17. Harrison
17
HARRISON
“Y ou’re still angry about the security,” I say, surveying my girlfriend from the four-poster bed where I’m lying fully clothed. “That’s why you won’t let me come to this wedding.”
“You arranged it without my knowledge or consent. Sent an armed meathead to Beck’s door?—”
“I would’ve thought he’d enjoy that.”
Rae’s quiet, even for her, industriously gathering her bag, lipstick, fussing with her hair in the mirror of our boutique hotel in Napa.
“That’s beside the point. It’s not why you’re not coming to the wedding.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
She straightens, turning to look at me. She’s beautiful, her blue dress hugging curves I dream about every second I’m not touching them. Her eyes are dark, lined to make them darker, her lips full and parted. Her hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders thanks to a curling iron she burnt herself on while she was finishing.
“You can’t come because it’s family and in public and a cesspool of emotions and damage, and I didn’t ask for a plus one. Especially a plus one who’s recognizable and infamous and going to draw attention like a magnet.”
Frustration rises up. “So, I’m good enough to drive you up here but not to attend the ceremony.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Is it?” I cross to her and box her in against the dresser.
The wedding is at a vineyard. I drove with her and stayed over, thinking a night away would be refreshing.
I get that she RSVPed for one person weeks ago, but it feels as if she doesn’t want me to know where she comes from.
“You knew who I was when we started this,” I murmur. “Don’t invite me in one moment and shut me out the next.”
She steps into her heeled platforms, tossing her hair over one shoulder as she bends to fasten the straps.
“Inviting you in feels like inviting a circus,” she says, still bent double. “I want you, but I can’t take the monkeys today, Harrison.”
Perhaps I should have anticipated her reaction. But I’ve rarely encountered a woman who didn’t want to be with me, who didn’t welcome all that came with it. Even my ex acted like she wanted it—until she didn’t.
But there’s a larger issue.
Rae’s my girlfriend, as trite as the label is. That means I get to claim her as mine—in public when we’re walking down the street and in private when she’s panting beneath me. It also means I get to tease her. That she’s the person I think of first when I run into a problem.
From the way she’s been carrying tension since Colorado, the way she burnt herself with the styling tool she could use in her sleep, today is a problem.
But she’s not fucking confiding in me, and that eats me alive. She’s using this event as an excuse not to let me in. She can’t shut me out whenever it’s convenient, whenever something triggers her to raise the walls she’s spent years carefully building.
“There’s a brave woman I can’t stop thinking about,” I bite out. “You’re not acting like her.”
She straightens, eyes wide with shock. It’s the first sign I’ve landed a blow. “You should drive back to LA. I’ll get my own ride back.”
We go downstairs in silence and wait while the valet brings the car around.
When she drops into the passenger seat, her handbag falls on the floor. As she fishes under the seat to retrieve it, I put the car in gear, not bothering to help.
The moment we pull up the long driveway of the vineyard and I park in front, she shifts out and shuts the door.
The car is too quiet as I head back to the highway, so I crank the satellite radio. My knuckles are white on the wheel.
I came to LA for business. To put Mischa in the ground, professionally speaking. Instead, all I can think of is the woman I left twenty miles back.
Being this consumed by another person isn’t healthy, but I don’t know how to change it or even if I want to. I’ve never had someone this tightly linked to my work and life.
A ringing sounds from the passenger seat.
What the…?
As the ringing cuts out, I pull over and reach under the seat.
Her phone.
She must have dropped it when she dropped her bag. She’ll almost certainly need it.
I turn the car around.
* * *
Rae
There’s a rule that weddings should be happy. A day to reminisce about times past, dream of the future.
But with Callie at my side, my small talk with relatives and family friends is loaded.
“I haven’t seen you in forever. What are you doing?” is the inevitable question.
“I work in the music industry.”
In most crowds, that would inspire more questions, but with my family, that’s usually enough to shut people down. It’s better to be in law or medicine or politics.
We claim seats in the back, and I open my clutch to text Harrison and say I’m sorry for what happened earlier. He was being unreasonable, but his intuition wasn’t wrong.
I’ve been dreading this day, and I have been keeping him at a distance.
Still, I wish Harrison was with me now—not as protection but because I enjoy his company. The vineyard makes me wonder whether he’d like it or scoff at the natural flowers, which Callie told me cost thousands. If, when pressed, he’d say something like, “If you’re going to spend on flowers, make it look like you did.”
“What’s wrong?” my cousin asks when I curse.
“My phone is missing. Maybe I dropped it.” I stand and dash up the aisle to the main building but run smack into a tuxedo-clad form on the way. I look up to see my brother’s equally surprised face. “Kian!”
“Rae. Shit, it’s good to see you.”
“You look great. I haven’t seen you in anything other than scrubs in years.”
“I haven’t seen you in anything in years,” he points out. “You haven’t come home.”
“I know.” Loaded tension settles between us, and I swallow hard.
“It’s okay,” he says before I can find words. “I forgive you.”
I lift a brow. “ You forgive me ?”
“Yeah. I mean, when you left for arts school and never came back to visit, even when you worked in LA, I took it personally. But I’m your big brother, and I know I was caught up in my own shit with med school. So, I forgive you. It’s that easy.”
Suddenly, the music starts. As I look around, I’m thinking of all the good times we had as kids, and the heavy stuff falls away.
“This is a big day,” I murmur.
“Start of forever,” he agrees, looking nervous for the first time I can remember. “I keep thinking she’ll come to her senses and say no. Like the officiant will say, ‘Do you?’ and she’ll respond, ‘Fuck this noise. I’m out.’ I never thought I’d be getting married. But life changes you, right?”
My throat tightens as I nod. “You have your something old, new, borrowed, and blue?”
“Think that’s a bride thing, sis.”
I tear a tiny piece of lace off the overlay hem of my dress. “Here. It’s repurposed vintage and borrowed. Just in case.”
His eyes soften, and he pulls me in for a hug.
When Kian heads to the altar to take his place, I remember my missing phone.
It’s too late to go look for it before the start of the ceremony.
I huff out a breath as I slump back in my seat.
“Did you see Kian?” Callie asks when I sink back into my chair.
“He looks good. Happy.”
She squeezes my hand. “Are you happy?”
“I will be,” I say.
There’s a man I care about, and the second I get back to LA, I’ll tell him how badly I wished he’d been by my side today.
The procession music begins, and the first couple comes down the aisle. My attention lingers on the bridesmaid’s dress. The hem kisses the ground as she walks.
“Pretty sure I heard them fucking in the cellar when I got here,” Callie comments, and I swallow a laugh.
The second couple starts, but this time, all I can see is the back of the groomsman’s suit. Every muscle in me stiffens.
“What’s wrong—oh, shit.” Callie grabs for my hand.
I can’t look away.
“I didn’t think he and Kian were still friends. I didn’t know he’d be here…” Callie’s furious whisper echoes in my ears, and I feel her turn toward me. “Did you?”
There’s no way I can answer.
Because when the couple reaches the front and the groomsman turns, I feel as if I’ve been shot in the stomach.