“Hey,” he snaps, turning in his seat. “I would never use you like that.”
“And yet, that’s how it feels.” I take a step back and hold up my bag of stuff. “I’m worth so much more than a bag of stuff. I’m worth more than how you’re treating me right now, Brig. My eyes are open now. And I’m done waiting for you to open yours. And the truth is? I’m sick of throwing myself at you, only to share you with some ideal of a person you have in your head. I’m over it . . . and I’m done.”
I hate that I was right. I hate that while he was spending time with me, enjoying our time together, his heart was never mine. The girl in front of him, who cherished every moment with him. No, his heart was with his fictional girlfriend, who he’d shared intimate secrets with. And unbeknownst to him, I know them all. Fuck that.
I spin on my heel, agony clogging my throat as I head to the back door of my apartment. The worst part of those ten feet to escape? They’re eerily silent. The gravel crunching under my shoes is the only sound in the mid-morning air.
“It is my honor to present to you for the very first time, Mr. and Mrs. Rogan Knightly.”
The backyard of Snow Vale erupts in cheers and applause as Rogan and Harper hold up their joined hands and then lean in for one more kiss. A happy tear falls down my cheek as I clap for the couple.
Together, looking beyond happy, they make their way down the aisle, Harper in a simple lace A-line dress and Rogan in a handsome navy-blue suit with mustard-yellow tie. They head to the porch of Snow Vale where the photographers start taking pictures.
The rest of the wedding party, which includes Griffin and Ren, Reid and Eve, and Brig and Jen, make their way down the aisle. I keep my eyes turned down, unable to look at Brig. During the ceremony, I made sure not to look at Brig, even though I could feel his eyes on me.
“Cocktail hour will be held on the west side of the house, so please follow our waitstaff,” a caterer says from behind the seats once the wedding party finish walking down the aisle. Luckily, they’re off to take pictures as well.
Job number one at this wedding: celebrate Harper and Rogan.
Job number two: avoid Brig at all costs.
So far, I’ve accomplished both. I figure once I make it through dinner and the cake cutting, I’m good to go. No need to stay and party when I feel like there’s a machete slowly churning over and over in my stomach.
I’ll be surprised if I can eat food at this point.
“That ceremony was so beautiful. Rogan’s vows, they kicked me in my romance-loving heart.” Rylee dots at her eyes with a lavender embroidered handkerchief. “I really need to write a story about their love. High school sweethearts, tragic loss, back in town rekindling. Gah, it’s everything.”
“It was pretty amazing, but not as amazing as ours,” Beck says, wrapping his arm around Rylee’s waist and kissing the side of her cheek. “Time to get you liquored up. Triplets are with your parents, which means Mommy and Daddy are on the loose.” More like Mommy on the loose; Beck doesn’t drink.
No better feeling in the world than feeling like the third wheel of two parents gone wild.
Note the sarcastic tone?
“Play your cards right, Wilder, and you might be on the receiving end of a mind-alternating blow job.”
“This is fun,” I mutter, walking behind them.
“Something to say?” Rylee asks over her shoulder.
“Nope.” Drinks, I need drinks.
More like shots.
Or, you know . . . a bottle might work too.
Probably sensing the third wheel behind him, Beck grabs me by the shoulder and pulls me into his chest along with Rylee. “Are we ready to have some fun, girls?”
“Sure,” I say, the lackluster tone in my voice a siren for a questioning friend.
Rylee stops our threesome and turns to me. “Okay, I’ve let you sulk long enough. What’s going on?”
I glance around. Relatives surround us, what feels like the entire town is bustling about, looking for an appetizer or a drink—this is not the place.
“Not here,” I say.
“You know what, why don’t you two go occupy one of those tables by the woods, one of the private ones, and I’ll grab us some food and drinks? How does that sound?” Beck says, ever the doting husband.
“You’re a good man,” Rylee says, squeezing his cheeks and bringing his lips to hers.
“Love you.” He turns to me and asks, “What do you want to drink?”
“Anything with heavy, heavy alcohol.”
“Looking for the ‘please help me forget’ drink. Got it.” Rylee and I work our way through the crowd to the back of the property where there are bistro tables bordering the treeline. They’re far enough apart for privacy from everyone.
After taking a seat, Rylee turns to me, crossing one leg over the other, looking beautiful in a purple one-shoulder dress that does everything for her complexion. “Now, let’s just—”
“I slept with Brig.”
Rylee’s mouth nearly drops to the table as she stares at me, unblinking. “Uh, what?”
“Last night,” I say, twisting my hands in my lap. “After the party, he wanted to talk. He uh . . . gave me oral on the counter of the Parlor, and then took me upstairs to his place, where we did it four more times.”
Rylee braces her hand on the table. “Oh my God, I can barely—”
“And then he semi-ghosted me.”
The smile on Rylee’s face falls. “What do you mean he ghosted you?”
“I guess not ghosted me, but when he dropped me off at my place, he basically said he was confused and doesn’t know what to do. He’s invested in the girl he’s been sending letters to.”
“I am going to freaking scream,” Rylee says barely above a whisper, her brow pinching.
“What did I miss?” Beck asks, setting down drinks and a large plate of delicious appetizers.
Rylee takes her drink from Beck, downs half of it, and then says, “She slept with Brig, and he then pretty much blew her off this morning.”
“What?” Beck fires up, glancing around the venue, probably searching out Brig. “Where is he?”
I reach up and tug on his arm. “Stop. You’re not doing anything at a wedding.”
“I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”
Zero to sixty. The man is humming with anger and even though I appreciate his protective instincts, I don’t want him to do anything that will take away from Harper and Rogan’s wedding.
“Rylee, please take hold of your husband before he does something stupid.”
Standing, Rylee pushes Beck down on her seat and then sits on his lap, looping her arm around his shoulders. His clenched fist rests on her thigh. “How did he blow you off?”
“Honestly, I have no idea what happened. We were having a great morning, we had shower sex—”
“Ugh, he blew you off after you had shower sex? That’s messed up. Shower sex is sacred; you just don’t take it and bolt,” Rylee says. “Only special couples get shower sex in my books. What a waste.”
“Anyway,” I drag out. “I got dressed and when I entered his living room, it was as if he’d done a one-eighty. His personality was dulled, he was pensive, and he barely looked at me. I knew. I honestly knew what was coming. When he dropped me off, he said he was confused because he was talking to this other girl and he doesn’t like to lead people on.”