Best Man Speaking (Until You Find It #1)

Prologue

Hallie - 18 Years Old

M arcus finds me in my gran’s attic, back flat on the bare floorboards, eyes red and trained on the vaulted ceiling. He lies down next to me, our shoulders brushing, his pinkie finger finding my own to hook around. Only with the touch of his warm skin do I notice the chill of my own, this fall being unusually cool.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, turning to look at him.

I don’t care about the dried tear tracks that are most likely permanent fixtures on my face at this point. I let him see.

“I’m here to make sure you shower, eat, and at least consider sleeping,” he replies with a gentle bump of his shoulder to mine.

Of course, he knew my parents were at the will reading this afternoon, not that they were likely to show their less-than-attentive faces here.

I try to smile at this boy whom I love, but instead, my eyes well, a sob making its way out of my mouth.

It’d taken me an hour to calm myself down after I’d watched a professional removals team make their way through my grandmother’s house and pack her belongings, completely detached from the fact this had been a person’s home. That until three days ago, it’d been warm and full of life, my place of refuge. But in a single, piercing moment, my world had stopped and was suddenly devoid of the woman who’d loved me most in this world.

My throat aches, perpetually parched because of my unending tears, and my heart? It’s never known pain like this. A deep wrenching that eases in one moment only to show back up tenfold, stripping me of my breath in the next.

It is relentless, unbearable.

I don’t know how people deal with loss so great, how they manage to move on.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I gasp through my tears.

I know I’m not making it easy to be my person. To be the one who looks after me, who looks out for me.

But Marcus is trying. He’s here, still dressed in his work gear, steel-cap boots and all. I’m grateful for the navy sweatshirt his boss gave him when he started; it’s well-worn now and dark enough that my tears won’t leave obvious marks.

Marcus sits up, pulling me into his lap, his back pressed up against the attic wall.

We’d cleared this space out about a year ago, a place where we could go to just hang out, my gran’s only condition being we ate dinner at her table before we left for the evening. It had been the sweetest deal there ever was.

“Shh, it’s okay. I promise it’ll be okay.”

“How? I’m alone now. I’m?—”

I’m unable to continue my thought.

That I’m alone now. That my parents are divorcing and selling their house to flee to opposite ends of the country, far away from each other and the child they wish they’d never had.

I’ll go to college and have no family to visit.

I’ll have no home to come back to.

It’ll just be me.

“You have me, and you have Jules,” he says, naming his brother and my best friend.

“I know.”

But it’s not the same. Not really.

Gently and ever so soothingly, Marcus traces his fingertips along the skin of my arm, touching me until my tears slow and my breathing settles. We sit quietly even as the big window at the back of the room shows the late-afternoon sun giving way to early evening.

“You know, she’d wanted to renovate this space, to put skylights in so we could see the stars from inside,” I say when I can finally put words together again.

“Sounds like a good idea,” he replies, still soothing me with his touch. I let myself melt a little farther into his body, secure in his ability to hold me.

“Me too. I’d love to be able to see the stars from my bed one day.”

“You will.”

I take confidence from his tone and think of my future self in this house with its red front door, the kitchen that’ll smell like home-cooked meals, and the stars I’ll be able to see from bed.

My parents’ house is unsurprisingly quiet when Marcus finally convinces me it’s time to go home.

It’s the first time he’s been in my bedroom, not because he isn’t allowed—I actually have no idea if I’m not supposed to have him here—but because I didn’t want him to associate me with this place, with its coldness and sterility. This home that isn’t a home but a display house for a display life.

My room is a strategic mess, with wardrobe doors flung open to display pictures of all the places in the world I can’t wait to see. Close them, and it’s just another room in a cookie-cutter house.

Head tipped upside down, I towel dry my hair, taking peeks at Marcus where he reclines on the pale-blue pillows of my bed.

“I love you, you know,” I say as I stand up straight, flipping my hair back, only to have it fall around my face.

“I know,” he replies smugly, and I’m certain he feels the same way, even if he doesn’t say the words as often as I do. Weirdly, it’s his tone that gives me confidence. It’s the same one he used every week for months on end when he’d find me alone in the library to ask if I was ready to be more than just friends with him. My best friend’s brother, the one with the fuckboy reputation, only faltered in his smugness the day I finally said yes.

He reaches out, snagging me and pulling me down to the bed. He tucks me in beside him, my head on his chest.

“You fit good here,” Marcus murmurs into my still-damp hair and squeezes me in a little tighter.

We lie together until, finally, the tension from my body eases. And then, because grief is wicked, my sadness rises once more. This time, I push it down and lift my face to his.

I’ve had enough tears for today.

Tentatively, I touch my lips to his, tracing my fingertips along his jaw, down his neck, over his heart, and beyond the muscles of his stomach before finding their way under his shirt.

“Hallie,” Marcus groans against my neck as I continue to wander lower. “Slow down.”

I ignore him, sucking on his lower lip. I’m desperate to be lost in him, in his touch, in us.

I kiss him again and again, pressing closer, my tongue curious, our legs twining. With the heat of his skin steadying me, I slip a finger into the belt loops on his pants, and with the lightest of tugs, I roll us onto our sides. The change in positions aligns our hips, causing pleasure to rocket through my veins. He is hard between my thighs, and nothing has ever felt more perfect, more needed.

I struggle to let him go, even for the single moment it takes for me to sit and pull my shirt over my head. I unclip my bra, and Marcus curses.

“Hallie. Do you really think this is the best idea?” he asks, voice torn, and I’m grateful to him for checking.

He’s always making sure everyone around him is okay, but no one more than me.

“I’m sure,” I breathe, pulling him back toward me. Over me.

Uncertainty flicks across his features, and I worry he’ll refuse, even though it’d be okay if he did.

I swallow a sigh of relief when he cups my face with both his palms and presses his lips to mine. I run my hands beneath his shirt, lifting it up and over his head, bringing our chests flush against each other, our hearts closer.

I know in that moment, he’s what I want, what I’ll always want. That what we have together is everything.

Marcus moves away to remove his pants, getting a condom from his wallet. I tell him I have one, too, if we need it.

He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, my lips, and then our hands move lower, our bodies twisting, the pleasure immeasurable . Each of his touches is full of reverence, and he takes his time as he explores, encouraging me to explore. He might be the one with more experience, but my curiosity is immense. His reaction to my touch emboldens me, the rough texture growing in his voice filling me with confidence. And when he moves above me, asking for a final time if I’m sure, there’s no word for me other than “yes.”

There’s a pinch, a breath suspended, but it doesn’t hurt. Nothing about us hurts.

Marcus twines his fingers with mine, and he doesn’t let go.

Later, Marcus quietly puts on his shirt. “You going to promise to marry me now?” It’s not the first time he’s asked, but it’s the first time I don’t laugh or try to brush it off with a maybe if you’re lucky . I know he wants exactly what his parents had. To be happy and grounded and here. But there’s a whole world I need to see. That I want to see with him. I think of his reassurance from earlier and remind myself that we’ll figure it out, we have time, that it’ll be okay .

“Yeah,” I finally reply, my voice sleepy and low in the dark room. “I’ll marry you.”

The bed dips where he places his knee, leaning over me to put a kiss to my forehead, all that’s visible above my sheets.

“I’ll be yours, Hal, and you won’t be alone, I promise,” he says quietly and then sneaks out like the perfect boyfriend he is.

The house is still silent when I make my way downstairs. Of course, no one’s here, not even today of all days. I suck a breath in through my nose, inhaling the cloying scent of multiple floral arrangements. The smell might make me feel slightly ill, but I’m thankful for it.

Thankful that even though the funeral had been announced as family only, it hadn’t stopped the abundance of flowers arriving to take up every spare surface we had. They were physical reminders that there were people who cared. People who felt like me. Or at least felt something at all.

Looking around, I remind myself that I don’t have much longer in this house, in this city.

I’ll have college and Marcus and a whole world to see beyond that.

Heat infuses me with the thought of him, and I check my phone, surprised the usual morning message from him hasn’t come through. Especially after last night. I pull the memory—of how it felt to be wrapped in his arms, how it felt to be so ridiculously loved by him—around me like an invisible blanket. It gives me a moment of relief from the actual fabric I’m wearing—the stifling black dress with its lace cap sleeves brushing my skin and causing an itch.

Surprising no one, I head to the service alone.

Halfway there, I hit my blinker, pulling over on the side of the road. I’m agitated and likely to cause an accident trying to look at my phone where it lies on the passenger seat. It lights up at my touch, just as lacking in text messages as it’d been when I left.

Warm and feeling uneasy, I open my window. Letting the fresh air wash over my face, I force myself to take three deep breaths, holding each one at the top before letting it go.

Only then do I call Marcus. It goes unanswered.

Concerned, I send a text.

Hallie: Are you okay?

No reply comes through while I’m driving, but as I finally pull into the parking lot of the small chapel, I’m relieved to see the old truck he and Julian share already here.

I make my way toward my best friend, standing tall and stern in a black suit. His face softens when he sees me. His arms wrap around me, holding tight.

“Where is he, Jules?” I ask, knowing I’m going to need Marcus, need the steadiness of his presence and the promise of us to get me through the rest of this day.

Julian swallows and gives a small shake of his head, tousling his wavy brown hair. “He’s not coming.”

A sickly heat runs through me, and my skin flushes as the nausea I’d felt in the car quadruples until I think I might be sick.

I open my mouth to respond, but I’m interrupted.

“Miss Cairns, are you ready for us to proceed with the service?” asks the priest, a man whose name I can no longer remember.

I tuck my hair behind my ears as my heart picks up speed. “I…I think we’re still waiting for my dad.”

I don’t want to step into the chapel. Not yet.

I can’t.

The priest’s eyes are gentle, even as the corners of his lips turn down. “I’m sorry, Miss Cairns. I thought you would’ve been made aware we’re to have a prompt 11:00 a.m. start, regardless of attendance. It was made clear by your father’s assistant.”

Of course it was.

I could’ve predicted my mom wouldn’t show, but my dad not attending his own mother’s funeral service is abysmal. They didn’t care about each other, about my gran, about me. They never cared about anyone but themselves.

Julian squeezes my hand.

I press a palm over my chest, my heart and lungs racing to see who can work the fastest and the hardest. I personally don’t care who wins or if they give out completely because, suddenly, more than anything, I just need out.

Julian squeezes my hand again, but I pull away.

“Could you give me one more minute?”

I don’t wait for the answer.

Instead, I move toward my car, gravel crunching beneath my feet and my fingers shaking as I attempt to use my phone.

Palms sweating, the phone rings, my mind whirling over everything that happened last night. I should have known when he didn’t say those three little words back to me. Should’ve held back at the flash of uncertainty on his face.

The call connects, but he doesn’t say hello. My nerves spike.

“You’re not coming?” I ask, hating how my voice shakes.

“No.” The sound of people in the background is loud. He’s obviously not at home, not at work. Not alone.

“Why?” I want to know, deserve to know.

He sighs, and I can picture him looking up, frustration evident in his gray eyes, through the cut of his jaw.

“Because it’s too much, Hallie. It’s all too much.”

My chest collapses in on itself, my breath punctured by his words.

“Loving me is too much?” I somehow manage to clarify. I pull at the stupid neckline of my dress before finally giving in and reaching for the zip at the back. The few inches of material freedom provide nothing but more space for my hurt to grow.

Marcus ignores the question. “I bumped into your dad when I was leaving last night,” he says, the background noise on his end fading out. “He reminded me we’re young, and long-term commitment is a crazy idea at our age. You’ve got the world to see, and we shouldn’t settle for the first person we have a relationship with.”

A sound slips from my lips. One of pain. Of utter disbelief.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. We want different things. You want to leave, and I need to stay. I’ve got a job and my family… I just can’t see it working.”

From my reflection in the car window, I watch my tired eyes go glassy. I give myself a final look and turn away from hurt I don’t need to see. Feeling it is plenty.

“You’re seriously taking that man’s advice?” I ask, voice strained. “Marcus, he isn’t even here today.” I look around the empty parking lot. “He doesn’t care about me, about any of this.”

“It doesn’t mean he’s wrong.” Marcus’s voice is strong, his decision final.

“I love you,” I whisper, knowing it could be for the last time.

“I know,” he says with a dry chuckle, “but you’ll get over it.”

My hurt morphs into fury at his absolute apathy, and the anger is overwhelming. I steady my breathing, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger.

“Thank you,” I reply, drawing on all the sharp words and sarcasm that’d been between us before I’d softened to him. Before, I’d let him convince me that he and I were worth a chance, that he wouldn’t be the player he’d been in the past.

That for the longest time he hadn’t been.

“For what?” He scoffs, sounding just like my best friend’s asshole brother he’d once been and should’ve stayed.

“For freeing me of this place. For freeing me of you.”

“You’re welcome.” His voice is full of dark amusement as he ends the call.

I’ve never hated anyone more in my life.

Except for my dad. He’d be lucky if I ever spoke to him again.

My legs finally give out. With my back to my car door, I pull my knees into my chest, uncaring of how it looks.

There’s no one here to see as everything inside me breaks.

I hold myself, arms wrapped tight around my torso, as my body shakes and my eyes burn. I resent the tears I have no choice but to shed.

The sound of approaching footsteps has me glancing up, and then Julian’s beside me.

He doesn’t move to touch me or hold me; he knows I can be weird about it. That I’m not used to it even though I crave it. He lets me be in silence, loves me enough not to say, I told you so .

Only at the sound of another set of footsteps does Jules stand, all but lifting me from the ground with him.

“I’m so sorry, Hallie.”

He runs his thumbs gently under my eyes, wiping away the remainder of my tears.

I nod, no longer feeling any desire to speak, as I take in the fact I’ve somehow ended up with one less person in my life. I thought I’d known pain in grief, but I never could’ve imagined the severity of it when multiplied with heartbreak. I think I’d rather feel nothing at all if it’d ensure I never felt this way again. Instead, I push it all down.

As I make my way into the chapel to say my final goodbye, I form a plan in my mind.

A plan to get me through.

A plan to get me out. Away from my father and even farther from Marcus.

A plan to keep me from ever being hurt like this again.

I want space, and a lot of it.

I want to see all the places I’ve dreamed of, but mostly, I want to be anywhere but here ever again.