Chapter 2
Maddy
Ican’t stop staring at Elizabeth’s hands in Lance’s, with tears pouring down her face. The light from the stained-glass windows paint the inside of the church in crazy shades of blue, orange, and red. The colors streak across Elizabeth’s wedding dress and make her look like she’s burning alive.
Yikes. Burning to death on your wedding day would suck.
I frown at my thoughts for a moment, and then rip my eyes away, glancing over to my best friend beside me. Riley stands still, her hands clasped around her little bouquet, chin lifted, and eyes pointed toward the happy couple as if she’s entranced by this whole thing.
It is a beautiful ceremony.
I mean, I guess it is. The words sound nice, and the music is fine. Elizabeth glows—literally—and Lance is beaming like he won the lottery.
I chew the inside of my cheek and force myself to focus. I’m supposed to be present and supportive.
My gaze drifts sideways anyway, toward Wes, who is standing at the very end of the groomsmen row, just visible past two other men. His hair is gelled back, and he’s not looking at the couple at the altar.
He’s looking at me.
Well… not at me, exactly. More at my legs, which are currently vibrating with nerves. Ugh.
He mouths “relax” and does this exaggerated breathing gesture, which sends heat crawling up my neck as his breath is audible from where I stand.
I glare at him, but he just smiles and turns his attention back to the couple.
The priest finally asks for the rings, which means it’s almost over.
And closer to the time I have to ask Wes if I can live with him because I’m about to be poor.
The music swells, breaking my thoughts and kickstarting a whole new one.
In some parallel universe, I’m the one in a lace dress, gliding up the aisle.
I’m not worried about rent or jobs or whether my boyfriend will think less of me if I ask him for a sliver of stability.
In that universe, I have beautiful hair and strong opinions about seating arrangements.
Maybe someday I’ll have that luxury.
“Maddy?” There’s a tap on my arm. I turn, nearly dropping the bouquet onto the floor, and see Riley looking at me with concern written all over her face.
She leans in, her whisper so precise that only I can hear it over the crescendo of the violinist Lance insisted they hire.
“You doing okay? You look like you might pass out.”
I nod. “I’m good.”
She raises an eyebrow. “It’s going to be fine. You gonna talk to him at the reception? I mean, once you get it off your chest, you’ll feel so much better.”
“I’ll try,” I murmur, my throat feeling like I swallowed a bucket of sand.
Riley bumps my hip with hers, grinning at me. “It’s the perfect time. Everyone’s all mushy and in love. He’ll say yes, and then we can celebrate with more wine than is medically advisable. I think Wes might just need a push…”
My heart pounds as I contemplate Wes’s reaction—probably cool, calm, collected, and a big fat no.
“It’ll all be fine,” Riley says, getting the last whisper out as the officiant announces the married couple.
The guests burst into applause just as Lance locks lips with Elizabeth, and I force my face into a smile so wide it hurts. I’m so happy for them.
But I absolutely hate myself right now. And I cannot stop wallowing in these horrible thoughts.
As the newlyweds make their grand exit, Riley turns to me, her voice low and urgent. “Don’t chicken out. I’m serious about it making you feel better. His answer will help you make a plan.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out as a strangled wheeze. “If I don’t talk to him, you can disown me.”
“Oh, I plan to,” she says. “But not until after we destroy the open bar.”
I feel a pang of relief at her joke, and then together, we follow the wedding party out of the building. Wes is waiting on the steps, talking to someone’s grandmother and making her laugh so hard she actually has to hold onto the railing.
Ugh. He’s magnetic, that’s his whole thing. But when his eyes catch mine, the smile flickers for a millisecond, and I wonder if he’s thinking about our conversation from the car, or if he’s already filed it away with the rest of my emotional clutter.
He falls in step beside me as we walk to the reception hall, looping his arm through mine. “You survived,” he says, voice warm against my ear. “You looked great up there. Not even a single wipeout, even with the shaking knees.”
“Miracles do happen,” I mutter, feeling the tightness in my chest return as we approach the banquet room. The doors are thrown open, and people pour in, hunting for their place cards.
Wes steers us toward the seating chart, his hand warm and reassuring on my back. “Let’s find our table and then hit the bar with Riley, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I force my voice to stay light.
We end up at one of the middle tables, sandwiched between a pair of professional wedding criers and two men who look like they’d rather be anywhere else.
Wes is in his element, launching into a story about the time he almost got arrested in college for streaking across the dorms, and everyone laughs on cue.
I sip my wine and try not to think about the fact that I don’t remember that happening at all.
As the cake is being wheeled out, Wes leans over and nudges me with his shoulder. “Hey, you seem weird right now. You okay? Or is this still about what happened in the car?”
I open my mouth, tempted to blurt out the truth, but then say the opposite of what’s really going on. “I’m good,” I lie, and then immediately hate myself for being such a coward.
He gives me a look, not quite buying it. “You sure?”
I nod and then focus on the cake like my life depends on it.
After dessert, the DJ cranks up the music and the dance floor erupts. Finally, people get up and start to wander. Wes immediately hops up to hit the dance floor with his buddies without saying a word to me, and I head straight for the bar.
I need liquid courage. Pronto.
Riley meets me there, already sipping her glass of wine. “I can tell you still haven’t done it. You had the perfect time, too.”
“Nope. I would’ve been trapped there with him had he turned me down,” I breathe out, just as the bartender hands me another glass of red. “I’m going to need at least three more of these, and then maybe I can talk to him.”
“Absolutely not. You do not need to be a drunken mess when you talk to him,” she snorts, grabbing my arm and dragging me away. “I’ll help you rehearse.”
I let out a groan. “Oh, please don’t make me…”
“We’re doing this.” She drags me onto the patio where it’s quieter, the summer air thick with honeysuckle. “Okay,” she says, turning to face me, her expression entirely serious. “Let’s do a dry run. Just tell me what you’re going to say.”
My shoulders slump. “This is so dumb.”
“No, what’s dumb is putting it off. Practice. Now. I’m Wes.” She pretends to slick back her hair, and then wiggle her eyebrows at me.
I roll my eyes, but I know she won’t relent. “Hey, so, my lease is up in a month, and I can’t really afford a new place right now, and I was wondering if, maybe, I could move in with you?”
Riley purses her lips. “No. Way too needy. You sound like you expect him to say no.”
I throw my hands up, spilling part of my glass. “Ugh! Because I do!”
She sighs. “Still. This man loves you. Feed off that, not your dire financial situation.”
I close my eyes and start over, my voice coming out monotone. “Wes, we’ve been together officially for almost two years, and I think it’d be cool if we lived together. What do you think?”
“Ah.” She grins. “A little robotic, but much better. See? You can totally do it.”
“Right…” I take a sip of my wine and try to picture Wes and me, living together, sharing toothpaste and bills and all the little things that come with coupledom.
It doesn’t sound so bad, until I remember how he called me too sweet in the car, and I wonder if this is going to end like every other thing in my life—with me packing up a cardboard box and leaving.
But I can’t not try. Because if I don’t, I’m just postponing the inevitable, and there’s only so many days left before my bank account flatlines for good.
Maybe I’m just overthinking all of this.
Riley gives me a hug, and I try not to cry as I rest my chin on her shoulder. “You got this,” she says into my hair. “Just do it before midnight. It’s good luck or something.”
“Fine, I will.” I pull away from her, downing the entire glass of wine. “Right now.”
“Atta girl,” Riley slaps my arm, letting out a giggle. “Go get him!”
Together, we make our way back inside the reception hall, which is way more crowded now that everyone is up and moving around. I scan for Wes, clutching my empty wine glass.
He’s not at the bar, where he’d usually be holding court, so I start looking around for him.
I take a lap around the main floor, taking a hard look at any dark-headed guy I pass. And while I spot almost every single one of the groomsmen, I don’t see my boyfriend anywhere.
What the hell? Where did he go?
I circle back and nearly collide with a waiter.
“Sorry,” I say, catching my balance as the guy peers down at me with kind eyes. I take the chance that he might know where Wes is. “Hey, have you seen a, um, tall, groomsman with dark hair?”
The waiter thinks for a second. “The tall guy? Slicked back hair? I saw him go toward the kitchen. With that blonde chick in the pink dress. I think they were trying to find more red wine.” He shrugs.
“You can try back there, but the chef hates it when guests come in. That is where they keep the extra wine though.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, ignoring the sick feeling in my gut.
I head for the kitchen. Every step I take, my stomach lurches like it’s bracing for something really bad. All my previous nerves—about jobs, about money, about not ruining the wedding—start to collapse into one pinpoint of blinding panic.
Maybe he’s just helping. Maybe he’s being the charming, helpful Wes everyone likes. Maybe he’s…
The kitchen door is heavy, one of those double swinging types. I push just enough to peek, expecting to see Wes searching for a corkscrew or laughing with Ellie.
But it is so much worse than anything I could’ve conjured up.
It’s Wes. With his fucking pants around his ankles.
Ellie is half perched on a stainless steel table, her coral dress hiked up to her waist and bunched under her ass, the skirt wrinkled and up so high, it’s baring all of her. His hands are locked around her thighs, her lipstick smeared across his jaw and neck.
My brain short-circuits.
Wes’s face twists in concentration and need, and hers contorts in pleasure, her head tipped back.
“Oh god, yes,” Ellie whimpers. “Your cock feels so good. Just like that.”
Holy fucking shit.
I want to storm in and break my wine glass over his head. But I don’t. Instead, I am a freaking statue in the doorway.
I do not move. I cannot move.
I watch as my boyfriend finishes inside someone else with his familiar groan, face crumpled. He immediately starts talking again, words that would be sweet if they weren’t acid, burning my eardrums.
“You felt so good, Ellie.” His voice is raspy. “I don’t think I’ve ever had pussy this tight before.”
She giggles, planting kisses on his neck and murmuring something I can’t quite make out.
I white-knuckle the door, still trying to process what I just saw. I don’t even realize I’m crying until the tears are already spilling down my face.
As I sniffle, Ellie glances past Wes.
And our eyes meet.