3. Sparks on the Sidelines
This is not how I imagined I would be spending my wedding night.
We have been in this car for about six hours, and the man who is helping me—Blake—has been driving the entire time. We have passed the city, fields of stunning greenery, and are now coursing down a road hedged by low, hilly grounds.
I cast a sidelong glance at him. Once again, I feel a small shock at how handsomehe is. I’ve been around pretty boys in my life, but Blake is in another category altogether. With his blond hair, clear blue eyes, and over six-foot frame, he looks like he could give any catalog model a run for their money.
But there’s something else different about him.
My breath catches in my throat as I allow my gaze to trail down his body for a split second. I still remember what it felt like, him holding me against his chest as we hit the ground.
It felt . . . good. Safe. Exciting.
Even in my confusion, the huge arms wrapped around my waist had made my stomach fold in half. For a brief moment, I wanted him to go lower, to put his hands on my hips and . . .
“Almost there.”
I jump, perhaps because we have not spoken much in the past six hours. Which was fine by me. I’ve been a nervous wreck the whole time, imagining what was going on back at the hotel with the wedding, and what moment my dad realized I’d made a run for it. Every single second I spent dwelling on what happened wound my anxiety to an even higher pitch. And a couple of hours later, I was too spent to summon any emotion except one of calm dread.
Inhaling deeply, I attempt to anchor myself in the here and now, concentrating intently on Blake’s words. “Almost where?”
He keeps his gaze locked on the road, his lips pursed. He’s looked like that for six whole hours. I wonder if he’s regretting helping me.
But then, who wouldn’t?
His lips grow thinner. “My cabin. It’s off the grid and out in the middle of nowhere. I go there to relax before the start of the hockey season.”
Yeah, he definitely regrets helping me.
A twinge of self-reproach rises in me. But I don’t feel as guilty as I should.
Maybe because I’m still concerned about what’s happening back at the wedding venue.
It’s six hours after I should have gotten married. I’m certain the news has spread over social media, confusing my fans. My belly flutters as I think of what people are saying online, what they are writing about me, the damage that’s being done to my career in this moment.
Again, for what feels like the hundredth time, I wish I’d thought to bring my cell phone. It’s probably good I didn’t because my dad would be blowing it up with calls by now. But then, having a cell phone means access to the internet. I could check and know what’s going on.
I close my eyes and rest against the seat, urging myself to think only good thoughts. My father is still a great manager. Yeah, he wanted me to marry Ben, and he’s probably raging about the fact that I ran off, but he’s stillmy dad. No doubt he has gotten in front of the cameras and delivered a statement that will protect my public reputation. I know he isn’t exactly the most paternal father, but he would do anything to save my career.
I decide I cannot take any more of the uncertainty. Glancing at Blake’s handsome profile again, I ask, “Do you have a cellphone?”
He looks at me for the first time in six hours. “Why? You regretting your decision already?”
I squint at him, confused. Why would he think that? It reminds me of what he said back at the venue, when he was convinced that I was upset over a torn veil.
I’m tempted to deliver a rude one-liner, but I force myself to rein it in. He’s helping me out, after all. Risking his reputation for a total stranger. I can overlook a few peculiarities.
“I want to see what the internet is saying about my grand exit.”
He tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “No way. You’re not doing that.”
“What? Why?”
He gives me another glance, focusing on my wedding dress. “You’re in a fragile enough state right now. Reading the posts of a million haters is not going to put you in a better mood.”
My chest rises with panic. I know he’s only trying to help, but his words frighten me more than anything else. Does he really think everyone on the internet is currently hating me?
I’m scared to ask that question, but I don’t need to, because he’s already pulling off the main road, onto a smaller one bordered by a thicket of trees. He cruises down the uneven, sloping path, finally stopping a little further down.
I look through the windshield. The sky has darkened considerably over the last six hours, but I can still see the outline of a small brick cabin a little way ahead, separated from us by an energetic stream and a narrow, U-shaped bridge.
As Blake helps me out of the car, my stiff limbs nearly trip over my gown.
“Where are we?”
“In the Michaux State Forest,” he says as he guides me toward the bridge, his hand pressed lightly on my back. “About two and a half hours west of Philadelphia,” he adds, noticing my blank expression.
My dress feels even heavier now, and I can see the delicate white fabric of the train getting dusty as I trudge down the narrow dirt path.
“Careful,” he says, moving quickly to sweep me into his arms. My breath catches as he lifts me effortlessly. His earthy, masculine scent surrounds me, mingling with the fresh forest air. Startled, I squirm to get away. This is way too much contact with a stranger.
“What are you doing?”
He looks down at me, his jaw clenched. “The bridge is a little wobbly. Wouldn’t want you to trip over that gown and break your pretty little neck.”
There, again. Under his words, there’s a simmering river of hostility.
He can’t stand me. And I’ve no idea why.
I have more things to worry about right now, so I shove that aside and continue to wriggle.
“Really, I can cross by myself. Let me go.”
I manage to slip lower in his grip. My feet are mere inches from the ground when he lets out an annoyed sound and tightens his hold. My heart stops as his palm cups my ass. Even separated by the layers of my wedding dress, the heat and hardness of his palm sears my skin, as though it’s pressed against my naked butt.
My cheeks grow warm. I open my mouth, ready to bluster about how inappropriate he’s being, but he’s crushing me once more against him.
I’m too embarrassed to keep struggling. I stay still as he marches us across the bridge and up to the cabin.
He sets me down gently at the door, his hands steadying my waist for a lingering moment. But as I step forward, my heel catches on my dress, and I stumble into him. My palms press against the solid muscles of his chest. His thumb grazes my cheek as he gazes down at me with stormy blue eyes turned indigo. I swallow, my heart skittering like a rock over thin ice, my entire body humming.
And then I feel something else.
Him. Hard against my abdomen.
My mind seems to explode in tiny fragments. I stay still, thinking that I’m imagining it. But he seems to be growing harder, propelled by my body flush against his. He is thick, thicker by far than Ben, the only person I’ve been with.
My face flames as warmth pools in my belly and spreads between my legs. A sensation I have not felt in at least three years. Even toward the end, whenever I wanted to have sex with Ben, I would have to get by with bottles of lube. I thought my vagina was broken.
Apparently, it’s not.
“Seems like you keep tripping over those dainty little feet,” he rumbles, and takes a step back, leaving my cheeks flushed and my body cold.
He fumbles in his pockets for his keys and opens the door. Then he flicks the lights on.
I turn and look around. It’s a typical cabin: brick walls, concrete floors, and an old couch in front of a TV that looks straight from the eighties, antenna included. There’s a fireplace underneath the TV. A table on the other side of the room holds a rotary dial phone and what looks like a phone book. The place is lined with bookshelves, but bare of pictures or any other personal items.
It’s the perfect hiding spot.
I want desperately to collapse on the couch, maybe even sleep it off, but I’m too wound up to do that. I cast a glance at the TV and then the phone. Blake wasn’t lying when he called this place off-grid. He seems to have taken every precaution to make sure the internet is not a part of his life here. Still, there’s every possibility the TV is working. Or at least the phone. If I could contact someone, anyone . . .
“The phone works,” Blake says, reading my thoughts. “If you know how to use a rotary dial.”
I turn to him. Unbidden, my gaze dips to his chest, then his torso before flickering even lower. It’s my last-ditch effort to determine whether I imagined him hardening against me.
My breath catches as I take him in. He looks even thicker than what I felt as he put me down, starkly outlined against the fabric of his pants.
“Do you want to?”
I jump, my arms erupting in goosebumps. He’s staring straight at me because he caught me looking at him. Is he asking me if I want to do that? Something about his question makes me forget every other thing going on. That I’m a bride on the run and my life is unraveling around me as we speak.
The only memory that comes to mind is one from this morning, when I stood in my room, accepting that I would never get to experience sex with anyone but Ben for the rest of my life. Wondering if sex with him is all it’s cracked up to be.
I steal another glance at Blake. I don’t know why, but I’m convinced that he would be different. That he would want me harder. With more feeling.
That thought causes another surge of fluid down there.
I should be put off by this, I tell myself. Sure, I ran away from my wedding. But it’s sick for him to even consider asking me if I want to get down with him while I am still in my wedding gown.
I feel none of that. I’m almost expectant. I’ve read stories from women who claimed that sex had been enough to upend their universe and give them more pleasure than they ever thought possible.
Maybe this is what I need to get over the stress of today.
“Uh . . .”
His gaze is stern, unfeeling. And then he walks over to the phone and holds up the receiver.
“You know what I’m asking, right? If you want to use the phone?”
I’ve never felt so embarrassed in my entire life.
I stare at the floor in front of my feet, taking shallow breaths. Of course. Of fucking course. Even if Blake might be attracted to me—and the proof is in the pudding on that matter—there’s no way he’d ask to make love to me.
Not today. Maybe not ever, judging by how little he thinks of me.
And if he was to eventually decide that he wants me after all, he certainly would not ask.
He would take.
My pulse is thundering in my throat.
“Yeah,” I say, looking back up, deciding to stash my humiliation away. His blue eyes hold the tiniest speck of amusement, as if he knows where my thoughts went.
I decide to ignore that. Once again, I need to remember that I have more important things to worry about.
I trudge past the couch and make it to where he’s standing, holding the receiver. But before I can take it from him, he holds it above my head.
Irritation grows in me. Yeah, he’s handsome. But he’s also a dick.
“Who are you going to call?”
Realizing I didn’t even think of that makes me bite my lip. It feels embarrassing to admit I have no clue, so I stay quiet. The obvious answer should be my dad, but I’m not quite ready to do that. I’m not over his actions this morning, how he was so willing to push me into a loveless marriage to preserve the route by which he makes money.
Blake sighs, making no move to hide how frustrated he is. Finally, he mutters, “Call Kevin. I have his number in this phonebook.” He jabs at it with one finger. “He’s going to give you a decent amount of information about what happened at the party, and he’s not going to freak out about me since he knows who I am.”
I swallow and nod. Kevin worked at the agency I started off with as a relatively unknown singer. He didn’t directly represent me, but we bonded over being youngsters in a world of celebs. Even if my dad changed agencies a couple of times after that, Kevin and I maintained a sporadic friendship. He’s one of the few people I trust to keep a secret.
“I’m going into town for some supplies,” Blake says as he hands over the receiver. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
He marches out of the cabin, and I watch him go. I don’t know why, but something about his presence makes me feel safe. I think of the certainty in his hold when we both hit the ground, how he wrapped his arm around me as though he would do anything to keep me from breaking.
Maybe that’s why. Because he definitely would feel a lot better if I weren’t around. But while I’m here, I’m almost certain he’ll do anything to protect me.
I collapse on the couch, my heart racing as I flip through the phonebook and find Kevin’s number. This is my first contact with anyone apart from Blake in hours. I’m scared to find out what happened.
It takes me some time to muster up the courage to make the call. But once I dial Kevin’s number, he picks up on the first ring. There’s a gleeful note in his voice. “Hey there, Blakey. You didn’t show up to this, huh? Just as good, because?—”
“Kevin. It’s me, Faye.”
He gives an astonished gasp. “Faye? How are you on Blake’s cabin landline right now?”
My palms grow slippery with sweat as I fill him in on the few key details: getting cheated on, running into Blake, escaping the venue. These are the things I wouldn’t ordinarily share without consulting a PR team because they could easily get leaked. But right now, I’m too tired to think of following normal protocol.
Kevin lets out a low whistle once I’m done giving him the highlights. “Well . . . wow. That’s awful. I’m sorry, Faye. Really sorry.”
I thank him. There’s an opening now for me to find out what’s going on, how bad it is. But my heart races even more at the thought of asking those questions, of knowing what happened after I left. Something about my ignorance is comforting.
Kevin whistles again on the other end of the line. “You know, it’s kind of funny that you ended up with Blake.”
“Why?” I’m momentarily distracted.
He gives a small, nervous laugh. “He’s about the most romance-averse person I’ve ever met in my whole life. You’re basically a different species to him.”
“Oh.” That does explain a lot: his brusque manner, the fact that he always assumes the worst, even the scowl he wore during the entire six-hour drive.
The only thing it does not explain is his physical attraction to me.
My stomach drops when I let myself dwell on that for a moment. I wonder whether to ask more questions. As far as I can tell, I’ll be staying here overnight, maybe even for the next few days. It wouldn’t hurt to know a little more about him.
But before I can think of what to ask, Kevin adds, “You know, your version of the story is kind of different from what the media is saying.” There’s a tiny pause, before he quickly continues, “Of course, I believe what you’re saying.”
Version? There are versions of the story now? “What do you mean?”
He gives another nervous chuckle. “Everyone has different theories of why the wedding didn’t take place. The guests know you didn’t show up, but the media has been churning out ideas all day.”
My heart shrivels up in my chest. It’s not worse than what I expected but hearing him say those words is still scary. It confirms my worst fears.
Unable to stop myself, I ask, “What’s the leading theory now?”
Kevin pauses. “Has your dad contacted you?”
I shake my head before I remember he can’t see me. “He has no idea where I am. No one does.”
I hear Kevin swallow on the other end of the line. I wonder if he’s trying to stomach the fact that he’s the only one who knows my whereabouts. But then, he asks, “So you have no clue what he’s telling the press?”
My anxiety, buried under a layer of dread, surges up again. I have literally no idea what my dad could be saying.
But I’m willing to bet anything that it’s not good.
I could stay here a few days and remain blissfully ignorant. It would give me time to mull over everything that happened and make a decision.
But then, the panic surging in me is desperate for news. Any news. Even bad.
“What’s he saying?”
Kevin gives his longest pause yet. And then, in a low tone, he mutters, “I suggest you get to a TV. Quick.”