Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
Brendan
After that hot tub kiss, I can’t think straight, which is saying something for a guy whose entire career depends on intense focus.
We’ve been waiting in the spa’s “relaxation lounge” for ten minutes with the rest of the wedding party, and I haven’t heard a single word anyone’s said.
All I can think about is Scarlett—the way her lips felt against mine, how soft her skin was in the water, how perfectly she fit in my lap.
And that little sound she made when I kissed her neck?
I’d rather forget my own name than forget that.
“Brendan, are you even listening?” Tony’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“What?” I blink, pulling my gaze away from the generic picture on the wall that I’ve been vacantly staring at. “Sorry…didn’t hear you.”
“Tonight’s bachelor and bachelorette party.” He waits like this will ring a bell.
I shake my head. “Um, I have no clue what you just said.”
He laughs. “Man, what’s with you? Did that hot tub do something to your brain?”
I look over at the door. Scarlett’s just entered the lounge with Carmen, and her sundress is still slightly damp from her hair, clinging in places that are not helping my ability to focus on Tony’s conversation. She glances over and our eyes meet before she looks away with a soft smile.
“Yes.” My gaze tracks Scarlett across the room. “It most definitely did something to my brain.”
He follows the direction of my gaze, then looks back at me with a knowing grin. “Is that so? Things are going well with Scarlett, I take it.”
“Yeah,” I mumble, because I don’t know how to explain that “well” doesn’t even cover it. Whatever happened in that hot tub, it’s burning me alive.
I need to think about something else.
“I’m hungry,” I announce, crossing toward the small table of appetizers.
Anything else to keep from replaying how her bare skin felt under my hands, how she tasted when I kissed her lips—
Focus, Marco.
I grab a cracker from the spread and scoop up some dip without watching what I’m doing. With my gaze fixed on Scarlett, I take one after another, and pretty soon I’ve eaten an entire sleeve. My attention is completely focused on her, watching the way she tucks a damp strand of hair behind her ear.
After years of stealing glances, it’s intoxicating to be able to watch her openly and unapologetically now.
Carmen strides over, a playful smirk on her lips. “So, you look happy. Does it have to do with the fact that I rearranged the schedule for your hot-tub time to coincide with your girlfriend’s?”
She grabs a carrot stick with a devious smile.
“Maybe,” I admit nonchalantly, but my sister knows me well enough by now to see I’m grateful.
“It’s about time, honestly.” She takes a bite of her carrot. “I didn’t think anybody would be able to break down your walls.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t have any walls.”
She lets out a laugh. “That’s hilarious.
Ever since you returned from the Marines, you’ve been as closed off as a clamshell.
You don’t let anyone into your head. And definitely not into your feelings, unless we pry it out of you.
” She nods toward Scarlett. “She’s the only one you open up around.
I can’t believe how much I’ve seen you smile this week. ”
“I smile other times too,” I say, aware even as I’m saying it that I can’t actually think of an example.
She crosses her arms. “Name one time.”
“Like right now.” I give my sister what I hope is a convincing grin.
She covers her laugh with her hand. “Oh my gosh, you look constipated.”
“That was supposed to be a smile,” I grumble.
She bites back her grin. “I guess I need Scarlett around to get an actual smile out of you. But it’s been a nice change.
I’ve been worried about you. Living alone, working yourself into the ground, turning down every invitation we’ve extended for the last two years.
The whole family has noticed the way she affects you.
” She points her carrot at me. “And they’re ecstatic. ”
Except Taylor. I don’t say it out loud, though I want to.
“Just don’t let the Marco women scare her away,” I say, only half joking as I watch Scarlett chatting with Jaz.
“Oh, I already told Mom she’s in serious trouble if she mentions your wedding again,” my sister says, dusting off her hands like her work here is done. “And…you’re welcome.” She gives me a little bow before heading off to Tony’s side.
I turn back to the appetizers, reaching for another cracker when it registers that something isn’t right. My chest is tight, my throat feels itchy, and it’s hard to take a full breath, like my lungs are clamping down, even though there’s no reason they should be.
That’s when I notice the dip I just basically inhaled.
Oh no.
I grab a spa attendant who is refilling the cracker tray. “What’s in this?” I say, pointing at the dip.
She looks from me to the dip. “Oh, that’s our signature crab-and-artichoke dip.”
I freeze. I’m allergic to shellfish. And I just snarfed a truckload while standing here distracted by Scarlett.
I always ask for an ingredient list whenever I eat something new, but I was so distracted by that kiss, I totally forgot.
Whenever I have an allergic reaction, it always triggers my asthma. My airways constrict, my lungs lock up, and I struggle to breathe. And that’s on top of the GI problems and angry hives that break out all over my body.
This is not good.
My stomach is already churning, and I need my inhaler before my breathing gets worse. I need to get out of here.
When I whirl around, Scarlett is standing there, with her dark hair curling at the edges, her face flushed and glowing.
The smile drops off her face. “Brendan. You’re pale.”
She lays a hand on my arm and instantly I want to pull her closer.
In the middle of an allergic reaction, I’m still thinking only of her.
“The dip.” I point at the table.
She leans toward it. “Does that have crab in it?” Her voice has an edge of worry. “Brendan, you’re allergic to shellfish.”
I told her that once, years ago, when Eli tried to drag us to an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet.
I try to take another breath and can’t quite get enough air. “It’s not that bad—”
“How much did you eat?”
“I don’t remember—” But then my stomach cramps violently and the room tilts. I close my eyes, bracing one hand on the table.
Okay. Maybe it’s more than a little bad.
“Brendan.” Her voice is calm but firm. “Look at me. Can you breathe?”
“I’ve…had better days.” Sweat beads on my forehead, even though I feel clammy.
She grabs a water bottle from somewhere and presses it into my hand. “Drink. Small sips.”
I obey, but the water does nothing for the tightness in my chest. “I need my inhaler,” I force out between shallow breaths. “At the house.”
“We’re leaving. Now.” She’s already pulling me toward the door when Carmen looks up from across the room.
“What’s wrong?” Carmen hurries over, Tony right behind her.
“He ate the crab dip,” Scarlett says, her arm around my waist like she’s ready to catch me if I go down. Which is ridiculous considering how much bigger I am than her. “His asthma’s flaring.”
“Is he okay?” Carmen’s face goes pale. “Should I call an ambulance?”
“No.” I shake my head firmly, then immediately regret the movement as the room spins. “Please. No ambulances.”
I have too many memories of ER visits—my mom in tears and doctors lecturing me about being more careful. I know how to manage this. I just need my inhaler.
“I have Benadryl,” Carmen says, already digging through her purse. “Will that help?”
“Yes,” Scarlett answers before I can. She takes the pills from Carmen and hands them to me. “Take these.”
I swallow them, hoping they stay down long enough to work.
Scarlett studies my face, her lips pressing together. “Your breathing is too shallow. We need to go now.” She holds out her hand. “Keys.”
I shake my head, trying to pull myself together. “I can drive—”
She sets her hands on her hips, and even through my haze, I recognize that stubborn look. “I’m not letting you drive when you can barely breathe and you’re about to lose that crab dip all over your truck.”
This time, I don’t argue. The fact that I hand them over, no questions asked, reveals exactly how bad I’m feeling.
I stay hunched over in the passenger seat the entire drive, eyes closed, trying to focus on breathing and not panicking about the fact that I can’t breathe.
She keeps shooting worried glances at me as she speeds through town, and I’ve never been so grateful for her lead foot.
“I’m so upset they served shellfish without better labeling,” she mutters under her breath.
“Not their fault.” My voice sounds wrong, all tight and wheezy. “It’s my responsibility. I always check ingredients.”
“I know you do,” she says, keeping her eyes on the road. “You’re super vigilant about that stuff. What happened?”
“I was distracted.” I lean my head back against the seat, eyes shut.
“By what?”
I crack one eye open to look at the face that’s been haunting my dreams since high school. “You really want to know?”
She nods.
“You. You consumed my attention.”
She blinks, then shakes her head. “I don’t believe you.”
“Well, you should.” Apparently, allergic reactions strip away my filters. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“You’re delirious.”
“Not yet.” But my head is starting to feel spacey, either from lack of oxygen or the effects of medication. I look down at my arms and notice hives blooming across my forearms, angry red welts spreading by the second.
“Everything I said in that hot tub,” I continue, leaning against the headrest and trying to catch my breath. “Is true. I want a future with you. That won’t change after the wedding is over.”
“Brendan, you need to focus on getting past this episode.” She pauses. “We can talk about it later, when you’re clear-headed—”
“I need you to know now.” But then a coughing fit hits me and I can’t catch my breath. Maybe this is worse than I thought.