Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
GRAYSON
S omehow, the guys got roped into doing all the last-minute wedding setup, but I honestly don’t mind. Putting out place cards at table seats is distracting me from Abby’s texts from last night, saying her bed will be open for me tonight. I swear she enjoys teasing me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and speak of the devil, it’s Abby.
“Hey, gorgeous,” I answer, only realizing afterward I might be on speakerphone if she’s with all the other bridesmaids. Oh, wait, that still checks out if we’re keeping up the act in front of Harper’s friends. It seems so long ago that we were purely acting, when in reality, it’s only been a few days.
“Hey,” she says, a pleased note in her voice. “I need your help with something. Can Owen spare you?”
I glance over at Owen securing the fresh flowers he picked up from the florist onto the wedding arch. A few feet away, Eli is putting centerpieces on the tables. Yeah, I think they’ll be fine without me. Nothing here is life or death.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“The bakery called Harper because their truck broke down, so they can’t deliver the cake. She’s kind of freaking out about it.”
That seems like a simple enough fix. “You want me to drive to town and pick it up?”
“It’s a bakery in Kirkwood, so it’ll take a while to get. And Harper wants two people to go, one to drive and one to sit in the backseat to make sure nothing happens to it.”
Geez, she’s paranoid.
“I’m the only one completely ready,” she continues, “so I offered to go with you. If you’re not too busy setting up. Or still need to get ready yourself.”
I check my watch. Two hours until the ceremony. It’ll take at least half an hour to drive there, maybe five minutes to pick up the cake, then another half an hour back. Me, Owen, and Eli aren’t dressed yet, either. We didn’t want to set up in our suits. How long can it take to put on a suit, though?
“Yeah, I can make it. I’ll swing by your place to pick you up.”
“Okay, see you in a few.”
I tell Owen the new plan and he shoos me toward my car, not wanting Harper to freak out about this any longer than necessary.
When I get to Abby’s, I text her and wait in the driveway, only half paying attention before she walks out of her house in a slinky burgundy dress that has my head turning. Holy fuck, she looks hot.
I get out of the car and walk toward her, taking in the way the silky material clings to her, the peek of cleavage at the neckline, how she even seems to carry herself differently wearing it. Her blonde hair is styled in loose curls, makeup done more heavily than I’ve ever seen it. But that’s not what draws me to her. It’s something about her . Something irresistible. How did I never see it before?
“You look incredible,” I tell her, loving the blush that creeps over her cheeks.
She stops in front of me but doesn’t move any closer to kiss me in greeting.
“Worried Kristen’s spying on us?” I ask, nodding toward the front window.
She smiles. “More that I’ll mess up my lipstick. I’m not used to wearing it.”
“I would love to mess it up.”
She playfully nudges my arm. “Come on. We can do that after we get the cake.”
Good thing she’s being responsible, because all I can think about as we leave Crescent Pass and get on the highway is getting her out of that dress tonight. Hell, maybe even at the wedding. Would anyone notice if we snuck away? Owen’s house will be open. I doubt he’d care if we use his room to blow off some steam.
Sliding the silky fabric up her legs, bending her over the side of the bed. Finding her wet for me, wanting me to take her. Or maybe her kneeling in front of me, smearing that lipstick all over my cock.
Fuck, I cannot be getting turned on right now. I’m driving. And Abby would be mortified at the depraved things I’m thinking of.
Then again, she’s been a lot wilder than I expected. And she’d certainly sucked me off enthusiastically the other night.
No, what am I thinking? This is Owen’s wedding day. As his best man, I should focus on that. And then tonight, when it’s over, I can have Abby. A perfect end to a perfect week.
My gut twists at the thought of driving back home tomorrow, but I push it aside.
“You have any kind of bridesmaid speech planned for the reception?” I ask her, trying to think of a safe topic.
She gives a quiet scoff. “No, me and public speaking don’t mix.”
“But you’re a librarian. Don’t you do storytimes for kids or something?”
“That’s different. Children aren’t there to judge you.”
“None of the adults would either.” There’s nothing about her that’s unlikable.
She smooths her hands over the silk fabric of her dress. “I know. I guess I’m just used to… being in the background.”
“Not in that dress.”
I take my eyes off the road for a moment to find her smiling at me. “You know what I mean.”
“Do you want to be in the background?” I can’t relate, but Owen’s always been that way.
“Yes… and no. But mostly yes. I don’t know, it’s complicated.”
I suppress a grin. “Why?”
She’s quiet for a minute, seeming to collect her thoughts. “Do you remember years back these memes that talked about the mortifying ordeal of being known?”
“Um, vaguely?”
“It’s from a larger quote from a New York Times piece. It talks about how if you want to reap the benefits of being loved by someone, you also have to submit to them knowing everything about you. The good and the bad.”
My interest sharpens. “Do you think there’s something bad about you?” What could be bad about Abby?
She shakes her head. “No, that’s not what I’m trying to say. More that the article always stuck with me, because I identified with it so much. I never put myself out there because I don’t want people to judge me. Or maybe don’t want to find out how little they think of me.” She glances at me quickly, then away.
I frown. “Why would they think that?”
She throws her hands up. “I didn’t say it was logical. Don’t you have anxiety?”
“No.”
She stares at me. “Seriously?”
I shrug, scratching at my jaw. “Maybe when it comes to my mom.”
“I’d probably have a nervous breakdown if Cheryl was my mom.”
“It’s a wonder Kristen and Owen aren’t in an asylum already. They have to deal with her way more than I do. You’re lucky your parents are chill.”
A sigh escapes her. “Well, they come with their own set of challenges.”
Oh, shit. I forgot. “I’m sor—”
“No, don’t be.”
There’s a beat of silence. “How’s your dad doing?” I ask, remembering how tired she’d seemed on the ride home from her parents’ house.
She shrugs. “As good as he can be.”
“And your mom?”
“Same.”
It’s funny, as quiet as she used to be, this week she hasn’t stopped talking to me. Except for this. “The other night, you said we’d talk about this another time.”
She makes a hmm sound. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
And yet, she still doesn’t speak. Okay, message received. “You don’t have to—”
She reaches over and places her hand on my leg. “No, I want to. I just don’t know what to say. My dad’s not himself anymore. And it only keeps getting worse.”
My heart twists for her. “How long has this been going on?”
“It started about six years ago.”
Wow, that long? I wonder why Kristen never mentioned anything. Then again, why would she? It’s not like I’ve ever asked about Abby.
“Do you talk to Kristen about it?”
“Not really. She has her hands full with Jenny and Jamie. I have… nothing.”
There’s something painful about the way she says it, loneliness seeping through her words.
“That’s not true.” If Abby thinks she has nothing… What do I have?
She chuckles, but there’s an edge of bitterness in it. “That sounded dramatic, didn’t it? I only mean I don’t have the same kind of responsibilities as she does. With kids and a significant other and everything.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to talk about it.”
“I know, but what is there to say? I help out every week but there’s nothing I can do to help him . I have to watch as he slowly becomes this other person, and all the while I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something really bad to happen. Like the fall.”
There’s that twist in my chest again, stronger this time. I wish I could take this burden from her.
She wipes her eyes, and I’m suddenly aware this is the wrong time to discuss a sensitive subject. She just had her makeup done for the wedding. “Hey, let’s talk about this later. When we’re not rushed for time.” Kirkwood’s exit isn’t that far away.
“When? You’re leaving tomorrow.”
And there’s another stab in the chest. I’m going to need some antacids at this point.
As much as I hate to admit it… we’re running out of time.