Chapter 19
My knee bounced uncontrollably as the plane started down the runway and the flight attendant went over the basic safety measures. I tried not to listen. Probably not an ideal decision, but I’d heard it before. Besides, in case of an emergency, I’d probably faint, so I’d be no help to begin with.
I bit into a ginger chew and begged the sky gods that we would get up there safely and I wouldn’t puke. Oh God, I hoped I wouldn’t puke. I’d done enough of that this morning and in the bathroom right before we boarded.
There was literally nothing left in my stomach. Unless I counted ginger chews, then I might be in trouble. I’d been popping them like popcorn from the minute I left the bathroom.
“How you doing, Rosebud?” Wyatt asked, taking my hand.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the gentle squeeze of his hand, the warmth absorbing into my skin and spreading through my arm.
My eyelids fluttered open. I turned to him, and a laugh burst free.
The flight attendant hesitated in her speech; a few people turned.
I slapped a hand over my mouth as Wyatt continued to stare at me with a paper mask of Albert’s face.
“What even is that?”
By the way the paper moved, I assumed Wyatt wiggled his eyebrows behind the Albert paper cutout. He pointed to the mask. “Emotional Support Albert.”
I choked on my ginger chew. “You’re nuts.”
“Nuts, comic relief? Potato patato.”
“Isn’t it tomato tamato? Who the hell says patato?”
“Okay, slow it down there, Dr. Suess.”
I snorted as he lifted his hands and motioned down.
“You’re so weird.”
“Yet here you are. Sitting next to me. Questionable life choices and all.”
The plane lurched forward as the engines roared louder, and my laughter died in my throat. My grip tightened on his hand, most likely cutting off the circulation, but he didn’t say a word. My heart battered my chest, and my breath came out in uneven rasps.
Wyatt’s thumb ran over mine, stroking soothing circles.
“I hate this part,” I whispered.
“I know.”
The wheels lifted off the ground, the plane tilted, and my stomach rolled. My eyes slammed shut again, and I buried my head in the comfort of Wyatt’s shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he assured me, his other hand sliding into my hair and holding me close. I focused on the soft, soothing strokes of his thumb, the tender touch of his other hand, the press of his lips against my temple.
“I’ve got you.”
And I believed him.
He had never let me down in the decade we’d been together. If anything, I had let him down.
The plane evened out, and the panic died, but the realization that I was keeping something from him—something huge—settled heavy in my chest. It was just one more way I was going to let him down.
Wyatt had always been my safe space, my steady place to land. And here I was, flying through the clouds with a secret that would change everything.
I pulled back just enough to look at him, his paper Albert mask now resting in his lap, his eyes on mine with a softness that made my throat ache. He didn’t deserve anything I had put him through.
I didn’t deserve his gentle touch, sympathetic gaze, or perfectly timed humor.
Not when I was lying to him.
This weekend couldn’t end soon enough.
For now, I settled back against his shoulder, let his arm wrap around me, and tucked the guilt down deeper for a little longer.
“I’m okay now,” I said.
“You sure?”
“No.” The word burst out with a laugh that teetered on a sob. “But I will be.”
***
Wyatt swiped the card in the hotel door and pushed it open.
“Shit,” he hissed.
“What’s the matter? No fridge?” I pushed past him and paused as my eyes skated over the rose-petaled hearts on the bed and our initials in the middle. A bottle of champagne chilled on the bedside table and… “Are those towel swans?”
He ran a hand over his face and exhaled between his fingers. “Yup. That’s exactly what that is.”
“They really went above and beyond.”
“I forgot I ordered the romance package when I booked. I thought it would be funny. It completely slipped my mind. I’m sorry.”
He dropped his luggage and hurried to the bed. “I’ll clean it up.”
I grabbed his arm before he could push our initials into a forgotten pile of soon-to-be-dying petals. He straightened, eyes boring into mine.
“It’s sweet,” I said.
His gaze darted toward the bed, an exhausted sigh releasing. “It would have been sweeter if I could give you what you want.”
Tears pricked my eyes, and I bit my cheek to divert the pain from my heart. “What we had was real.”
“Apparently not real enough.”
His words slammed into me, hitting low below the belt and knocking the damn wind out of my lungs. What we had was more real than anything I had ever experienced in my life. How could he think…?
“Sorry.” He ran his hand over his face. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s been a long day, and I’m—”
“No,” I said. “You’re allowed to have feelings, Wy. You’re allowed to be mad at me. Please be mad at me. I deserve it.”
I deserved every harsh thought he harbored deep inside. Every horrible feeling he’s felt since…
He shook his head, his hand coming up and cupping my cheek. I turned into it, wanting the warmth of his touch. “I can’t stay mad at you, Rosebud.” His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, soft and full of affection that was so distinctly Wy. My chest tightened, and guilt tugged at my gut.
I closed my eyes just for a second, relishing the gentleness of his caress. Imagining how this would have played out if I hadn’t thrown a monkey wrench into our lives.
“I don’t want you to forgive me, because you always do. I want you to be honest with me. I need you to be.”
He took a step back, his hand falling to his side, bringing a blast of cold through my body.
“Okay,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.
“I’m angry. I’m confused. And I’m trying like hell to figure out how we went from us to this.
This awkwardness where I don’t know if I can touch you or if I’m crossing a line.
Not knowing what you’re thinking and what you’re feeling.
I hate this. Hate every fucking thing about it.
And there’s nothing I can do, because at the end of the day we want different things, and that’s not something I can fix with a joke. ”
The rawness in his voice twisted my stomach and shame flooded through me. “You should hate me.”
“I could never.”
“I hate myself. Hate that I can’t get past this.
Hate that I changed on you.” My voice cracked, but I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t. Not when the words had been living under my skin for too long.
“I didn’t want to walk away from you. From us.
I didn’t want to leave you. But if I stayed.
I was afraid I would resent you, and then you would resent me for wanting more. You don’t deserve that.”
His jaw clicked and tightened, eyes burning into mine like he was trying to find the version of me he understood.
He stepped toward me, determination in his movements. His hand lifted, my breath caught, and a knock at the door blasted through us like an invisible wall. “Rose—”
“Hey fuckers, the party’s here!”
Wyatt sighed, and his hand fell before it ever touched me. The loss of his warmth and the gentle caress I had relished for so long broke every piece of me that still loved him.
Disappointment spread into my veins, and anger burned through me.
Not at Wyatt. Never at Wyatt. At me. For thinking what we had wasn’t enough.
That he wasn’t enough. Since I’d walked away, I’d been in hell.
Desperate for any moment I got to see him, hear him, witness that smile and laugh that was so distinctively Wy.
Absorbing every crumb I was lucky enough to get, and when we’d part ways, those crumbs became my lifeline. Without them, without him, I was empty.
Another loud pound came from the door.
“I need to open that, or he’s going to barge through like the Kool-Aid man, and I don’t want to be responsible for that destruction.”
I nodded, unable to get words past the massive lump in my throat.
Wyatt closed his eyes, ran a hand over his face, and yanked the door open. A huge smile curved his lips, his eyes wide with excitement and joy as he slammed into Chris and bear-hugged him.
An unsettled feeling grew in my gut. I’d seen the mask slip into place before, but never like that.
He was far from happy, but for his friends, the people who expected him to be the joyful one, the fun one, he’d fake it.
And while I wanted to run into the bathroom and hide until the wedding, I wouldn’t leave Wy to fend for himself. If he could do it. I could do it.
We were teammates for life.
I fixed a smile on my face and stepped over the threshold, immediately spotting Cynthia. “Cynthia!” I exclaimed like I was the happiest person in the world and tossed my arms around her. “How was your flight?”
She rolled her eyes and nodded toward Chris. “Someone started pre-gaming on the plane. He’s already drunk. I told him we’re not in college anymore, and we have a wedding to be in tomorrow.”
“They never learn, do they?” I said, glancing at Wy, who was reenacting some story, hands and arms flying about.
“No, but I swear if he pulls this shit at our wedding, he’ll be spending his first night as a husband on the couch.”
I smiled when I really wanted to say he chose you.
He’s marrying you. Why would you punish him for celebrating and having some fun?
But I wouldn’t do that. Not to a friend who had held my hair back on more than one occasion when college nights got a little crazy, or who helped me demolish a quart of ice cream right out of the container when I was panic-eating before a big exam.
“He’ll be too mesmerized by you in that amazing wedding dress and trying to find ways of ducking out of his own reception and getting you to your room. ”
Cynthia’s laugh echoed through the hallway. “Want to put money on that?”
“Never,” I said and laughed with her.
She brushed a hand over her hair, her engagement ring catching the light of the chandelier above us. An unexpected rush of sadness slammed into me. Cynthia got her ring. She got her dress. And pretty soon she’d have her bachelorette party and wedding, too.
I couldn’t turn the jealousy off. The harder I tried, the stronger it grew, seeping out the sides of my resistance until I couldn’t ignore it any longer.
“I need a drink,” Cynthia said, hooking her arm into mine. “Preferably something with bubbles and a cherry.”
A new wave of panic struck me. I had plans to slip into the reception early tomorrow and pay off the bartender. I didn’t make plans for the night before. This wasn’t good. I needed a new plan.
Chris slung his arm around Wyatt. “Room bar or hotel bar?”
My mind drifted to our room with the rose-petal hearts.
“Hotel bar, of course,” Wyatt said, glancing toward our door. “We can see everyone checking in from there.”
“Bigger party. That’s what I’m talking about.”
Wyatt’s gaze caught mine for a split second, and his mask slipped. Exhaustion flickered in his eyes, but the mask went back into place, and he jumped on Chris’s back and kicked his foot against his side like a horse.
“Giddy up,” he said, and Chris took off, bouncing while Wyatt twirled his arm in the air.
Cynthia and I followed, giggling at the show. It was funny. It was. But Wy was tired, and I knew by the end of the night he was going to crash.
I’d be there for him like I always was. But for now, I needed to figure out how to avoid drinking without raising concern.
Cynthia knew me too well. If I passed on a glass of champagne, she’d notice. I needed a distraction—something clever that would keep a drink in my hand and wouldn’t send up flares.
Club soda with lime? Ginger ale in a rock glass? Something that looked like fun but wouldn’t tip the scales. But what if she heard me order? What if she took a sip?
I couldn’t have her figure it out before I could tell Wyatt.