Chapter 23
Rachel
Ellie stood on a platform in front of a three-way mirror, wearing her wedding dress and looking absolutely stunning but also like she might cry or scream or possibly both. Sophie sat in one of the plush chairs nearby, clearly in full supportive-best-friend mode.
"Rachel!" Ellie's face lit up. "Thank God. I need a neutral third-party opinion."
"What's wrong?"
"The alterations are off. Look." Ellie turned, showing the back of the dress. "The bustle is wrong. It's sitting too low. And the waist feels too tight. I can barely breathe. And I hate the veil now. I don't even know why, I just hate it."
Sophie caught Rachel's eye and mouthed: Wedding stress.
Rachel understood immediately. "Okay. Let's problem-solve. First; the dress is absolutely beautiful. You're beautiful. But if something feels wrong, we'll fix it."
Mrs. Fork, the boutique owner, appeared from the back room with pins in her mouth and a measuring tape around her neck. "I can adjust the bustle. And loosen the waist a quarter inch. That's easy to fix."
"See?" Rachel said gently. "Fixable. Now, the veil. Do you really hate the veil, or do you hate that the wedding is in one week and you're stressed about everything?"
Ellie paused. Considered. Her shoulders dropped slightly. "Both?"
"That's fair. Now let's look at veils and find one you actually love."
An hour later, the crisis had been averted. Ellie had found a new veil, simpler, more elegant, exactly right. The alterations were scheduled. And the three women sat in the boutique's consultation area, drinking champagne from delicate flutes.
"Thank you," Ellie said, looking between them. "Both of you. I don't know what I'd do without you two."
"That's what friends do," Rachel said, meaning it.
Sophie grinned, raising her glass. "We're like a friendship triangle now. Very efficient."
"Very efficient," Ellie agreed, taking a sip of champagne. Then her expression shifted. "Rachel, can I ask you something? And you can tell me to mind my own business if you want."
Rachel's stomach tightened. "Okay."
"Mac mentioned that you might know Dr. Derek Matthews.
The PT who's been making all that noise about small-market teams." Ellie seemed to choose her words like they might bruise.
"He said you shut down when Mac brought it up.
And I… if there's something going on, if this guy coming to Vermont is going to be a problem for you, I want to help. "
The blood drained from her face. Her hands tightened around her champagne flute. "Mac told you that?"
"He's worried about you. We both are." Ellie leaned forward.
"I don't want to talk about this." Rachel's voice came out sharper than intended.
Sophie and Ellie exchanged a glance.
"Rachel, please." Sophie started.
"I said I don't want to talk about it." Rachel set down her glass, standing abruptly. "Derek Matthews is not my problem. He's just a physical therapist with opinions."
"Mac said there was a photo of Matthews with your ex," Ellie pressed gently. "That they were friends. And if he was involved in anything that happened to you—"
"He wasn't." The lie tasted bitter, but it was safer like this.
"Rachel." Ellie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before speaking. "You're not telling me the truth. I can see it on your face."
Panic rose in her chest. She couldn't do this. Couldn't explain Derek's role without explaining everything, the advances she'd rejected, the systematic poisoning of her relationship, the revenge disguised as career advice. Couldn't admit how naive she'd been, how she'd missed all the signs.
"I need to go." Rachel grabbed her purse. "I have to get back to work."
"Rachel, wait." Sophie stood too.
"Thank you for inviting me. The dress is beautiful. I'll see you both at the wedding." Rachel was already moving toward the door, her heart pounding.
"Rachel!" Ellie called after her.
Rachel paused at the door, her hand on the handle. For a moment, she almost turned back. Almost told them everything.
But then she thought about Mac's face if he knew the truth. If he knew that Derek had wanted her, his hands on her body, that everything that followed had been calculated revenge. That she'd been so stupid, so oblivious, that she'd let it happen.
"He's not dangerous, okay?" Rachel said quietly, still not turning around. "He's just... he's good at getting what he wants. And right now, he wants to discredit small-market teams. That's all."
"Is it?" Ellie's voice was skeptical.
Rachel opened the door, the bell chiming above her. "I need to go."
She walked out into the bright afternoon, leaving her two friends staring after her.
Her phone buzzed almost immediately. Sophie.
Sophie: Rachel, whatever you're hiding, it's eating you alive. When you’re ready to talk we are here for you.
Rachel stared at the text, then pocketed her phone without responding.
She walked back to the library, her mind racing. Ellie would tell Mac about this conversation. Mac would know Rachel was hiding something.
And then what?
Rachel's hands were shaking as she pushed open the library doors. Mrs. Henderson looked up from the table she was reading at, took one look at Rachel's face, and immediately stood.
"Oh, dear. What happened now?"
Rachel opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Her throat was too tight, her chest constricting like someone had wrapped bands around her ribs and was pulling them tighter and tighter.
"I think." Her voice cracked. "I think I just made everything worse."
Mrs. Henderson crossed to her in three quick steps. "Rachel—"
And that was all it took. The kindness in Mrs. Henderson's voice, the maternal concern on her face; it shattered the last of Rachel's control.
A sob tore from her throat, raw and ugly and desperate. Then another. And suddenly she couldn't stop, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but cry in great heaving gasps that felt like they were ripping her apart from the inside.
"Oh, sweetheart." Mrs. Henderson's arms came around her, strong and sure, pulling Rachel against her chest. "I've got you. I've got you."
Rachel clutched at Mrs. Henderson's cardigan, her entire body shaking with the force of her sobs. Everything she'd been holding in for the past year came pouring out in waves she couldn't control.
"I'm so scared," she gasped between sobs. "I keep ruining everything and I don't know how to stop—"
"Shh, shh." Mrs. Henderson's hand stroked her hair. "You were hurt."
"It's not okay." Rachel's voice was muffled against Mrs. Henderson's shoulder. "Mac deserves better than this."
"Stop." Mrs. Henderson pulled back just enough to look Rachel in the face, her hands firm on Rachel's shoulders.
"I love him," Rachel whispered against Mrs. Henderson's shoulder, her voice wrecked. "I love him so much and I'm going to lose him."
Her voice broke completely, and Mrs. Henderson pulled her close again.
"I ran away from the dress fitting," she admitted. "Sophie and Ellie were trying to help and I panicked."
"Then you apologize and try again." Mrs. Henderson handed her a tissue.
Rachel nodded, even though she wasn't sure she believed it. But Mrs. Henderson held her and Rachel let herself be held. Let herself be weak. Let herself cry until there were no more tears left.
Because running away from the truth didn't make it disappear. It only meant she'd have less control over when and how it came out.
Her phone vibrated and she pulled it out.
Sophie: You're coming to my apartment tonight. 7 PM. Good vibes only. We are your friends. Don’t ever forget that.
Rachel stared at the text. It wasn't a request.
Rachel: Okay.
Sophie: Good. Ellie will be there too. No ambush, just talking.