Chapter 1
Chapter One
8 Years Later
Hallie
I acknowledge my existential crisis about returning to my hometown is at a peak point, bolstered by too much coffee and a healthy dose of jet lag. Waiting to be seated by one of the harried waitstaff, I can’t help but wonder if I’d be forgiven if I ditched my suitcase, called a taxi, and canceled after all.
Slipping my fingers into my black leather bag, I trace along the outline of my passport within its zipped pocket, its presence a soothing balm and the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card. Thankfully, Monterey has its own airport and is within driving distance of a few more. I catch my escapist thoughts and remind myself why I’m here, of the money I need, and I take my hand from my bag.
Giuliano’s is bustling for a Thursday night. Families, couples, and friends crowd around too-small tables, and I can’t help but feel anxious when I don’t automatically find the faces I’m searching for.
Finally, I see them, seated toward the back. Two of my favorite people in this world.
My best friends, who had decided to make a go of it together, who’d given the whole relationship thing a real shot, consequences be damned, and were now getting married.
I would have lost the bet on them ending up together after I’d introduced them during a visit Jules paid me in my first year at college. Their initial reactions to one another hadn’t been ideal, which, in hindsight, should’ve been the first sign I was about to be kicked out of my own room on more evenings than I cared to think about.
I watch the two of them, bodies angled toward each other, eyes locked, and very much in love.
No matter the uncertainty of my own life, I can’t help but be happy to have crossed an ocean to bear witness to their love and celebrate with them. Because what they have? It’s worth every moment of celebration the world has to offer.
The fact that I could use the visit to my own personal advantage was just luck.
Erica pulls her eyes away from the love of her life, and when she sees me, she lets out a squeal worthy of a fifteen-year-old at her favorite boy band’s concert.
“Hallie!”
She rushes from her table and throws her arms around my neck. I forgive her for it—I’m just as excited to be in her arms as she is to have me here.
She’s as bright and beautiful as ever, with pin-straight, raven-black hair falling around her shoulders and a hug holding more strength than she looks capable of. It’d always been my hope her hugs would pulverize the bones of those who didn’t deserve her friendship or love—a simple way of vetoing those who were unworthy of her time.
Erica lets me go only to make space for her man, my first real friend, my number one for so long, Julian.
He still has the deep brown hair and bright eyes I was so fond of and the mouth that was always quick to smile, but he’s bigger now, filling out his once-lanky body. Since college, we have, of course, FaceTimed, and even caught up in person once while he’d traveled Europe. However, here and now, engaged to my best girl, he’s no longer a nerdy thirteen-year-old boy or a college student surviving off ramen noodles and coffee. He does, however, still look like my oldest friend, like the home I needed to see.
Julian’s purposeful silence and perusal of my physical self are obvious. I roll my eyes at Erica and take a little step back, holding my arms out in front of me and spinning around to give them a 360-degree view.
“No engagement ring, no new tattoos, and I attempt three square meals a day,” I say, facing them. I let a quick beat of silence go by before I ask, “Do I pass muster?”
“Only barely with an attitude like that. Now, come here,” Julian says, a deep laugh coming between us. He opens his arms, and I step into his familiar embrace. He squeezes tight enough to lift me from the floor and whispers, “I have missed you so fucking much, Hallie. I’m so glad you’re here.”
And just like that, as my red Dr. Martens land back on the ground, I start to feel at ease.
After we finally sit at our table, I’m able to relax. I plop my handbag on the seat next to me because who doesn’t like it when their handbag gets a seat?
I lift the cocktail menu and look across at the lovebirds in front of me. “What are you drinking?”
Julian holds up a beer, but Erica, forever my savior, points to a bottle of red on the table I’ve somehow missed. “Help yourself.”
“So why aren’t I visiting you in your new house tonight?” I ask as I pour myself a glass. “I’ve heard talk of water views, stunning sunsets, and a backyard made for summer barbecues. I’ve also been bombarded with enough furniture and lifestyle mood boards to drown in over the last year. Why am I missing out?”
Julian’s eyes had been on mine only seconds ago, but now lift to a point above me. Even as I watch his mouth open, the words I hear next are not from him.
“I think that would have to be because of me?” says a deeply amused voice from behind me.
The urge to close my eyes is strong as the sound hits my ears, and it takes a conscious effort on my part to open them slightly wider in protest.
I know that voice.
Know it almost as well as my own.
Granted, it’s changed—there’s a depth and a timbre that weren’t there before—but there are some things you don’t ever forget, and for me, Marcus Scott’s voice is one of them.
Julian’s the one to respond. “What can I say? I wanted to make sure our new windows and furniture stay in the same condition they’re in now—very much intact. A public place also provides those clearly marked emergency exit points I’m hoping we won’t need to use.”
He’s trying to be funny, to lighten the mood, but I don’t move, don’t even breathe, as I feel a large hand grasp the edge of my chair and warm knuckles brush the bare skin of my upper back.
One. Two. Three. I take in those white-and-green exit signs, just in case.
I shift my eyes to Erica, impressed by her ability to keep this little addition to our dinner plans from me. Although I’ve always known she was a master keeper of secrets; she’s kept plenty of mine over the years.
Regardless of her involvement, Erica’s dark eyes are filled with compassion. Having this man drape himself over the back of my chair is not a situation I ever would’ve chosen for myself. She mouths, Sorry , quickly and discreetly before standing up to greet my nemesis and her soon-to-be brother-in-law.
It’s only as she stands that the pressure releases from the back of my seat, and I finally work up the courage to turn my head, watching them embrace. I do my best not to think about everything going on below my neck. But it’s hard to ignore your heart being punched like one of those stupid little boxing speed bags.
Marcus owned the title of my first love, and I use his embrace with Erica as the chance for an eight-year visual catch-up. My eyes and mind eat up the opportunity, taking mental snapshots to stash away for later.
Time is such a weird thing, the way it changes us and the way it doesn’t.
Marcus looks different, and he looks the same—much like I do, I’m sure. The profile of his face is familiar, even if the beard is new. His jeans are a dark wash, and his T-shirt is black, snug around his broad, tan arms. When he finally lets go of Erica and turns to me, I realize I’ve made a grave mistake.
Instead of looking to get my fill, I should’ve spent the time sucking up all the oxygen my body could hold.
I’d honestly assumed I was ready to see him.
Four years at college, four years in Edinburgh, and over five thousand miles between us, and it still hasn’t been long enough.
Not even my most reliable, workplace-friendly, stop-mansplaining-me-please smile wants to make an appearance. And looking in his eyes, I know the moment he realizes it too. There’s a flash of regret, and I can’t help but wonder if it truly makes him sorry. If it makes him sad.
Marcus’s grin, though, is genuine and full of those same white teeth and soft lips I’d always known and had once enjoyed.
The thought is enough to have my mediocre smile drooping, because fuck it if memory is not a bitch.
“Hi, Marcus,” I say.
My tone is beyond the bounds of neutral, but not overtly rude. Because what the hell else are you meant to say after not seeing someone since the night they helped break your hymen?
He raises his eyebrows at my greeting, knowing better than perhaps anyone else at the table I’m simply playing nice. Considering he broke up with me the very next day, the day of my gran’s funeral, my first time gives the phrase I got fucked a whole new meaning.
Before he’d left me in bed, he’d also asked me to marry him.
Naively, I’d agreed.
What can I say? I still happily hold a grudge.
“It’s good to see you, Hallie. You mind if I sit here?” He motions toward the seat on my left.
He once again clutches the back of my chair, and I feel the pressure.
I don’t respond right away, even though I have to say yes; no isn’t an option in this scenario.
I’m going to let him sit next to me, to have his body near mine, where I’ll be unable to see his face but clearly hear the lies that’ll spill from his lips.
But I don’t have to go down in this first round without a little, if slightly passive-aggressive, fight.
I look from Marcus to my bag and then back again. My smile is genuine when I find his eyes, hoping he sees the tiny bit of malice in my own.
“Actually, I like it when my bag gets a seat.”
Across the table, I hear Erica snort quietly and mutter, “Oh good lord,” into her wineglass.
My spine gets a little straighter with pride.
Game on.
It’s the first time the four of us have ever been at the same place together, let alone at the same table, and, wow, it’s not fun.
Thick silence drenches our party, making the noise and laughter of those around us uncomfortably obvious. Sadly, my ability to release words that’d be appreciated did not arrive with me this evening, so I hold my lips tight, letting the orchestrators of this little dinner date start and hold the conversation.
Cradling his drink in his hands, Julian sits forward, elbows on the table, moving his eyes from mine to Marcus’s as he speaks. “Obviously, we invited you to dinner tonight because you’re two of the most important people in our lives. We wanted to speak to you together—” A little cough sounds from Erica. Glancing at her briefly, Julian pauses and then continues. “Or really, I wanted to speak to you together because I want you both to be a bigger part of the wedding.”
Afraid to know where this is going, I watch as Julian glances at Erica, who simply gives him a small smile of encouragement and then takes another sip of her wine.
Since when have the two of them grown up so much?
Julian takes a breath and releases it slowly. “Marcus, I’d be honored for you to be my best man.” And then he sits back, his part in this obviously done for now.
“Hallie, I’d love for you to be my maid of honor,” Erica says with a smile directed my way.
“We know this might not be ideal for either of you, but we want you both to be a part of this,” Julian finishes.
Wow.
My eyes might have been on Julian as he spoke, but now they feel as if they might be bugging out of my head.
“Are you serious?” I ask, not at all convinced my childhood friend hasn’t lost his ever-loving mind.
I knew they were only having a small wedding, and until this point, I’d assumed they were going to go without a bridal party.
“I am totally serious,” Julian responds, enunciating every word. He sits farther back into his chair, taking a long swig from his beer. “You’re my best friends, and I want you both to be an equal part of this. Hal, you’ve been the best wingwoman a guy could want. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you to be a part of it. I don’t want us to have to pick which one of you is involved in this day. You’re my family too.”
Before I have the chance to say anything else—or even think—I’m interrupted.
“We’d love to,” says the familiar voice from beside me. The voice of whom’s owner I’ve yet to properly look at since he sat down.
My bag no longer has a chair, his body heat is doing funny things to my left side, and he wants to answer on my behalf? Yeah, no. This wasn’t how I’d seen this evening panning out.
“Are you serious?” I ask again, this time turning to look at Marcus or at least the profile of his annoyingly well-sculpted face.
As he turns to match my stance, I recognize his smile, but his eyes? They aren’t the same at all. The eyes of the man in front of me are shrewd, cold, and detached. Marcus might still be as handsome as ever, but there’s no sign of the sweet guy I thought I’d once known. The one I’d assumed was my forever.
Flinty eyes still on mine, Marcus looks down at me as if I’m some sort of problem he doesn’t understand and wishes would just go away. “Of course I’m serious. He’s my brother, and you’re their best friend. I can’t honestly believe you’re considering saying anything else.”
Guilt trip much? Not that he wasn’t right in saying so. Marcus might’ve been an asshole, but he was also, generally speaking, annoyingly honest.
I comb my fingers through my hair in frustration, moving it away from my face and tucking it behind my ears. “I’m not considering saying no. Of course my answer is yes, but the fact that…”
I let the sentence hang. Because, really, what am I going to say next?
The fact that you shattered my teenage heart still infuriates me?
The fact that I’ll have to look at your stupid face is not high on my list of things to do?
Or maybe…
The fact that you answered for me makes me want to claw your eyes out?
There’s nothing positive to say, so I leave it.
Instead, I give Julian and Erica a small, repentant smile. “I’m sorry. You just caught me off guard.” Throwing a pointed glance at Julian’s rather smug-looking sibling, I continue. “Of course I’d love to be maid of honor.”
Dinner becomes a bit of a blur. There’s food, some of which I eat and some I just push around my plate. The same goes for my wine, which I take to holding without drinking. I talk smack with Julian, I chat with Erica, and I listen to the two of them talk with Marcus. It’s a slightly surreal experience to be here with these friends of mine whom I haven’t seen in so long. It’s been three years since I’ve seen them in person, but right now, it feels like longer.
Whatever issue I personally have with Marcus, there’s no doubt they all love each other and are excited about the wedding. More than anything, what I become aware of is just how happy they are to be in each other’s company on a simple night out. How normal and natural it is for them.
A part of me knew it would be like this with them regardless of the upcoming wedding. No matter how I looked at it, they were all up to date on the goings-on in each other’s lives and the events of the last few years in general. I might keep in touch with Erica and Jules via text and social media, but it isn’t the same as being an actual, physical part of each other’s daily lives. The emotion in our chats wasn’t the same, no matter how hard we tried. From a distance, knowing this little bit of magic and friendship had been going on without me wasn’t so bad.
In person? It stings.
A lot.
New friends are great, but there’s just something about spending time with old friends—friends who know exactly where you came from and who you are—that’s unbeatable. And it’s something I’ve been looking forward to.
But I’m back with my “old friends,” and the feeling is still just out of reach.
Part of me wants to blame it on Marcus and his general existence, but a larger part of me knows better. Feeling displaced in the moment isn’t new to me; I’ve lived in a foreign country, after all. I just never would’ve guessed I’d feel displaced here and with these particular people.
I’ve missed these humans of mine, and I’ve missed out on being a part of the life they now have. I’m the one who’d left, and on more days than not, I’m glad for it. Today just isn’t one of them.
Finally, I open my mouth to speak, afraid my voice might crack after remaining unused for so much of the evening. “All right, I’ve gotten over the fact I’m going to be paired up with a fool for the duration of the wedding. What’s left for us to do?” I ask with an overexaggerated flourish. “I know you’re keeping things intimate, but there must be something you need help with. Unless this role is more like the best man’s, and I can sleep with a bridesmaid, lose the ring in a card game, and simply show up on the day.”
I focus a snarky little grin on Marcus.
Smiling, he responds. “Well, actually, now that you mention it, I’ve had it on my mind to not just sleep with a bridesmaid but to go for a trifecta of sexual acts on the night. I’m thinking a blowjob in the coatroom—to muffle the sound, obviously. Not ’cause I’m a screamer or anything; I just like to give instructions. Perhaps a hand job in the bridal room and a fuck in the gardens.”
Marcus pauses for a moment as if in deep concentration. “I haven’t settled on anything final, though. It’s going to depend on the weather.”
I inhale slowly, not wanting the flaring of my nose to give away my absolute frustration at his response. Pressing my tongue to the top of my mouth, I force the corners of my lips up. It wouldn’t surprise me if he tried and succeeded in running that particular trifecta with each of the bridesmaids, but I keep that bitter little thought to myself. It’s nice to know his fuckboy habits haven’t changed after all this time.
Regardless of my opinion, Marcus gets a laugh from Erica, who says, “That’s all well and good, but you both know the only reason we’re even here is because if Julian made Hallie a groomsman, the whole event might’ve turned into a murder mystery night and not in the cute dinner party kind of way.”
The pride I feel in my friend’s knowledge of my slightly volatile nature really shouldn’t fill me with as much glee as it does.
Giving me her full attention, Erica continues. “Although Jules technically had dibs ’cause he’s known you longer, I’m glad you’ll be on my side of the aisle. As for what needs to be done?” Erica shrugs nonchalantly. “Dress fittings, mostly. Our parents and anyone else who’s flying in are doing so only a day or two before the wedding. There might be a bit to do to help organize our joint bachelor and bachelorette weekend in Vegas, but more than anything, we’re happy to have you both be a part of the day.”