8. Archie
8
ARCHIE
B isexual.
He’s bisexual.
Why can’t he just be gay and in the closet? How that’s any better, I don’t know. But when he told me he loves her—there was something missing when he said it. If he were actually gay and deep in the closet, I think that would make sense.
I’d understand he loves her but can’t ever actually love her like that. But he does love her like that, so why does he look so sickly green any time the wedding comes up?
And why can’t I stop thinking about him?
“Hey. It would be great if you pulled your head out of your ass.” My eyes snap to Jackson, who’s watching me with far too much amusement. I realize I’ve overwatered the plants I just put in the flower bed around the porch. The guys are still working on a few things—Oakley and Walker being the guys —but Jackson and I are working on the beds.
The flower beds I just flooded the shit out of. “Christ.” I stop the water and try to shrug it off. “Totally meant to do that.”
Jackson just grins and shakes his head, but he doesn’t ask me anything else. Thank God it wasn’t Walker. He’d be grilling the hell out of me about where my head is at, and the truth is, I have no idea.
It’s only been three days since my talk with Cane, and I feel like I’m ready to climb out of my skin. I want to talk to him more. I want to ask him so many questions, but then I see Evie—sweet Evie, who’s currently trying to pick out the perfect porch swing and smiling with Oakley—and I feel guilty.
I did nothing wrong. Nothing. But it feels wrong because deep down, I know if I had a shot with Cane, I’d take it. I’m not proud of it, but it doesn’t make it any less true.
She’s laughing at something Oakley said when I see the familiar truck pull up. I notice a bunch of furniture that looks like it’s falling apart in the back, and then I notice the way Evie lights up when she realizes her man is home.
I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to know if my face does that same thing when I look at him. But damn it, he doesn’t give me a choice. Walking up to greet us, he shakes Jackson’s hand and then reaches for mine. “You all are working late.”
“We are?” I have no idea what time it is.
Evie, however, must because she climbs done the newly finished steps and wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him hard on the mouth. I have to look away, watching it is too painful. It’s been too long since I’ve felt that mouth on my own, and to know that it will never happen again—yeah, it’s ripping me apart. “I was just telling Oakley he better get home to his husband.
“My husband is for sure still at the office,” Oakley says, following her down the stairs. Walker follows him, but his eyes are on me. Damn him for being way too observant.
“Well then, you should get your butt to the office and whisk him out of there for a nice dinner. It’s Friday night, after all.”
Oakley grins, clearly down with that plan. “Doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I’ll get the stuff ordered for the swing, and hopefully we’ll get it done early next week.”
“I cannot wait.” She beams at him, leaning into Cane’s big body now with his arm around her. His eyes meet mine, and I can’t tell, but something seems off. He looks like he feels guilty too.
Which is ridiculous. It’s not like he cheated—a fact I’m coming to realize.
“I’m ready to head out, boss,” Jackson says. “Give these flowers a chance to dry out.” His big hand slaps me on the shoulder, and I grumble.
I look at Evie sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”
She looks at her poor drowned daisies and cackles, waving her hand. “Oh, they’ll be just fine. They’re gorgeous.” Her bright eyes look up at Cane. “It’s all starting to come together. And just in time.”
It’s fast—so fast I’m not sure I actually saw it—but I swear for a moment his expression is morose instead of filled with joy. He does a good job of hiding it though, smiling down at her without even looking at the progress we’ve made. “It’s looking great.”
“Well, seems like you two might have a date night of your own. We’ll get out of your hair,” Oakley says, and as polite as Evie is and as happy as she is getting all this work done, it’s clear she’s ready to have some alone time with her man.
Great. Just great.
“You know, I think I might stay for a bit,” I blurt out to the obvious confusion of everyone.
“What?” Oakley is the only one to actually ask.
“I need to plant a couple more flowers around the tree out back. I already dug ’em up. I should get it done before I leave for the weekend.”
He’s looking at me funny, and I can feel Walker’s eyes on me, clearly not understanding what my deal is but still being the best friend he is. He sighs and says, “Okay, I’ll stay and help you get it done.”
“Nah, man. I’m sure Dutton is ready for you to be home too.” Now I feel like an ass, knowing how long of a week it’s been. And the kitchen is finished as of today, so they have plans to use it. Some over-the-top dinner Dutton has planned.
“I can take you home,” Cane says, surprising me so much my knees actually wobble.
“What?”
He looks a little sheepish but shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”
Evie laughs and pats his chest with her small hand. “Such a sweet fiancé I have.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“It’s no problem.”
Already feeling like an idiot and knowing I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do to Walker later, I nod in acceptance. They all pile into the work truck and head out, while Evie and Cane go inside.
I head out to the back to finish up work, and by the time I’m done, Cane is there—his hair wet and wearing different jeans and a t-shirt than he was wearing earlier. “Sorry, I felt pretty dirty after the day I had. Had to take a quick shower.”
I hate myself for wanting to lean in and get a better whiff of his masculine soap but just smile as we walk to Evie’s car.
“Evie suggested we take her car since my truck is full of junk,” he says as he unlocks the small, clean car, and we both climb in. I feel a little guilty for dirtying up her car with the day’s grime.
“She didn’t want to make the trip to Hayes?” I ask with what I hope is a light, airy tone and not in a bitter, jealous, total shithead way.
“Nah. She has an event tomorrow and wanted to take the time to finalize everything. She was probably happy to have me out of the house for a few hours.”
Yeah, I know that’s not true, but I don’t argue with him. “So what kind of day did you have?” I ask as we make our way onto the highway between Larnard and Hayes.
“Went all over. Found a really great dresser. Solid oak.”
“You already have plans for it, don’t you?” I ask because I can see the wheels in his mind turning. I haven’t had a chance to stop by his store yet, but Evie did show me one of the barns that holds several of his projects the other day. The man certainly has a gift.
“I do,” he says with a deep rumble.
“Well, maybe I’ll have to stop by that little store of yours someday and see it. I could use a new dresser.”
He glances at me for a moment, his look so intense, I can barely breathe, but it lasts for only a second before he’s looking back at the road. “That would be good.”
It wouldn’t. We both know it. The more time we spend together, the more dangerous it is.
“Yeah,” I say stupidly because what else is there to say. This drive is so fucking long. What the hell was I thinking? I know though—deep down. I just wanted more time with him. Which is so unfair to both of us. “Two weeks from tomorrow,” I say softly, and I notice his hands clenching the steering wheel tighter.
“Yeah.”
“You excited?” That sounds friendly, right? Just a little bit of conversation between two guys who happened to fuck once, and now one works for the other right before his big wedding to someone else. Totally normal.
“Something like that,” he says grimly.
It’s pissing me off. I mean, at least act happy if you’re going to go through with it, right? No one is forcing him.
My fists clench against my thighs as I tell myself to just shut the hell up. But that’s never really been me. “Are you marrying her just to please your father?”
The truck jerks slightly as he looks over at me so fast, I’m a little worried he hurt himself. But he rights the car, and he keeps his eyes on the road. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t seem happy for a guy who’s about to be married.”
“I’m perfectly happy.” I watch his jaw flex tightly as he glares at the road ahead.
“No, you aren’t.” I have to reach up and grab the oh-shit handle he thankfully has because he jerks the car to the side of the road so fast, I’m thrown to the right, and then he puts the car in park and glares at me. “Damn, learn how to drive, asshole. You might not care about your life, but mine’s pretty great,” I snap, and he just sits there and glares at me, not speaking.
It makes me nervous as hell, but I keep my mouth shut for once.
Finally, just when I can’t take it anymore, he speaks, “This is none of your business. Why I’m marrying her. If I’m marrying her. It’s none of your business.”
“If?” I ask, staring into his eyes, studying them. I see the pain there. The confusion. I want to make it better. I also kind of want to punch him in the face to wake him the hell up. “You don’t want to get married. Why are you doing it?”
“I love her,” he says firmly, and it’s like a sharp stab to the gut.
“But you don’t want to marry her,” I try, and why? Why am I doing this to myself? He was a hookup. One time. That was it. It shouldn’t matter. Who cares if he left when I didn’t? Who cares if maybe, just maybe, we could have been more? We aren’t.
“I don’t know.” He’s quiet and turns away from me, slinking back into the seat and looking straight ahead at nothing.
“You could wait.”
He slowly turns to look at me, and yeah, I know it’s stupid. Something I shouldn’t have said. “I can’t keep putting it off. If I don’t marry her this time, it’s over.”
“If you don’t want to marry her, isn’t it over anyway?”
“What should I do, huh?” He’s looking at me head-on now, his big body turned in the small car as much as he can. “Break up with Evie? Toss away a decade’s worth of love and what? Date you? Fuck you one more time until you get it out of your system?”
It stings that he thinks so little of me. “You think that’s all I want?”
He rolls his eyes at me. “You were waiting for a hookup that night. It was obvious you were no stranger to it. If I wouldn’t have left, would you have been there in the morning?”
So he thinks I’m a player? Well, he’s not wrong, but it still pisses me off.
“If you expect me to be honest, maybe you should try it too.”
I nearly gasp at him calling me out like that. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.
But it seems we are about to.