Chapter Five
Mitch
Mitch brought the empty glass to eye level. He peered inside it. “The whisky’s gone.” There wasn’t even a drop of liquid left. With a sigh, he put it back on the bar.
A tall glass of water slid in front of him.
“You’ve had all the whisky. Drink this now,” Hunter said in an even voice.
Mitch frowned and blinked at him. “Where did you come from?”
“I’ve been here for the past two hours.” Hunter lifted his own, half-full whisky glass. “Came back as soon as I sorted everything with the catering staff.”
Mitch cursed under his breath as the enormity of today hit him square in the chest. The wedding, his wedding. The live sex transmission of Eve and …
“Lionel fucking Webster,” he muttered, taking a large gulp of water. “I’ve always hated the guy.”
Hunter snorted. “You liked him.”
“That was before I knew he was screwing my fiancée.”
“Fair. If it makes you feel any better, I saw him in the bathroom, looking like a sad piece of shit.”
Mitch smirked to himself as snatches of his conversation with Eve came back to him. “She broke things off with him. Apparently, he loves her.”
“Karma.”
“Precisely.” Mitch tugged at the collar of his shirt. Previously crisp and white, now it felt like he had worn it for a few rough weeks. He blew out a breath, drinking some more water. “How did this even happen? The video, I mean.”
“Yeah, I asked about that. There was a live virtual conference yesterday for something to do with finance and someone chose the wrong output connection for the TV or something. The wedding coordinator was very apologetic.”
Mitch huffed. “Finance conference. What a load of crap.”
Hunter put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sorry, man. I know you love Eve.”
He pressed his palm to his temple. “Guess it’s better to find out now she’s a cheater who didn’t love me, rather than after we got married.”
Now that the whisky had stopped flowing into him, he realized he was rather tipsy. Not to the point of slurring his words or seeing double, but enough to worry he might be unsteady on his feet. His head slipped off his hand and his eyes shot open.
Hunter sat next to him. Even though his life was shit right now, Mitch appreciated having him there. “Thanks for sorting everything. I couldn’t go out there.”
He shuddered at the mere thought of facing Eve’s family. Or his father.
“Least I could do. But hey, if you want to go buy some eggs and throw them at Lionel’s car, we can go do that too,” Hunter said.
Mitch let out a low laugh. “Don’t want to get arrested on top of everything. He’d deserve that and more, though.” He drained the rest of the water. “Where’s Caroline?”
“In our room. She thought you and I might need to talk.”
“Not much to talk about. It’s over.” Mitch shrugged.
“At least her parents paid for the venue and catering,” Hunter supplied.
Mitch nodded, unsure if more to Hunter or himself. “Yeah.” Then he remembered one of the big items he had paid for. “Shit. The honeymoon.”
“What about it?”
“It’s fully paid for, and I won’t be able to get a refund now. Fuck.” He groaned. “Maybe you and Caroline could go? Two weeks in a gorgeous all-inclusive luxury resort in Cancún. Shame for it to go to waste.”
Hunter chuckled. “I’d love to, dude. Really. But Caroline needs to get back to work next week, and I have riding lessons scheduled.”
After Hunter’s father died, the family had sold their ranch outside Purcell. Hunter had taken his share of the money and moved to Aberdeenshire in Scotland, where he bought an equestrian facility.
Mitch sighed. “I’ll email the hotel in the morning, say we aren’t coming … Money’s just money, right?”
“You should go,” Hunter said.
Mitch goggled at him. “Go on my honeymoon alone, without a wife?”
“Why not? If anyone deserves a great holiday it’s you. Especially after, well, everything.”
Mitch’s stomach dropped. His life had imploded in a matter of hours. The hopes and dreams he’d harbored for his future, with Eve by his side, popped and disappeared like fragile bubbles that had raised a bit too high in the air.
He’d already taken two weeks’ vacation from work.
What would he do if he didn’t go to Mexico?
Go back to Oklahoma City, to the apartment they shared?
Stare at their photos, get angry and smash them?
Lie in their king-size bed, Eve’s pillow no doubt still smelling of her?
Maybe he could burn that pillow once he got back.
It had “pathetic” written all over it.
Maybe Hunter was right. Maybe this was exactly what he needed.
Two days later, Mitch squeezed himself into seat 7A on the plane heading to Cancún. He had fallen asleep on the first leg of his flight; now, with another three hours ahead of him, he was wide awake and ready to get the party started. It didn’t matter it would be a pitiful one.
“Sir, I need to ask you to remove this.” A flight attendant with a blonde pixie cut looked pointedly at his Stetson straw hat sat on its own seat like a guest of honor. “Someone might be sitting here.”
“My wife was meant to be here.” He frowned, the words burning his throat. “But she cheated on me in the side room of the chapel—moments before our wedding.” Mitch let out a sarcastic laugh. “So, she isn’t here. I’m wifeless, wishing I could be a lot less sober.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I really must insist—”
“Leave the man be. He ain’t hurting anyone,” an older man in the aisle seat piped up, joining the conversation. “It’s just a hat.”
The flight attendant grimaced. “Someone might want to sit here. Though I suppose if the seat was booked, it might be all right.”
Mitch grunted.
The man smiled at the flight attendant. “Then it’s sorted. We’re going to spend the next three hours with …” He turned to Mitch. “What’s your name, son?”
“Mitch.”
“I’m Bart.” The man extended his hand in greeting.
Mitch gripped it firmly and shook. Then, he looked up at the visibly flustered flight attendant. “Once the bar opens, can we get some drinks for me and Bart here?”
She gave him a tight smile. “Of course.”
An hour later, Bart knew every horrendously embarrassing detail from Mitch’s sham of a wedding.
Alcohol always loosened his tongue, and he’d left his days of being insecure back in college.
One drink turned into three. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure how else he would work through his pain.
Bottling his feelings up never did him any good, so he decided to have some fun.
If this humiliation could ever be considered fun.
Bart raised a plastic cup to him. “Maybe it was fate. Maybe it had to happen. Maybe it would’ve been a mistake if you ended up marrying her.”
Mitch snorted, pushing himself further into the uncomfortable seat. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”
“I’ve been married three times. Each one ended up in a divorce. They cost a fortune … You should count yourself lucky, son.”
Mitch shut his eyes, trying to turn off the jumbled voices around him. He had a splitting headache. It could be due to the alcohol consumed on the flight or maybe the cumulation of all that he had drunk in the past couple of days—either way, he refused to rejoin the conversation.
As much as Eve was in the wrong, as much as there was no excuse for what she did, she also wasn’t completely wrong. He’d never forgotten Jackie. And he probably never would. How could he, if he never got the closure he needed to move on?
Maybe whoever controlled his fate was having a good laugh at him just now. Karma and all.
Mitch took a deep breath, his head slumping against the small window as he fell into another short bout of exhausted sleep.