Chapter 12
CALVIN
The door clicks shut behind Jules, soft as a sigh.
I stay still, listening for the echo that doesn’t come.
The porch light flickers once above me, casting its tired glow across the railing. A moth throws itself at the bulb like salvation’s hiding in the glass.
She’s gone.
And I’m still standing here like an idiot. A lump in my throat I can’t seem to swallow.
Not that I blame her. She was right to walk away.
Why can’t you respect what I have with Evan?
Yeah. She’s right.
But damn if my heart ever got the memo.
I shift my weight. My boot scrapes the wood. From inside, laughter cracks the quiet like a whip.
She’s probably smiling now, back with Cara. Untouchable again. Like I didn’t just make a fool of myself for trying to feel something real.
I reach into my jacket. The letter’s still there, folded to death from too much second-guessing.
I was going to give it to her. I thought maybe…
No. That’s not true.
I didn’t think anything.
I hoped.
And that’s the difference.
The screen door creaks, hinges protesting like they’re over it too.
I don’t turn.
“There he is. Bro-meo himself. Whispering sweet nothings to the bugs?” Riot’s voice slices through the quiet. “You out here proposing to the night sky or just airing out your tragic hero energy?”
I glance over my shoulder. He’s holding two beers and wearing that same ridiculous tank top from earlier.
“Just getting a different view out here.”
He tosses me a bottle. I catch it, clumsily.
He leans against the railing beside me. “You always been this dramatic, or is this a Jules thing?”
I don’t answer. He doesn’t push. For a second, the silence returns. Not heavy this time. Just… honest.
Then Riot taps his bottle against mine with a soft clink. “Come on. The guys are assembling, and you’re late for a round of ‘Would You Rather.’”
I huff. Almost a laugh. “Lead the way, maestro.”
“Maestro?” He squints. “You trying to flirt with me?”
I take a sip, glance sideways. “You’ve always been a dreamer.”
He smirks, turning ahead.
I follow.
The light stays behind.
Riot’s got me by the elbow, half-dragging me toward a loose circle of lawn chairs and a bucket of beers buried in ice. The crew are tossing lazy jokes into the summer night of a small town, where everything feels nostalgic and just a little too loud.
Nate’s sprawled sideways in a beanbag that clearly doesn’t belong outdoors. Somebody’s cousin is trying to out-belch someone else no one remembers inviting. It’s chaos, but the warm kind.
“Look who finally joined civilization,” Nate calls.
A guy I swear I once threw javelin with shouts, “We were about to file a missing-bro report.”
I nod and drop into the open seat.
Someone snorts and passes me a cold bottle. “Welcome to the real after-party.”
Across the lawn, Cara and a bridesmaid pretend to play cards at a fold-out table lit by citronella candles. They’re not fooling anyone, they’re absolutely eavesdropping.
Riot drops into the chair beside me, smacking my wrist with the back of his hand. “Thanks for showing up, man. I knew you wouldn’t bail.”
He twists toward the circle, lifting his beer like a gavel. “Alright, gentlemen… and ladies present. Time for everyone’s favorite pre-wedding disaster, Would You Rather, deep cuts only.”
We get started around the circle, everyone tossing out questions with more beer than sense. The first few rounds are dumb on purpose.
Would you rather fight a horse-sized duck or ten duck-sized horses?
Would you rather be chronically sunburnt or perpetually damp?
The beer flows. Laughter climbs, loud and reckless, the kind that makes the night feel bigger than it is. Some stories at my expense. Others at Riot’s. A few so old I can’t believe we lived them.
But after a while, the tone shifts from goofball to pointed, from harmless nostalgia to something else.
One of the groomsmen, half-drunk and too honest, blurts: “Would you rather marry for love and be broke forever… or marry for money and never fall in love?”
Laughter erupts, but then one of the bridesmaids actually answers… honestly, without irony. She hesitates, then says it plain. “Love. Every time.”
The circle goes still for a beat, everyone registering that this game just grew teeth.
“Alright, Cal.” Riot leans in, grinning like he’s lighting a fuse. “Real talk. Would you rather get a second chance with Jules… or be the guy who walks away and never looks back?”
The guys lean in, eyes wide. Expectant. Across the lawn, whispers stir at the bridesmaids’ table. Cara tips her head, eyes bright with anticipation. I’ve learned quick this weekend… gossip is like oxygen here, and the wedding pool’s hungry for more.
I raise an eyebrow. “What kind of bargain-bin therapy session is this?”
Riot elbows me. “Answer the question. C’mon, Cal. Spill your guts.”
They’re all waiting, loud and easy with their beers and jokes. Heat creeps under my collar.
This isn’t a punchline. It’s the story that never got told.
I let out a breath. Lift my beer.
It’s reckless. I don’t know why I say it. But the words are there, and suddenly, so am I.
“I’d tell her… no one ever fit like she did.”
A breath.
“No one ever will.”
The laughter fades. Someone mutters, “Bro…”
The silence falls, thick as the late-summer air. Cooling but heavy.
Riot’s jaw slackens.
Even the bridesmaids freeze mid-game, cards fanned but unmoving.
Feels like even the crickets shut up.
Then Riot roars, pounding his fist on the bucket. “Double-dog dare complete, baby!” He hoists his bottle and drains it in one gulp. Some groomsmen erupt in cheers, others boo.
But I barely hear them.
“Bet you won’t tell her to her face,” Nate blurts, cutting through the noise. The words land heavier than he meant, and everyone hears them.
Riot straightens, already revving. “No, no, no. You don’t toss a minnow and call it shark bait, Nate. Step aside, let the maestro do the betting.”
He stands, arms raised with his beer to the sky. “Gentlemen, and eavesdroppers alike… double or nothing: Stewart tells Jules the truth before the wedding. On the record, no excuses.”
A wave of gasps ripples through the circle. Someone chokes on a beer.
I shake my head at them, like my pulse isn’t thudding against my ribs.
My gaze snaps to the dark line of trees. Jules’s face flashes there in the lantern glow. Soft, beautiful, strong.
I let her walk away again tonight. Add it to the pile.
“Wait, did you already tell her?” a bridesmaid across the circle asks.
“She already knows,” I lie. Sort of.
Laughter breaks around me, spilling into the night.