Trent
At five the next morning, just like she said she would, Aubrey bangs on my front door.
It takes me a minute to get up out of my chair and shake off the sleep from my legs. I move carefully at first, still a little stiff, but it doesn’t take long before I’m steady. When I finally open the door, I’m greeted with a scowl etched so deeply across her face I almost laugh.
“Are you ready?” she asks, popping a hip out and crossing her arms as she stands in my doorway.
“Yeah, I’m ready.” I say, nodding.
“Okay, well, can I have the keys to your truck? I’ve gotta switch the cake from my car to yours,” she says, holding out her hand expectantly.
I slide my hand into my pocket, fish out the keys, and step outside. I drop them into her hand, keeping it casual, a quiet reminder to myself that driving’s still off-limits until the doctor gives the all-clear.
“You can wait in the truck,” she says, already turning away. “I’ll only be a minute.”
Without waiting for a response, she walks back toward her car, leaving me standing alone on the porch.
By the time I haul myself into the passenger seat of my truck, I hear the trunk slam shut and the sound of footsteps moving quickly across the gravel.
The driver’s side door opens, and as she slides into the seat and pulls it closed, the familiar scent of her vanilla perfume hits me harder than I expect. It's been months since we've been alone like this, and the sudden closeness messes with my head more than it should.
I’m still caught in that thought when she says something I completely miss. She nudges my arm lightly, snapping me out of it.
“Sorry—what?”
“I said I made you a coffee,” she says, nodding toward the cup holders without looking at me.
I glance down and spot the two cups. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
She exhales through her nose, eyes on the windshield. “Yeah, well... I wasn’t about to show up with just one. I’m not that much of a bitch.”
There’s no smile, no warmth in her voice—just a matter-of-fact edge, like she’s drawing a line before I can misread the gesture.
As Aubrey backs out of the driveway, the tension’s hard to ignore. But I try to lighten it a little anyway.
“Thanks for letting me tag along. It’s been boring as hell not being able to do anything with this leg.”
She keeps her eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel. “I didn’t really have much of a choice in that, did I?”
I let out a short breath, not quite a laugh. “No, I get that. But hey, you never know—this could be fun.”
Aubrey doesn’t even glance at me. “Nothing about this is meant to be fun,” she says flatly. “It’s work. I could’ve done the drive by myself, but instead our mothers meddled, and you went along with it—and now here we are.”
“I get it, Bree. You don’t want me here,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “But I’m here. We’re doing this. So maybe we could just… try to get along.”
Her head snaps toward me, eyes sharp and cutting. She doesn’t say a word—but she doesn’t have to. The glare says enough.
I knew this was going to be awkward, but fuck, I didn’t think it would be this icy. The silence settles between us like a wall, and for a second, I start to question whether this was even a good idea. Maybe she really does hate me now. Maybe there’s no coming back from where we left things.
But just as that thought starts to sink in, I remember the way she held my hand in the hospital. The red-rimmed eyes when she first walked in. The way she didn’t leave while I was in surgery.
I also remember why she left the hospital so quickly in the first place—because I snapped at her, let pain and frustration turn into something cruel.
Maybe if I hadn’t, she would’ve stayed. Maybe we’d be somewhere else entirely—anywhere but here, tangled in this tension neither of us knows how to untangle.
Before I can say anything else, Aubrey reaches out and taps the Bluetooth button on the dash.
“You got a road trip playlist ready for us, Bree?” I ask, trying to keep the tone light.
She doesn’t respond. Just hits play.
The speakers crackle to life—and then Rihanna’s “Roc Me Out” blasts through the truck.
The second the lyrics hit, my head drops back against the seat with a groan.
She might be pretending our history doesn’t exist, hell-bent on keeping up this frosty act for the whole road trip, but surely she knows exactly what she’s doing playing this song.
Instantly, I’m hit with the memory—Aubrey in lace lingerie, the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.
The way she moved to this song—the slow roll of her hips, the way her hands dragged up her body, teasing, taunting—until she straddled me, grinding against me until she made me come like a fucking teenager.
I glance over. She’s completely unbothered, singing along—loudly, off-key—and I can’t tell if she’s oblivious or doing it on purpose.
I drag a hand down my face and stare out the window, trying to think about anything else.
This is going to be a long fucking drive.
I’m in a constant state of either fearing for my life with every slam of the brake and angry curse word flying out of Aubrey’s mouth—or fighting the raging hard-on I get every time I glance over and see her completely lost in the music, dancing and singing along like we’re not hurtling down the highway at eighty miles an hour.
She has no idea how fucking breathtaking she is. Off-key and unbothered, rolling her hips in the driver’s seat like she’s on stage instead of behind the wheel—completely in her own world. And I’m mesmerized.
That is, until she slams on the brakes and swerves so hard my head bounces off the window.
“Fuck, Aubrey!” I bark, rubbing the side of my head. “You wanna slow down and maybe concentrate on driving instead of giving a one-woman performance?”
“I didn’t ask you to come with me,” she snaps, eyes locked on the road.
“And I didn’t ask for a fucking concussion, but here we are.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“Are you serious right now?” I shoot back, turning to face her.
“You’ve honked the horn more times in the last five minutes than most people do in a year.
And that brake pedal under your foot? You only need to tap it to slow down—not slam on it every two seconds like you’re trying to launch us through the windshield. ”
“I am tapping it,” she fires back, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “It’s not my fault your stupid truck is so damn sensitive. And if you remember correctly, you’re the one who suggested I drive this fucking tank. I didn’t choose to—so forgive me if I’m not completely used to handling it yet.”
On the tip of my tongue is a joke about how I know exactly what Aubrey can handle—but given the way her face has gone red, jaw tight and eyes locked on the road, I figure now’s probably not the best time to try being funny.
The silence between us stretches—tense and heavy—filled only by the low hum of the engine and the next track that shuffles on. Some slow indie song filters through the speakers, its lyrics suddenly too intimate for the mood.
“Why are you so annoying?” Aubrey mutters, not looking at me.
My head snaps toward her, frowning. “I haven’t even said anything.”
“Just being here,” she says, jaw tight. “You did it on purpose. You could’ve said no—but you didn’t.”
“Like I said before, what was I supposed to say? I didn’t have an excuse. It’s not like I’m super busy at the moment.”
“You could’ve just said you didn’t want to come.”
I let out a dry laugh. “My mom didn’t raise a liar.”
She finally looks at me, eyes sharp—though I can see the sadness in them, buried just beneath the surface. “No. Just an asshole who likes to fuck with people’s emotions,”
Her words cut deep, sharper than I expected, and a wave of guilt crashes over me.
I knew she didn’t want me here. I knew it—and I made sure I came along anyway.
I’m no different from the guy I was before.
It was me who set the rules.
Me who shut her down when she opened her heart to me.
Me who pretended like I didn’t feel anything, even when I did.
And now here I am—crowding her space, ignoring every sign she’s put up these last few months, because I can’t let her go.
She made it clear she didn’t want this. And I’m still here anyway.
“Bree,” I whisper, but she cuts me off before I can say anything else.
“We’re here,” she announces, her voice heavy with relief—as if just being out of the car and away from me, even for a little while before we hit the road again, is exactly what she needs right now.
I stay silent, knowing that nothing I say will make her feel any better. If anything, I’ll just frustrate her more.
As we pull up in the parking lot of the fancy hotel where Bree is delivering the wedding cake, I can’t help but think that the woman I want more than anything in the world has been pushed too far to come back to me.