Chapter 3 Beth
Beth
"I'm going to be the worst maid of honor in the history of weddings." My voice cracks on weddings, and I swipe at my cheek with the heel of my hand. It comes away black. Great. Now my mascara is even more ruined.
"Come on, Beth." Harper's hand finds my shoulder, her thumb tracing a slow circle against the fabric of my dress. "Of course you won't—"
"Harper. I just stood watch by the buffet eating shrimp all night, then disappeared. I didn't even give my toast as I was too busy crying by the lake." I press my forehead against my cool water glass. "Three hours. I was gone for three hours."
Behind the bar, the bartender runs a cloth through the same spotless pint glass for the fourth time, offering the professional courtesy of a man who has seen this kind of meltdown a dozen times before.
"You're doing that thing," Harper says.
"What thing."
"That thing where you apologize for having a normal human reaction to something that would've knocked anyone sideways." She pulls her feet up onto the stool rung. "Your ex-fiancé walked in with a brand-new fiancée on his arm. You're allowed to not be okay."
My eyes sting again. I blink hard. "But I was a wreck. I was the wreck that other wrecks look at and think, oh, at least I'm not that bad. The Maid of Honor is supposed to be there for the bride, not the other way around."
Harper takes my hand, her warm fingers wrapping mine.
"I promise I'll be better," I say, and I hate how small it sounds.
My eyes are wet again, and I stare at the bar's wood grain so I don't have to look at her.
"I was caught off guard tonight, that's all.
I didn't know he'd be there. But the wedding—I'll be ready for the wedding.
Three months is plenty of prep time." I turn my head slowly toward her and try a smile.
"And before the big day, I'll throw you a bachelorette party so good it'll feel illegal. "
Harper's face softens. "I know you will," she smiles. "And in the meantime, I need you to stop punishing yourself for having feelings. You didn't do anything wrong. You just hurt."
I open my mouth to argue, because recreational self-loathing is the cornerstone of my current vibe, but before I can get the words out, a voice cuts through from somewhere near the back of the venue.
"—I lost it, Ben. I know." Mason's voice, rough and stripped down to something raw. "I shouldn't have touched him."
"You tackled him, Mase." Ben's voice, tired but not angry.
Harper puffs, shaking her head. The ghost of a smile tugs at her mouth. She nudges my arm.
"See?" She nods toward the voices. "At least you didn't commit assault, I'd call that a massive win."
***
Arthur slips behind the bar and lifts a bottle of amber liquor from under the counter.
"Isn't that stealing?" I ask.
"Perk of volunteering to close up the venue." He uncorks the bottle and lines up four glasses, flashing a grin. "Relax, I'm kidding. I brought this from my own stash."
Knox extends a hand before Arthur can pour. "Sorry, I realize we've been at the same events for a while, but I don't think we've ever properly met. Knox."
I shake it. "Beth."
"Mason." The third alpha offers his hand. He’s a wall of a man, but up close, his light brown eyes are surprisingly soft against the dark frame of his hair. As I take his hand, I catch a faint, pleasant scent drifting off the two of them.
"Now that that's sorted—" Arthur pours, slides a glass to each of us, and raises his. "To..." He searches. "Broken hearts?"
Eh. Why not.
"To broken hearts," I say.
The first sip burns warm and smoky. Something behind my sternum loosens.
Mason reaches over the counter and refills his glass.
For a beat, no one talks.
"So," Arthur finally says, looking at me. "Got anyone else we can rope into this little pity after party?"
"Considering I shooed away Luna and Maren, I think we're it."
"Really?" He tries for a smile that doesn't quite land. "And here I thought you came as a package deal."
"Usually, yeah. But I wasn't exactly great company tonight, so I did the merciful thing." I trace a circle on the bar. "Maren's probably elbow-deep in dough by now—baker's hours. I've got a spare key to her place, so I told her to go."
Mason turns to me and raises an eyebrow.
"What? I'm staying in her guest room tonight," I say, which makes him turn back to his drink.
"And Luna?" Knox asks.
"I had to convince her a solo walk home after this catastrophe of an evening would do me wonders. She ended up relenting after about an hour." I shrug. "To be fair, the most dangerous thing in Lakeview after dark is Mrs. Patterson's Pomeranian, and I'm pretty sure it's asleep by now."
"Thank god for that," Knox says, a little too quickly.
I glance at him. "Sounds like there's a story there."
"One I'd rather save for another time," Knox says, taking a sip.
"Amen," Mason murmurs into his glass.
A quiet falls. Arthur tops off his drink and rolls the glass between his palms.
"Well, I guess we'll have to make do with our little committee here then," he says. "On the bright side, you get to hang out with the three best men who caused a scene at their best friend's engagement party—"
"And you get to hang out with 'Poor Beth,'" I finish. "I can already hear tomorrow's gossip. The maid of honor whose ex-fiancé stole the best men's omega."
Arthur stops rolling his glass. Knox drops his eyes to the bar. Mason's jaw ticks.
Right. Their omega. I keep framing this as my personal tragedy and forgetting they're standing right here in the wreckage with me.
I do feel bad for them, too, because I get it.
It's hard enough getting dumped without everyone in a thirty-mile radius constantly reminding you.
When Grant left, I had exactly eight hours before the first how are you holding up, sweetie?
landed. Not that I don't appreciate people caring, but the line between concern and pity is razor-thin.
And since tonight happened, I'm pretty sure I'm on for a whole new cycle of sympathy.
"At least tonight's done," Arthur finally says, pouring another round. "One bad party—"
"Don't forget that asshole is also gonna be at Ben's couples shower with our omega and we have to be there and play nice," Mason cuts in, his knuckles white around the glass.
"And the wedding," Knox adds. "And every other event before that."
I look up. "What?"
"Didn't you know?" Arthur asks, looking at me. "Grant's family holds business contracts with Ben's dad. He can't exactly be uninvited without it becoming a business thing."
I let out a long breath. Close my eyes. Open them. "Of course he'll be there. I should've known this wasn't going to be a one-time thing."
Arthur makes sure all four glasses are full again.
"Yep, this is our fate for the next three months," he says, setting the bottle down with a sigh. "Showing up to events where our exes parade around while the whole town whispers about us and pities us."
Mason shoves his empty glass forward across the bar without a word and nobody talks for a while. The venue settles around us, pipes clicking, and Knox pulls out his phone, scrolling.
"You know," Knox says eventually, his eyes still on his screen. "Something's been bugging me."
"Only one thing?" I say.
"Jessica left four months ago," he continues, not looking up. "That's not that long after your ex left, right?"
"What are you getting at?"
"What I'm getting at—" He looks up. "Before she left, Jessica was glued to her phone. It'd been like that for a while—work stuff, she said—but around the time Grant left, the timing shifted... Do you have any idea where he went? After he left?"
"I—Uh, I'm not sure, he didn't post anything online.
I checked. Every day for—" My face goes hot and I study the wood grain.
"Anyway. There's nothing there." I take a breath.
"He always talked about wanting to go back to Asia, though.
Phi Phi Island. Thailand. That's... where he proposed to me. Two years ago."
Mason goes very still. "Wait. You don't think—"
I stare at Knox. Then at Mason. Then back. "Don't think what?"
"Jessica's been in Asia." A beat. The three of them exchange a glance. "We've... kept tabs. Ahem. Anyway," he's scrolling now, thumb moving with purpose. "Four months. Bali. Shanghai. Tokyo. Bangkok..." His thumb stops. "Phi Phi Island."
The blood leaves my face.
"Give me that," I say, my hand is already moving.
The screen is an Instagram post of Jessica on a beach during golden hour, the wind perfectly styling her hair.
She’s wearing a white linen dress, strappy sandals dangling casually from one finger.
The caption reads: Sometimes the universe just knows where you need to be.
??? It’s followed by an obnoxious wall of sixteen hashtags, including the obligatory #blessed, #wanderlust, and #livingmybestlife.
The post is three and a half months old.
I stare at it, my brow furrowing.
Hold on a second. I zoom in.
The limestone cliffs rising behind her. The longtail boats bobbing just offshore.
And the bar... the driftwood bar at the edge of the sand with the hand-painted sign that says RASTA BABY in chipped yellow letters.
I know that bar. I sat on a stool at that bar two years ago while the man I love got on one knee in the sand and asked me to spend the rest of my life with him.
That bar is not where most tourists go. It's an hour hike past the main beach.
"Beth?" Arthur's voice, closer than I expect. "What is it?"
I don't answer and swipe. Another photo, another sunset. Swipe. Swipe.
Then I see it.
A restaurant shot. Jessica posing with a coconut drink... But draped over the chair next to her is a sweater.
A very specific sweater.
Bright yellow. Oversized. Cartoon avocado on the chest. AVO GREAT DAY in sparkly iron-on letters.
I know that sweater. I watched Grant bring it back from his office Christmas party seven months ago.
It was a Secret Santa, from "just his coworker" Jessica.