Chapter 10
JULES
Idon’t know how I ended up wedged between Calvin and his mom. Cara perches behind me, one hand on the back of my chair, her conspiratorial smile saying she’s done me a favor.
This table’s already been christened the misfits table for tomorrow’s wedding. By the time the first bowls hit the table, the barn’s packed with family and friends gathered for the rehearsal dinner. Fairy lights strung overhead flicker like tiny promises, casting the room in gold.
Across from us, Aunt Marianne taps her napkin to the beat of the music, spry at eighty. Beside her, a toddler in a crooked bow tie smears mashed potatoes across his plate.
The scene could almost pass for romantic, if not for Riot commandeering the bar cart like it’s his personal stage.
He hoists a crystal decanter high, ruby sangria sloshing.
“More courage, folks!” he bellows, voice booming off the rafters. “Who’s ready to see sparks fly tonight? Or have we all gone clean-living like Cal’s influencer buddies?”
Calvin leans back, lazy smirk in place. “Depends. Are those cherries or jalape?os, Riot?”
Laughter carries across the table as Riot passes the decanter around.
When it lands in Calvin’s hands, his eyes flick to mine. I tip my glass forward. He nearly knocks it from my grip, his fingers clamp over mine, pinning them to the stem as he measures the pour.
For someone so polished, he looks like he’s holding his breath just to survive it.
He sets the pitcher down, and our eyes catch. Not steady. Not calm. For a second it feels like he’s waiting on me, like I could nod and give him permission to speak.
I glance away, wishing Evan were here. Safe. Easy. A buffer to break the tension. But the beat stretches anyway, thick with everything we’ve never said, and everything I cannot let myself say now.
Time stalls around us until Riot clears his throat, flashing another refill before the jug even makes a full loop.
Faith rests a hand on the bottle, shaking her head, amused.
“Careful, or Maddie’ll be scraping you off the lawn before sunrise.” She winks, then lets go.
Laughter ripples around the table.
Riot cocks an eyebrow at Calvin, leaning back with a smirk. “You gonna let your mom tell me what to do, Cal?”
Calvin grins. “What do you want me to do? She basically raised you. Think of it as her last warning before Maddie takes over.”
The table roars as Riot raises his glass in a mock salute. “To the misfits! May everyone else envy our playlist and our punch.”
He takes a theatrical sip, then winks at Faith. “Thanks for the warning, Mother Superior.”
Faith tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes twinkling. “Just doing my job.”
Calvin tilts his glass toward mine. “To Riot surviving his own wedding.”
Our rims clink.
I add, “And Maddie not having to scrape him off the lawn.”
It feels like more than a toast. Evan is even-paced, dependable. But this… this feels like temptation, and I’m not sure I trust myself around it.
Riot swoops in before the moment lingers, scooping a toddler onto his lap. The boy beams like a tiny king.
“To old flames and new beginnings!” Riot bellows, bouncing him as the table howls.
Then, louder still, “And to the betting pool on Cal and Jules. Half of you said implode, half said explode. Place your wagers, people.”
He nudges the toddler. “What do you think, little man?”
Heat floods my cheeks. I glance at Calvin. He meets my eyes with a wry lift of his mug, anchoring me in a way I don’t expect.
Faith squeezes my hand under the table. Cara snorts into her drink, smirking behind the rim.
Riot’s words hang in the air, tangled with the toddler’s giggles and Aunt Marianne’s amused cluck.
I press my napkin to my lips, caught between pride and a sudden, forbidden pull.
Even in the middle of his clown act, Riot’s chaos has a way of pulling truth to the surface, whether I’m ready or not.
And tonight, truth feels dangerous. Because the way Calvin unsettles me isn’t fear. It’s life rearranging itself.
I haven’t felt that in years.
Not with Evan.
Not with anyone.
As he parades the boy back to his seat, punch-soaked and triumphant, I realize every joke hides something true. Evan is the future that makes sense. But Calvin is the life I’ll ache for if I don’t choose it.
The table erupts again, celebratory and chaotic. I glance at Cara and roll my eyes. She’s clearly enjoying the madness.
The truth still terrifies me, but it stirs something I thought I’d buried long ago.
Riot slaps the table, nearly toppling three drinks at once. “Remember Cal’s triple backflip off the dock for Jules? Pond scum everywhere. Took a week to wash it out!”
The table howls. Calvin doesn’t miss a beat. “Worth it. She laughed, didn’t she?” He tips his glass toward me, grin tugging. “And she stuck around long enough to bandage my leg.”
My smile betrays me. Why does that scene still spark through me like it’s fresh?
Cal just lets Riot have his thunder, patient even while the spotlight burns hot and rowdy. Nostalgia lingers under my skin, stubborn and alive.
I tell myself it’s nothing, just the past, and glance toward the far end of the table, hoping the chatter will drown it out.
Riot leans across, hands framing his face like a telescope. “I swear, Jules, you’re orbiting Cal’s gravity. Somebody call NASA. This is getting astronomical!”
Groans and laughter ripple, half mortified, half delighted. He straightens, chest puffed, voice ringing. “Should I bring up Cal’s poetry phase?”
He clears his throat, dramatic as a Shakespearean actor. “‘Jules, your smile is like the sunrise…’”
“Riot.” My voice slips thin, a plea more than a command.
But he barrels on, words booming, unstoppable. “‘Your eyes are like oceans I drown in gladly, your?—’”
“Riot.” Calvin’s voice cuts sharp, loud enough to halt the laughter. “Nobody wants to hear all that.”
A few heads turn. The table quiets a notch.
Riot just grins wider, drunk on attention. “Fine, fine. Forget the poetry. But prom night…”
He swirls his goblet like a king holding court, grin sharpening as he swings between Calvin and me. “Do you remember what happened after your big speech?”
My stomach knots. Calvin’s eyes snap to mine, a warning and a plea.
“Riot.” Maddie’s hand clamps his arm, her voice grounded and firm. “That’s enough. These two survived enough headlines for one lifetime. People aren’t punchlines.”
Something in him falters. His grin flickers, then he softens under her gaze. “Yes, ma’am.” He raises his goblet in mock surrender.
The table exhales with nervous laughter, but the damage is already done. My pulse thrums, my napkin clenched too tight. In one careless moment, Riot dragged the past into the open.
Beside me, Calvin’s knee brushes mine beneath the table. When I glance at him, he’s already watching me, quiet and unshifting, his silent promise that we’ll get through this.
Dinner plates are traded for dessert forks. Groomsmen jostle for the biggest slice while Cara fields song requests on her phone.
Riot’s never met a lull he couldn’t fill. With a drink in hand and a devil’s glint in his eye, he leans forward.
“You two made any progress on that bet yet?” His voice carries over the chatter."Mrs. Dorsey’s got her chips on an ‘explode by midnight’ ending. I don’t plan on letting her down."
A few groomsmen chuckle. One mutters, “Look at ’em, might as well pass the rings now.”
Another adds, “My money’s on a total meltdown before midnight,” eyes flicking toward Calvin and me before darting back to Riot for approval.
Cara gives him a tight side-eye, but doesn’t deny it.
Then Riot lifts his glass like he’s hosting a roast.
Cara glances at me, eyebrows lifted in that are-you-okay? way only best friends can pull off.
Faith sets down her fork. “Riot.” Her voice cuts calm but firm. “Enough. Don’t you think you’ve put these two on a tall enough pedestal for the night?”
Riot only winks at her, raising his glass in mock salute. “Maybe, maybe, Mrs. Stewart. But after one last toast.”
He swivels toward the table, chest puffed, grin too wide. “To lost loves, found family, and our favorite almost-explosive duo, Cal and Jules! May they hold off until after the cake’s cut!”
Laughter breaks, but it’s uneven, raw around the edges. Cara tosses a napkin at his head, mock-groaning, “Boo! Get off the stage, Ri!”
Even so, the eyes at the table flick to me and Calvin.
My dessert fork feels suddenly heavy in my hand. The air thickens with expectation. Everyone is waiting for a comeback, a spark, some public show. My chest tightens, heat crawling up my neck.
I smile, sharp and fierce, my voice unwavering even if something underneath it shakes. “Seriously, Riot? Not everyone came here for a circus act. And for the record, I’ve had a boyfriend for two years. Maybe try a new punchline.”
The words land. A silence follows, just a shade too long. Riot’s showman smile falters, his mouth opening to brush it off.
Calvin’s voice cuts through like cool water, level, not loud, but clear. “Riot, take your shots at me if you want. But leave Jules out of it.”
The table hushes further. Riot freezes, glass half-raised. Calvin doesn’t look at me, but the hard set of his shoulders speaks for him, the weight of too many jabs carried too long pressing into the silence.
Inside, a jolt runs through me. Surprise. Safety. For a disorienting second, I feel… protected.
I hate how much that affects me. I’ve never needed rescuing. I didn’t ask for rescuing.
He has no right.
I steal one more glance at Calvin.
He has no right.