During the reception, after Zach and I had our first dance, which was to Luke Bryan’s “First Love Song,” everyone danced to “Gangnam Style.” It was so cute and delightful to watch Zach dance the moves with our grandparents. I thought they did it better than he did. It was plain hilarious watching our parents take a stab at the popular dance craze. Watching them pony across the floor made me laugh until I cried. My dad, who I thought had the most rhythm of everyone, tripped over his foot and fell flat on his face. And not because he was drunk. But he got up and got right back on that pony.

Everyone was dancing and having a blast when the local police interrupted our celebration and forced the DJ to stop the music.

Coming over to where Zach and I were, one of the men said, “Mr. McConnallay, I have a warrant for your arrest.”

What the fuck?

Taking Zach’s drink from his hand, the officer pulled a pair of cuffs from his handcuff holster and said, “I need you to turn around and put your hands—”

“Excuse me!” I blurted. I stepped between Zach and the man, preventing him from cuffing my husband. “Whoever’s sick joke this is, it’s not funny.”

“Ma’am, I can assure you that this is not a joke,” he replied. “I have an arrest warrant for you as well.”

“What? What for?” I asked, now confused. Zach asked the same.

“For assault and battery. Now I need you and Mr. McConnallay to put your hands behind your backs.” Another officer came over and started assisting him by applying my cuffs.

“I didn’t assault anyone. What the hell are you talking about?” I said.

Zach looked shocked.

 “I’m their attorney. I need to see those warrants,” Matt said. Matt, who was tall and athletically built, with brown eyes and dark hair, was a damn good attorney, Zach’s best friend, and one of his groomsmen. He was also my best friend’s man and the father of their little girl.

After Matt reviewed the arrest warrants, he looked at us and nodded. “It’s legit. Henry Epps has filed assault and battery charges against both of you for an incident that occurred at the Blue Moon Bar and Grill on the sixth of October, where you allegedly attacked, assaulted, and battered him, resulting in injuries, including a broken nose and a busted lip.”

“That son of a—”

“Don’t say anything, Abi,” Zach interrupted.

The officer read us our Miranda rights as I stood in disbelief. I couldn’t believe it. I was being arrested on my wedding day, and in front of our more than three hundred guests and my daughter.

“Bro, what the hell is going on?” Xander, Zach’s older brother, asked.

“You wait just one goddamn minute here,” my grandfather, my mother’s dad, said, rolling up his sleeves. “You take your damn hands off my granddaughter and her husband right damn now. Who the hell do you think you are, coming in here, breaking up these kids’ wedding?”

“We have warrants for their arrests,” the officer replied.

“Ah, nonsense,” my grandfather said, waving the man off, his blue eyes getting darker and flashing fire. “That isn’t a goddamn warrant. It’s a piece of paper you wipe your ass with. Now undo their cuffs and get on out of here, and leave these babies alone so they can have their wedding in peace, or I’m going to kick y’all’s asses.” He stood tall, his six-foot-one, broad farmer’s frame ready to throw down.

“This isn’t Texas or any of those states down south,” one of the officers said. He had obviously noticed my grandfather’s thick southern accent, and the cowboy hat and boots he wore made it a no-brainer. “Step back and shut your mouth before I arrest you for assaulting officers and obstruction of justice.”

“You should be glad that you’re not in Texas or any of those states down south. Otherwise, I’d have my cowboy boots deep in your ass by now. And they are a size thirteen, so go figure. Now—”

“Pa-pa!” I blurted, just as he seemed to have added an inch or two to his stature.

“Sir, step back or I will arrest you,” the officer said, showing my grandfather his cuffs.

“Why the hell are you dangling your goddamn sissy cuffs in my face like you are expecting a red-light special or something?” my grandfather said, mocking the officer.

“Pa-pa!” I yelled. I was also taken aback by his reference to the handcuffs and red-light special. I couldn’t and didn’t want to imagine my grandparents doing anything daring in the realm of bondage. I shook that thought from my head quickly.

I needed to defuse the situation and calm him, quickly. I knew from experience that when my grandfather got that Jack D—Jack Daniels—in his veins, he turned into a badass. He would’ve gone John Wayne on anyone he thought was threatening him or his family.

“How are you going to get me out of jail if you’re locked up with me, huh? Now stop it,” I said.

“Okay, angel face,” he said. He gave the officers one final grim look. It was an I-meant-what-I-said-about-kicking-y’all’s-asses look. I knew that look as well.

Why the hell did that sick son of a bitch wait so long to file charges? And to do this on our wedding day…the motherfu—

The same officer interrupted my thoughts. “I also have an arrest warrant for Dr. Adam Winterfield.”