—you know you want to.
"All roads—they lead me here."
When the supposed love of your life leaves you, and then the other love of your life—the one you haven't labeled as such, even to yourself—says he's leaving too, you know what doesn't help? Two weddings and an engagement.
All Zoe Hart can think when she hikes up her floor-length dress to dig her heels into the Alabama sand is that Wade Kinsella is in Atlanta right now, planning to put down roots in a place other than where she's planted herself.
Lemon's restaurant is scorched clean on the inside, so the only place to hold the tossed-together ceremony is in the middle of town at the gazebo. When Zoe sees the trailing wildflowers and the white fold-out chairs and the ribbons tied to the arches, she thinks it was the right decision anyway.
She takes her seat on the groom's side of the audience and does a quick cataloguing of the bride's side. There are a lot of thick-rimmed glasses and flat brown hair, but she doesn't see the person who drove a truck through her heart. For that she's grateful.
The ceremony is quick and sweet and thankfully doesn't include any impersonations. The same can't be said for the reception, where Brando gives a speech comprised entirely of every impersonation he's ever done. Zoe doesn't mind. His impersonations are a Wilkes tradition, and they remind her of the family she found here.
When it's her turn to stand up, Zoe has the speech ready. She holds up the notecards and reads dutifully, and she knows it will come out fine—Brando and Sylvie will be happy and the guests will shake her hand afterward.
But even if they're happy with it, she's not. She knows Wade Kinsella should be here making it with her.
Her heels get tangled in her floor-length dress as she presses harder on the gas of Lavon's SUV. She's got three hours according to her GPS, but she doesn't have enough patience for two more minutes.
She speeds up and then feels the wheels lose traction on the slick road—her stomach gets lodged in her throat until the wheels find their grip again.
She doesn't slow down.
Her hair is a flat mess around her head and she has a mysterious brown stain in the middle of her sky-blue dress by the time she makes it. Lavon will be pissed about the little half-moon nail marks in the soft leather of his steering wheel.
Wade told her where he'd be—talked with his eyes shining about the hip bar next door to where his Rammer Jammer might go—but she knows better than to interrupt. She doesn't want to derail him from his success. The only thing she wants more than for him to succeed is for him to stay. Too bad they're becoming mutually exclusive.
He comes out alone after awhile, dressed in a gorgeous charcoal grey suit she's never seen before. He looks perfect against the backdrop of the Atlanta swank, and she feels the weight of that big brown stain on her chest. He's grinning so wide it's like someone holds his mouth that way.
She turns on her stiff high heels, but it's too late. She stands out in the same way he does.
"Doc!"
She turns back and he's in front of her in that wonderful suit. There's an actual pocket square folded up and tucked neatly into his pocket. It has threads of the same grey as the suit and accents of yellow. His tie is yellow to match.
"Who are you?" she says.
"You like?" he asks, raising his arms up and shaking his torso. "Lavon's idea. Doc, what are you doing here?"
He beams, giving her a view of every white tooth. Suddenly she can't. She really can't.
"I just—I was just—"
His happiness starts to drip off of him. "Doc? Something wrong?"
"No, I—"
She can't say it. She can't beg him not to go when he's finally found something that makes him this happy. He didn't come chasing after her in New York even though he must have wanted to. He let her go. She has to let him go, too.
"Zoe? You're scarin' me. Why'd you drive all the way here?"
"I just—I shouldn't have—I shouldn't have done this. I should go."
She turns but he grabs her arm, pulls her back. "Don't you dare, Zoe Hart. Why are you here?"
She wants to cry. Their situations are mirrored, and she remembers the rejection she heaped on him last time. The same fate could await her now, and she can't take the hard note in his voice on top of that fear.
"Don't be mad at me," she says, her vision going blurry.
"I'm not," he says, but he sounds angry. He must realize it, because he takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his coiffed hair. It flops over into his eyes. "Zoe, I'm not. I'm just confused."
"I'm in love with you," she says finally. It feels great, so she says it again. "I love you, Wade. I'm sorry it took me so long, and I'm sorry for leaving you. For Joel. For everything. God, I just—I don't know what I'll do if you go."
His eyes drill into hers. He puts his hands on his hips, rethinks it and tucks them into his pockets. Then he pulls them out and runs both through his hair. "Want to come to my hotel?"
"Okay."
The hotel is walking distance from bar. They ride the elevator in stiff silence, standing almost close. He gets out at the 8th floor and she follows along after him. He slides his key into the hotel room door but doesn't open it quickly enough—the green light turns red and the door locks itself again. He tries a second time, and they make it inside.
"Zoe—"
"Wade—"
"My turn," he says, and she nods.
"Look, Zoe, I'm sorry if I doubt you, but we've been here before. And every time we're here, you find a reason to walk away. And if I give up this opportunity and you walk away—"
"No," she interrupts, and he quirks an eyebrow. "I don't want you to give up this chance. I want you to franchise the Jammer—Wade, I'm so proud of you. I just don't want you to leave forever. I don't want you to move."
"Are you sure this love thing you're feelin' isn't because I'm the one who's leaving this time?"
She just stares at him for a second, letting that sting settle in. He looks like he's sorry, but she's not interested in making him apologize. "I guess I deserve that. No, it's not. Remember how you kept saying I still loved you? I think I always knew—I mean, I didn't, I denied it, but I think I still knew. Joel just seemed easier. I could picture our life more clearly. But maybe I was picturing the wrong version of me."
"Well, I think you always were."
"I just—I think you fit who I am. Who I really am. I'm not a New Yorker anymore. I'm from Bluebell. And I want to be there—with you. And I'm so sorry it took me so long. And I know you let me go last year when you were in my place, and I'm sorry I chased after you—I wish I could let you go too, but I can't."
"Doc," he says, and he finally walks closer. The clean scent of him wraps around her, and she doesn't want to be released. "I ain't mad at you for coming here. I mean, I'll be back in Bluebell Sunday, so I think this was a little dramatic—" she shifts, and he grins and puts his hands on her waist. "But I ain't mad."
He leans toward her but she leans back.
"I love you too, Zoe," he says, staring into her eyes, answering a question she was afraid to ask.
"Even now?"
"Especially now."
"And the rest of it?"
"We'll figure it out. You just proved it doesn't take that long to get here."
"Only a million years. And I'm missing the reception for this."
"I bet we can do something just as fun."
He walks her backwards until the backs of her knees brush against the bed. She's suddenly so glad she's here, glad she chose to come even though he'll be back Sunday—glad they're in this hotel room together and on the same page. Finally.
"I think I believe you."
"This is the last time I'm asking you this,
put my name at the top of your list."