Jocelyn
You have to be scared before you can be brave.
—My Therapist
I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into.
Amid a gaggle of women—including the bride, the groom’s sisters, Cat and a few of questionable relation—I’ve become quite
tipsy. Grace’s suite could rival ours, and I’m still drooling over the luxury. The alcohol makes everything glow, and I’m
in love.
I want to live at the Ritz-Carlton.
“So, are you nervous?” Cat asks Grace, who’s sitting cross-legged beside me, deep in the corner of the couch. She’s wearing
sweats and holding a tumbler of herbal tea because I don’t want any chance of a hangover.
Right. Ten bucks says she’s pregnant.
She looks at the ceiling like she’s really considering the question. “Maybe a little? I don’t like being the center of attention.”
Julian’s sister—Tori, I think?—bursts out laughing. “Then why didn’t you pick the courthouse like I suggested?”
She huffs. “You know your mom would never let me do that.”
One of the older sisters grins. “Our little BB is getting married. We have to do it right.”
“BB?” I ask.
“Our baby.” Another sister cackles. “Julian hates it.”
Yeah, no grown man wants to be called baby by anyone he isn’t sleeping with. I’m sure it drives him nuts. It would drive Asher batty, too. I must plot how to torture
him with this.
Hmm. But maybe it would be weird if I started calling him baby.
Never mind. I gulp down a large swallow of wine.
“So, Jocelyn,” Grace says, “you work with Asher?”
I startle out of my thoughts. “Oh. Uh-huh. Anesthesia.”
The other women fall into a separate conversation, leaving Grace and me in our quiet corner.
She sips her tea. “Did he tell you he was my senior resident when I was an intern?”
No, but he told me he was in love with you.
I smile. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“He was the best senior. Do the residents at your hospital love him?”
Oh, yeah. Residents. Nurses. Certain catty anesthesiologists. “He’s pretty popular.”
She laughs into her tumbler. “No surprise there.”
Her gaze is soft as she swirls a finger around the rim of the plastic lid. The sparkly diamond on her left hand glitters in the ambient light. It occurs to me that this woman knew Asher at a time when I didn’t. A younger Asher.
“Did you ever get the sense during training that he thought he was, like . . . not good enough?
She lifts her gaze to me, brows drawn together. “Not at all. He seemed completely confident. BrOB-GYN to his core.”
I snort. “BrOB-GYN?”
“Oh. He didn’t tell you about that? His little group of guys. A little misogynistic, but I don’t think he ever saw it that
way. He’s a little clueless sometimes.”
Huh. So Grace knows Asher. I’m not certain how to feel about that. Pretty sure my heart thinks we should be jealous, though that makes zero sense.
Grace is getting married tomorrow. To someone else. Oh, yeah, and I don’t want Asher Foley.
If I believe it hard enough, it’s bound to come true.
“Were you serious earlier?” she asks. “About being in love with him?”
“Ah.” I snag a sip of wine to delay the answer. “No. We’re just friends, actually.”
She nods slowly, pondering. “That’s too bad. He needs someone great.” Her hazel eyes search mine. “You seem kind of great.”
A tender flower blossoms in my heart for this girl. “Thanks. You seem sort of great, too.”
The other women in the room erupt into laughter, drawing our attention, but Grace sets a hand on my arm. “I’ve got a bit of
a soft spot for him. Just . . . look out for him for me, will you?”
I slide my hand atop hers. “I always have. Always will.”
Her smile sparkles, and I remember how much Asher had been dreading coming here.
How strange he’s been since we set foot in this hotel, like a shadow of himself.
I’m not sure what’s got him so skittish, but it’s not this woman.
He’d been perfectly genial with her at dinner.
Not a single sign that he’d once had deep feelings for her.
His unease lies elsewhere, and I wish I knew where. How else am I supposed to fix it?
When I make it back to my suite around 11:00, it’s still empty. The cold hotel air wraps around my limbs, and I decide to
indulge in that soaker tub before bed. Bubble baths are what happiness is made of, and all the anxiety and tension drain away
with the bathwater. Warm, content and drowsy from the alcohol, I curl up in bed and let sleep take me.
But dreams are cruel. Uncontrollable. Sometime later, the familiar nightmare of watching the water take Asher jolts me awake.
I blink into unfamiliar darkness. The silence oppresses me. My skin is too tight, stretched across tense muscles and rigid
bones. My traitorous, endangered heart slams hard against my ribs, robbing me of breath.
Just a dream.
It was just a dream.
I check my phone.
2:04 a.m.
Ugh. Why?
With zero hesitation, I slink out of my bed and tiptoe toward Asher’s side of the suite on trembling legs. I just need to
verify he’s breathing, and I can go back to sleep. It will make the shivers stop. Simple.
But when I enter his room, I pause. The bed is suspiciously undisturbed. I pat it down in the dark. No Asher.
I flip the lights on. He isn’t even here. Where on earth would he be at 2:00 a.m.?
Oh.
Oh.
Oh, no.
The obvious answer leaps to my brain, unwelcome and gross. He found a girl at the bachelor shenanigans, didn’t he? He’s probably in her room now. She’s touching him. He’s kissing her.
Well, damn. The heart that was pounding so hard before withers in my chest. I’m going to be sick. Why’d I drink so much wine?
I snap on the lights in the main room, flooding the luxurious space in a warm ambiance I can’t feel, and sink onto the couch.
Would Asher do that, though?
He wouldn’t. I don’t think he would. He doesn’t do one-night stands.
But why wouldn’t he? He’s entitled to fun. To making mistakes. He’s probably drunk. Probably thought I’d be asleep, and assumed
he’d be back before I woke. No harm done.
I’m not allowed to be jealous about this. I don’t even want him. I just don’t like thinking about him with someone else. Unfair,
but true.
So yeah. That’s it. That’s all it is.
Calm down. Stop thinking about it. As soon as my heart returns to my chest, I’ll go right back to sleep.
But it doesn’t return. I am hollow, and I stay on that couch, staring sightlessly at the French doors to the darkened balcony,
aching. I’m alone on my hill.
Not thirty minutes later, Asher stumbles into the suite, zigzagging through the hall toward the living room.
Something happens. Something invisible, but profound. The sight of him sets off a violent chain reaction inside me, causing
enough pain to make me wince. I’m not sure what exactly happens to my body. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Like
falling, but also like standing on steady ground. Like something new with the comfort of home.
I’ve lost something, but gained something, too.
Large pieces of me are no longer mine. The hacksaw has removed them and dropped them right at his feet.
“Whoa,” I say, shoving it all down below a locked hatch. “Are you a little drunk or totally wasted?”
He holds up a finger. “Julian eats shots.”
“That . . . makes no sense.”
He nods like I know! and falls onto the couch beside me.
I poke his shoulder. “Where were you?”
“Bar. Lots of pool. I lost. Even more alcohol. Lost there, too.”
I raise an eyebrow, trying to tease. “Strippers?”
His eyes narrow. “Why’re you awake?”
I sigh. “Nightmare.”
“Shit.” His expression falls, and he glances between his lighted room and my dark one before his inebriated gaze finds me.
“You were looking for me, weren’t you?”
The pattern of the sofa fabric draws my undivided attention.
“And I wasn’t here.” He slurs the words together, but his tone is clearly distraught.
I try to play it off with a laugh. “It’s fine. I just wasn’t ready to go back to sleep. I don’t, like . . . need you.”
His chuckle edges into bitter. “I’m aware, Jocelyn.” His eyes close, and he rests his head on the back of the sofa, hands
clasped over his abdomen.
Something lurches in my chest. The hacksaw, probably, trying its best to tear the remains of my heart open for him. What good
are walls in the face of this?
“Who was it this time?” he asks, eyes still shut.
Breathing suddenly hurts. Each lungful of air burns with fear.
Scared to have him.
Scared to lose him.
Scared I’ll wait too long and squander my chance.
Scared I already have.
You aren’t running, Joss. You’re hiding.
I draw my legs up and hug them, setting my chin on one knee. “It’s always you, Ash.”
My voice is quiet in the still room, but loud enough I know he heard it, even drunk. His head turns, and his bleary stare
sharpens. It dances over my face, searching.
That feeling is returning, the one that’s convinced he’s vital to me. The one that would sacrifice immensely dear things to
have him. The one that doesn’t care about the potential pain.
Ahh.
How do I make it stop?
“You’re very confusing,” he says in the midst of my panic. “I’m too drunk to puzzle it out.” He stands, presses a firm kiss
to the top of my head and zigzags toward his bedroom. “If you have another nightmare, wake me up. We’ll watch reruns of The Bachelorette until sunrise.”
“I think you’ve forgotten I don’t like The Bachelorette.”
He stops in the doorway to look at me. “The Bachelorette is what’s for me. My company is what’s for you.”