Chapter 11 Parker
PARKER
The bridal suite smells like a perfume bomb exploded in a flower shop.
Rochelle has the other bridesmaids lined up like soldiers, adjusting bustles and checking lipstick with military precision, while Sienna sits in front of an ornate mirror looking radiant and slightly overwhelmed.
The air is thick with the competing scents of hairspray, vanilla body lotion, and at least six different perfumes that shouldn’t exist in the same zip code.
“Parker, come here,” Madison calls, waving a tube of mascara like a weapon. “Your lashes need another coat.”
The silk of my bridesmaid dress—a deep emerald that cost more than my monthly rent—clings to my skin in the humidity.
My hair sits pinned in an elaborate updo that took an hour to achieve and feels like it weighs ten pounds.
I love them. I do. But I need air. Space to think without someone telling me how to breathe or critiquing the angle of my blush application.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, slipping toward the French doors that lead to the terrace. “Just need a minute.”
“Don’t mess up your hair!” Rochelle calls after me, her voice cutting through the chatter of six women in various states of wedding preparation.
The gardens sprawl behind the hotel in manicured perfection—all crushed shell pathways and ancient live oaks draped in Spanish moss that filters the late afternoon sun into golden coins of light.
The air out here tastes clean, salt-sweet from the harbor, a relief after the chemical cocktail upstairs.
Gravel crunches softly under my heels as I follow the sound of water toward the fountain—a massive thing imported from some Italian villa, all carved cherubs and flowing water that catches the light like liquid diamonds.
And there’s Cal.
He stands with his back to me, still in his morning clothes instead of his groomsman attire—khaki pants that fit him like they were tailored to his body, a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms corded with muscle.
His sandy blond hair, usually perfectly tousled, looks like he’s been running his hands through it.
For once, he’s not performing for anyone.
No audience to charm. No energy to project.
He looks... tired. Human in a way that catches me off guard.
The late afternoon sun cuts through the oak canopy, painting everything in shades of amber and gold.
He flips a coin into the water—the sound is a soft plunk that gets swallowed by the fountain’s constant murmur.
His shoulders are broader than I remember, filling out the cotton of his shirt in ways that make my mouth go dry.
“Making a wish?” I ask, stepping closer on the crushed shell path.
He turns, and that trademark grin slides into place like a mask he’s worn so long it’s become part of his face. But it doesn’t quite reach his amber eyes, which look darker in the dappled light. “Princess. Escaping the chaos?”
“Something like that.” I settle beside him on the fountain’s wide marble edge, careful with my dress. The stone is warm from the sun, heated through the silk to my skin. “What about you? Thought crowds were your natural habitat.”
“They are.” He turns a coin over in his fingers—a quarter, worn smooth at the edges like it’s been handled countless times.
His hands are tan, long-fingered, with a thin scar across his right knuckle that I remember from when he punched a tree in high school over something stupid.
“Doesn’t mean I don’t need to recharge sometimes. ”
Up close, I can smell his cologne—something expensive and dark with notes of cedar and bergamot that seems to curl around me in the humid air.
There’s something different about him today.
The usual easy confidence is there, but underneath it sits something rawer.
More real. The kind of vulnerability he usually hides behind jokes and that devastating smile.
“Heard you and Jace played hero this morning,” he says, voice casual, but his eyes are watching my face with uncomfortable intensity. “Saved Sienna’s perfect day.”
“Crisis management. It’s what I do.” I smooth my hands over the silk of my skirt, the fabric cool and slippery under my palms.
“Mmm.” His amber eyes study my face like he’s trying to read something written in a language he’s still learning. “Must have been some conversation on that boat.”
My pulse kicks up, and I can feel it in my throat, my wrists, behind my eyes. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you both came back looking like you’d been through something.” He leans back against the fountain, casual as breathing, but his gaze never wavers. The movement makes his shirt pull tight across his chest. “The kind of something that changes things.”
I don’t answer, focusing instead on the way the water catches the light, sending ripples of gold and silver across the surface. The fountain bubbles between us, filling the silence with white noise that somehow makes everything feel more intimate, like we’re sealed in our own private world.
“Can I tell you something?” he asks finally, voice softer now.
“Do I have a choice?”
His laugh is sharp, humorless, cutting through the afternoon air like broken glass. “You always have a choice with me, angel. That’s the problem.”
Before I can ask what he means, he’s holding up the quarter. In the golden light, I can see it’s old, worn, the edges smooth from years of handling. “I’ve carried this for six years. Same coin. Never spent it.”
“Why?”
“Insurance policy.” He flips it, the silver catching the light as it spins through the air. He catches it without looking, muscle memory. “Reminder of a promise I made to myself.”
“What kind of promise?”
“The kind that keeps you awake at night.” His voice drops, loses the performative edge entirely. When he looks at me, his amber eyes are darker, more serious than I’ve ever seen them. “The kind that makes you question every decision you’ve made since you were eighteen years old.”
Something cold settles in my stomach, spreading outward like spilled wine. “Cal—”
“Do you know what it’s like to want something you can’t have?” The question comes out quiet, dangerous. The fountain seems to bubble louder, or maybe my heart is just beating so fast it drowns out everything else. “To build your entire life around the absence of one person?”
I stop breathing. The garden goes silent except for the water and the distant sound of string instruments tuning up somewhere beyond the hedges.
“Because I do.” He turns the coin over and over, the movement hypnotic in the fading light. “I know what it’s like to fuck other women and think about someone else. To wake up every morning for six years and wonder if today’s the day she comes home.”
“Stop.” The word comes out breathless, barely audible.
“I know what it’s like to pretend you’re fine when everyone asks about her.
” His voice is steady, controlled, but there’s something volatile underneath it, like a storm gathering strength.
“To smile and joke and act like your best friend’s little sister didn’t take half your soul when she left for California. ”
“Cal, stop.”
“Why?” His eyes find mine, and they’re not charming anymore. They’re desperate, raw, the kind of naked honesty that makes my chest ache. “Because it makes you uncomfortable? Because it’s easier to pretend last night didn’t happen?”
The air between us feels charged, electric. I can taste the salt from the harbor on my tongue, feel the humidity settling on my skin like a second layer of silk.
“Last night—”
“Last night I told you I’ve wanted you since I was sixteen.” His voice cuts through whatever excuse I was trying to form. “Last night you looked at me like I’d grown a second head and walked out.”
“I needed to think.”
“And now? Done thinking?”
The simple question cuts right through me like a blade, finding the space between ribs. Because the truth is, thinking is all I’ve been doing. Thinking and remembering and trying to figure out how three men I’ve known my entire life managed to upend everything I thought I knew about myself.
“It’s complicated.”
“Bullshit.” The word comes out flat, final, hitting the air like a slammed door. “You want to know what’s complicated? Watching you date other people. Pretending to be happy when you called to tell us about your job, your apartment, your life that didn’t include us.”
He stands abruptly and starts pacing along the fountain’s edge. His movements are sharp, agitated, like a caged animal finally realizing the bars are locked. The late afternoon light cuts across his face in sharp angles, highlighting the tension in his jaw, the rigid line of his shoulders.
“You want to know what’s complicated? Lying awake, wondering if the reason you never came home for Christmas was because you knew. Because you knew how I felt and you couldn’t stand the thought of dealing with it.”
“That’s not—”
“Isn’t it?” He spins to face me, and there’s something wild in his expression, something that makes my pulse stutter and race. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’ve spent six years running from anything that might make you feel something real.”
The accusation hits like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. “You don’t know anything about my life.”
“I know you build brands for other people, but can’t figure out what you want for yourself.” His smile is sharp, cutting, the kind that draws blood. “I know you’re brilliant at reading everyone except yourself.”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I can feel my temper rising like mercury in a thermometer. “Fuck you.”
“There she is.” His voice turns velvet, dangerous, wrapping around me like smoke. “There’s the Parker I remember. The one who used to fight back instead of hiding behind pretty manners and careful distance.”
I stand up fast enough that my heels scrape against the marble, the sound sharp in the humid air. “You think you know me.”
“I know you better than anyone.” He steps closer, and now I can feel the heat radiating from his body, can smell the cedar and bergamot of his cologne mixing with something that’s purely him—warm skin and summer air and trouble.
“I know you used to sneak out to our parties just to prove you could. I know you kissed Ryan Matthews behind the gym, not because you liked him, but because you wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”
Another step closer. He’s tall enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his amber irises, the way his pupils dilate in the fading light.
“I know you cried for three hours when you had to put down that stray cat you found, and you made me promise never to tell anyone because Carters don’t show weakness.”
My chest is tight, breathing shallow. The air between us feels thick, charged with something that makes my skin feel too sensitive, like I might combust if he touches me.
“And I know,” he says, voice dropping to something that’s barely above a whisper, rough with want and frustration and years of held-back longing, “that when you look at me, you feel something. Something that scares the hell out of you because it’s real and messy and completely out of your control.”
“Cal—”
“Tell me I’m wrong.” His hand comes up to cup my face, palm warm and slightly callused against my cheek.
His thumb brushes across my cheekbone with devastating gentleness, and I can feel my pulse thundering against his wrist. “Tell me last night meant nothing. Tell me you’re going to get on that plane tomorrow and forget this conversation ever happened. ”
I can’t. The words stick in my throat like broken glass, sharp and impossible to swallow.
“That’s what I thought.” His smile is soft now, almost sad, the sharp edges worn away by something that looks like pain. “You know what I wished for just now?”
I shake my head, not trusting my voice. His thumb is still moving across my skin, tracing patterns that make me want to close my eyes and lean into the touch.
“I wished for you to stop running.” His thumb traces my bottom lip, the touch so gentle it’s almost reverent. “From us. From yourself. From the fact that maybe, just maybe, the life you built in California isn’t the one you actually want.”
The words hang between us like a dare, heavy with possibility and danger in equal measure.
“And I wished,” he continues, voice rough with something that sounds like pain, like years of wanting someone you can’t have, “for the courage to tell you that if you leave tomorrow, you’re not just breaking my heart. You’re breaking all of ours.”
Tears sting my eyes before I can stop them, hot and unexpected. The garden blurs around the edges, all golden light and green shadows and the endless sound of water over stone.
“Don’t cry.” His other hand comes up to frame my face, and now I’m caged between his palms, surrounded by the scent of him and the warmth of his skin. “Please don’t cry, angel. I can handle a lot of things, but watching you cry because of something I said isn’t one of them.”
“I’m not crying because of you,” I manage, my voice thick with tears I can’t seem to stop. “I’m crying because—”
“Because?”
“Because I don’t know how to want this.” The admission comes out broken, honest, scraped raw from the deepest part of me. “I don’t know how to want you and Jace and Silas without it destroying everything.”
His forehead drops to mine, and we’re breathing the same air now, sharing the same space in a way that feels both intimate and dangerous. I can taste the salt of my own tears, feel the warmth of his breath against my lips.
“Then let us teach you,” he whispers against my mouth, and the words sink into me like stones into deep water.