Chapter 3
Chapter Three
TRISTEN
Fueled by adrenaline, I whip into the closest parking spot near the bazaar, my seat belt locking at the sudden stop. The very thought of Reese in danger transformed me into a driving lunatic. I broke more traffic laws than I care to admit, but it was worth it to arrive in record time.
Music pumps through my half-open windows, and I soak in the calming vibrations. Tension eases from my shoulders as I practice what I’m going to say when I see her. Something kind and full of patience so she doesn’t bite my head off like she loves to do whenever I speak to her.
I’m not sure when it started, but spending time with her is like walking through a mine field.
Nobody is more stubborn than that woman.
Even when Reese knows she’s 100 percent wrong, she’ll argue until her last breath.
And if she’s mad or upset? Lord help me, her words are as sharp as knives.
Don’t get me started on how reckless she can be—I’m surprised I haven’t died of a heart attack by now.
My eyebrow twitches at the thought of her hitchhiking again. Someone has to keep an eye on her.
Heck, forget the practiced speech. I’ll just throw her over my shoulder and carry her to my truck. It’s not the first time I’ve done it and probably won’t be the last. It was the easiest way to deal with her after she’d been drinking.
A sickening doubt creeps into my thoughts.
The similarity of these erratic texts she sent earlier to the random messages she used to send me during her drunken episodes.
Both out of the blue and riddled with errors.
It doesn’t help that Maya answered her phone and didn’t let me talk to her. Almost like she was hiding something.
Reese . . . no. I refuse to believe it.
I slam my palm into the steering wheel at the thought of her relapsing when she’s come so far.
This is the longest she’s been sober, to the point I don’t even think or worry about her drinking.
Despite her determination, we are all human and stumble on occasion.
So if she has, Des and I will be there to set her on her feet again—no matter how many times she needs us to.
Unbuckling my seat belt, I leap down from the truck and follow the shoppers toward the event. I push my way through the crowd, scanning the sea of people for her.
When I see her, the anxious beast inside me calms and the desperate urge to plow through the crowd to find her lessens. In fact, I’m relieved. If I didn’t think she would break my arm, I’d give her a hug.
I can thank her abusive ex-boyfriend for that new trait. Now she doesn’t enjoy any personal contact . . . especially from me. It’s amazing how I went from holding her hand in the hospital when she recovered to her scrambling to avoid me in a room.
My fist curls in my jacket pocket. I regret not punching him a few more times that night instead of letting the police deal with him.
The other girls are chatting on the sidewalk, laughing about something.
But Reese’s tall form hunches slightly away, scanning for the nearest exit.
Her dirty-blonde hair is swept up in a long ponytail resting over one shoulder, the ends swaying each time she tugs at the fabric clinging to her front.
The purple-haired bridesmaid spots me first and waves me over. At least someone is happy to see me. Maya’s and her relatives’ stiff backs and tense faces seem like they are bracing for a brawl. And as I expected, Reese glares at me like she could will me back to my vehicle by looks alone.
Even when I come to help she’s irritated at me. I can’t win with her.
The distinct aroma of wine drifts off her, stopping me in my tracks. Had I missed something? I scan her face again, taking in her clear silver eyes, and a weight lifts off my chest. She’s sober—thank God.
“You can stop frowning at me. I didn’t drink,” Reese snaps.
“I didn’t say you did.”
“Your face said it loud and clear.” She crosses her arms.
“She didn’t,” Nia says, taking a step in front of me like she’s ready to come to blows in heels.
“I’m not accusing anyone—this is just my face. But it is a bit concerning that nobody is explaining why she reeks of wine. What happened?”
With a huff, Reese glances skyward. “It’s just . . . such a weird story. We were walking and this tiny dog darts out of nowhere barking his head off. It starts a chain reaction of things smashing into one another until boom, a glass of wine goes flying and spills on my shirt. You’re all caught up.”
Of course this would happen to her. I shake my head. It all sounds ridiculous enough to be true.
She holds my gaze, baiting me to disagree. Yeah, I’m not falling into that bear trap.
“Did you eat something? That usually helps with your triggers.”
“You think telling me to eat will solve everything?” Her curt tone has me backpedaling to safety.
“Well . . . it has before.”
“No, I’m not hungry. I’m stressed out and want to go home.” She holds up her trembling fingertips. “My body has apparently had enough for one day.”
That urge to pick her up and cart her off to safety returns.
“Let me buy you a milkshake or something. I think I passed a truck on the way in.”
“I don’t . . . well . . . that does sound good now that you’ve mentioned it.”
I fight back a grin. She’s always had a sweet tooth.
Reese gives Maya a hug and says goodbye to the others.
“I got her now. You guys go have fun,” I say, and we start our trek to the parking lot.
Reese sulks at my side as we approach the Shake Shack near the entrance.
Each of her grumbles poke at my patience, increasing in volume when I order her favorite banana and strawberry shake she usually orders at the cafe back in town.
I finally break, slapping some money on the counter with unnecessary force.
I turn back to her, almost eye to eye in height. “What is your problem now?”
“You. You’re acting like you’re my babysitter.”
“I’m not.” I take the drink from the balding man whose eyes dart between Reese and me.
“Do you want some extra cherries?” he asks, like that would fix all our problems.
“No, thanks. She doesn’t like them.”
“Agh! That just proves my point,” she says, snatching the drink from my hand. “I’m standing right here and can answer for myself. You always do this—you take over and boss me around.”
“Are you kidding me? Fine. Go ahead and tell the man you want the cherries then.” I step backward and gallantly gesture to the truck. “Be my guest.”
Her hands grip the Styrofoam cup, nearly popping the lid off. “Uh.”
“Go on. I’m waiting.”
“They’re on the house for you, miss,” the bald man says, grabbing an empty container.
“Ahem, well, I’ll pass this time. Not because he said so, but because it’s my choice.”
I raise a brow. “Or it’s because you just don’t like them like I said.”
She shrugs. “You’ll never know. Women are supposed to be a mystery.”
Stubbornness . . . plain and simple.
To avoid any more questions, she takes a long sip through the straw and her eyes flutter closed, savoring it.
When she isn’t snarling at me, she’s almost angelic.
Large, innocent eyes surrounded by thick lashes, golden wisps of hair framing her face, a dainty nose, and full lips always covered in some fruity-smelling lip gloss.
The sheen on her mouth distracts me for a moment as I wonder what flavor she has on today. She rarely wears the same one two days in a row and collects them like some women collect shoes.
“Are you feeling better now?”
She slurps through the straw and nods.
Maybe I should carry extra snacks or candy for emergency-Reese-moments like this.
We’re almost to the parking lot when I hear her clear her throat to get my attention.
“Yeah?” I tilt my head toward her.
She avoids direct eye contact, focusing on the collar of my jacket. It takes her a few seconds to get the words out, like she’s taking a spoonful of medicine.
“Thank you for the drink. You didn’t have to, but I’m grateful that you did—”
“You’re welcome.”
“—and also for picking me up on such short notice. I know weekends are crazy at the bar, so I appreciate it—”
“You’re welcome.”
“—which leads me to the boutique when you were helping me with my dress—”
“You’re welcome.”
She stomps her foot. “Would you stop interrupting me? You make this so difficult sometimes.”
“Make what difficult?”
“I’m trying to apologize, you jerk,” she snaps.
“This is an apology? Goodness. I’d hate to see you upset.”
“You know what? Forget it.”
She goes to turn around, but I catch her wrist and spin her back to me. Her eyes take on a metallic sheen, her full mouth curled down at the corners. I’m probably two seconds away from having the rest of the milkshake dumped on my head.
“I’m sorry I interrupted,” I quickly say.
With that one phrase, her anger deflates like a balloon.
“I’m sorry I lost my temper.” She waits a beat before adding, “And for being rude to you at the bridal boutique.”
I whistle. “A double apology?”
“Don’t get used to it.” She playfully taps my shoulder and smiles.
The ground drops under my feet, her sweet smile catching me off guard. My mind returns to which flavor lip gloss coats her lips again. Does it taste like it too?
“Tristen?”
“Hmm?” I lean on my toes in her direction, catching a hint of watermelon mixed with the banana from her milkshake. So sweet . . .
“I asked where you parked.”
“Oh.”
What the heck am I doing? I turn around and start power walking away. “This way.”
“Wait up.”
Her boots crunch in the dirt in the parking lot, rushed steps as she falls in line beside me. I sense her curious glances, but I keep the pace brisk until we arrive at my beat-up white truck.
“Hop in.” I leap into the fabric seats, soft and conformed to my shape after fifteen years.
Reese opens the door, her eyes wide. “You didn’t lock it? I’m surprised someone didn’t steal this gem as soon as you walked away.”
I ignore her sarcasm. “Just get in.”
She climbs in next to me and rubs a hand across the fraying burgundy seats.