11. Liam
11
LIAM
I t’s been a week since Whitney agreed to marry me, and I haven’t heard anything from her. I assume our agreement is still on, but I’m starting to get nervous. What if she changed her mind? What am I supposed to do then?
I’ve drafted eight texts to Luke’s dad to tell him I am working on a plan to honor Luke and deleted all of them. The only idea I’ve had is setting up a scholarship in his name, but I don’t really know anything about that. Still, I can’t help but feel excited about it. Finally, I have something to focus on.
Something important. Worthwhile.
Besides, I’m really starting to get sick of the smell of beer following me everywhere I go. I feel like it’s seeped into my pores. Plus, the stench reminds me of the way the lab smelled so clean — like sanitizer and latex gloves. I loved that smell. That’s how I used to smell. How I used to feel.
Clean.
I didn’t get home until four in the morning last night, which has been typical for me lately. Working all night and sleeping all day. Closing my eyes, I try to imagine what Luke would say if he saw me now.
Man, you’re a mess. Real women dig white coats, not White Claws.
He’d shove me and smile that foolish grin of his, the kind of smile that seemed so real and so deep. I used to look in his eyes when he laughed and swore he had this sort of spark, this light that felt wholly permanent somehow. I took it for granted. Didn’t realize how rare and special it was to find someone like him, someone who really seemed to brighten the world no matter where he went. That’s one thing I always admired about him — how genuinely good he was. I should have told him. Maybe if he’d known, if he’d understood how much everyone who met him looked up to him, maybe things would be different.
I push any thoughts of Luke from my mind and kick off my blankets, deciding it’s time to get up. I’m brewing coffee in the kitchen when Whitney shuffles in, a fluffy pink robe wrapped around her.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” I reply.
It’s quiet. Is she going to say anything about the wedding plan? Do I need to get rings? Shit. Of course we need rings. Am I supposed to be in charge of that?
She crosses the kitchen and pulls out the blender. “Are you around this weekend?”
I lift my coffee to my lips. “I have a shift Friday night and Saturday night.”
She just hums in response.
“Why?” I ask.
She shifts on her feet, reaching for a banana. “Well, I was thinking we should probably go to Vegas to get married since it’s the shortest waiting period for a marriage license. Then we can fly back here and… be married.”
“I can trade my Saturday shift,” I tell her. “If you can get us flights for Saturday morning, we can get married Sunday and come back Monday?”
She tosses the banana and some strawberries into the blender. “That works. Do you want me to book them?”
I lean against the counter, watching her. “Sure.”
She adds oat milk and protein powder. “Can you send me your… license or something? I don’t know. That feels really intimate.”
“We’re about to be legally married, but booking a flight for me is intimate?”
She rolls her eyes. “Can we just do it now? I’ll go get my laptop.”
“Okay.”
She leaves the room, her unblended smoothie sitting on the counter. I set down my coffee cup and cross over to the blender, plugging it in and running the pulse setting for a few seconds. When she comes back into the kitchen, I’m pouring the liquid into a mason jar and sticking one of those twirly straws she’s always chewing on into the glass.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says as I slide the smoothie across to her.
“It’s fine.” I shrug.
We browse online for a few minutes before Whitney books flights for the both of us. Once those are set, I call Darius, basically begging him to take my shift. After I hang up, I wonder if I should have told him I’m getting married. Maybe he would have been excited for me.
Across the counter, Whitney is typing rapidly on her laptop, her eyes darting across the screen. She looks so focused, those chocolate brown eyes zeroed in on whatever she’s working on.
Chocolate brown? What the fuck?
My curiosity gets the best of me. I clear my throat and slant my gaze towards her. “What are you working on?”
She glances up at me, wariness written all over her face. I feel a sudden churning in my gut. I’ve really been a dick to her if she doesn’t even want to answer a simple question like that.
She sighs. “It’s my business plan. The business I need the money for.”
“What kind of business is it?”
“It’s a beauty salon,” she replies with a soft smile.
I’m surprised by that. Sure, Whitney is gorgeous, and I realized that the second I laid eyes on her. Her short blonde hair that cuts off just at her slender neck, her freckled cheeks and slim, symmetrical face. She’s fucking stunning, but she doesn’t seem like the type to be concerned about having perfect hair or a face of makeup.
“What made you want to do that?”
“I spent a lot of time in salons when I was kid. Since my mom and I basically lived on the road, she would leave me for long periods to do my own thing. I’d often hang in one of the local hair salons and talk to the ladies who worked there. It felt like a safe space for me, a constant in a world where nothing else really was.”
I find myself oddly fascinated watching her speak. She’s got this gleam in her eye, a fiery passion behind her words that makes me want to keep listening.
She shrugs. “Yeah, that’s it. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. It sounds really cool.”
She nods, and it’s quiet. For the first time, I feel a comfortable silence settle over us, like I don’t need to say anything. Like we can just sit here, together, and that’s enough.