Chapter 11
NASH
Acouple hours later, we’re pretty sure we’ve bought up every copy of the Austin Observer in the city.
Adriano, with his almost-scary knowledge of how the paparazzi scene works here in Austin, tells me that the Observer never sticks to any one story for longer than a day, so I should be in the clear.
I thanked the guys, and now they’re driving home, which they should have been doing hours ago.
The feeling of gratitude has an unexpected pressure swelling behind my chest. They’re good guys.
I’ve never been on a team where the players would drop everything without hesitation and help one of their teammates like that.
If I ever have the chance to repay the favor, I will.
I’m still in Austin. Sitting in my truck, in the parking lot of the bakery where Piper works. She mentioned the name of it the other night.
Piper should know what happened. Even though we were able to keep this thing from breaking containment, she should be informed.
Am I using this as an excuse to see if that fucker Crew’s ring is still on her finger?
No way. Of course not.
I do feel a little creepy and stalkerish just sitting here in my truck in the parking lot, a couple minutes after the bakery’s closing time.
But I want to catch her as she’s leaving work.
I don’t want to go inside with a copy of the paper to show her, because I don’t want a coworker of hers to see and Piper to get embarrassed.
When I spot Piper exiting the bakery, my heart does something I’d rather ignore.
I grab one copy of the stack of papers sitting next to me on the passenger seat and step out of the truck.
Piper catches sight of me as I approach her, and her brows pop. “Nash?”
I can’t help it: my eyes go right to her left hand. The ring is still there. My jaw muscles tick. When I feel the scowl forming on my face, I shake it off. This isn’t what I’m here to talk to her about.
But damn, she looks good today. Her hair is in a messy bun, and she’s still wearing her apron, though it’s untied in the back and hangs loosely down her front.
It’s as informal as a look can be, and miles away from the jaw-dropping dress she wore on the night I picked her up, but something about it makes my blood pump hot.
“Hi, Piper.” I clear my throat. “I thought I should let you know about this.” I nod to the tabloid paper in my hand. “Before you see, just know that I took care of it. These aren’t in circulation anymore, so don’t worry.”
Understandably, worry is exactly what splashes on her eyes as her forehead furrows. “What are you talking about?”
“This.” I show her the front page.
Her eyelids retract, her pink lips forming a surprised circle.
“Like I said, I took care of it. My teammates and I bought up every copy we could find. We all scoured the internet, too, and we can’t find any examples of anyone posting about it. Still, I thought you should know. If a stray copy is still out there, I don’t want you to see it and feel blindsided.”
Her throat works on a swallow, but then the worry recedes from her expression, and she tilts a shoulder.
“Even if Crew saw the photo, I’d just tell him to believe me that it wasn’t what it looks like. If I can do that for him, he can do the same for me.”
A feeling close to nausea hits me right in the sternum.
She believed whatever bullshit story he concocted for her.
I pull in a long, deep breath through my nose, trying to unknot the tension coiling in my muscles. It’s none of my business, I remind myself.
At least, I try to remind myself, because my mouth runs ahead of my thoughts.
“So you’re marrying him.” I can’t disguise the distaste in my voice.
Piper’s shoulders hitch. Something that looks like hurt sparks in her eyes at the disapproval in my tone, and I feel like an ass.
“Yes, I am.” There’s defensiveness in her voice, a hard and impersonal edge to it that feels like it’s pushing me away, reasserting the distance between us that closed during the night we spent together.
I should take the hint and drop it. I told her what I came here to tell her. She obviously doesn’t want to be interrogated about her personal relationship decisions, which I have no business sticking my nose into.
But that damn mouth of mine is still too fast for my better judgment.
“You believed what he told you?” The words come out less like a question and more like an accusation.
I guess that’s what it was. But I don’t know if the person I’m accusing is Piper, or myself from years ago, for all the signs I ignored when it came to my own fiancée.
Piper visually bristles. Her eyebrows tug low.
“Yes, I did. And I don’t think it’s any of your business.”
Her short, impersonal tone feels like ice-water sloshing through my veins.
I should turn around and leave, but I don’t. I stay standing in front of her, my gaze latched to her eyes, unwavering. Something in her bright greens softens, and her defiant posture weakens.
“What else am I supposed to do? Just throw away a relationship I’ve spent years building, with my wedding just days away? Start my whole life over again? Lose the job I love?”
“Yes,” I answer, the word a snap from my mouth with no hesitation. “All of those things, before staying with a cheater.”
Her lower lip pulls, like she’s tugging it between her teeth. “What if he’s not a cheater, though?”
My eyebrow lifts. “What if? So you don’t even truly believe him.”
Her mouth falls open, her throat hitching like she’s about to say something, but she stops herself.
“Look, thanks for being there for me Friday night, but this is really none of your business.”
A sad feeling swirls in my chest. She’s right.
But behind that sad feeling, there’s a strange flicker of warmth at her words: thanks for being there for me.
I’d want to be there for her again, if she ever needed it.
“When’s the wedding?” I ask.
“Saturday,” she answers, quirking an eyebrow at my question.
“Where?”
Her brow climbs higher. She mentions a picturesque chapel I’ve heard of in Hays County, a short drive out of the city.
“If you see my truck in the parking lot, don’t panic. I’ll just be waiting in case you decide at the last minute you need a getaway driver.”
A tiny smile ghosts across her lips, and my heart bounces.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Got nothing better to do.”
I more than halfway expect her to outright tell me not to come—tell me she doesn’t want me there.
She doesn’t, though.
She rolls her eyes, like I’m being ridiculous, and I probably am, but she doesn’t actually tell me to stay away.
Looks like, for the first time in a long time, I have weekend plans that don’t involve hockey.