Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Labor Day weekend is finally here, and Cape Cod awaits us. We’ve all been anticipating this vacation—most of us, anyway. When Esme sprung the whole couples’ trip idea on Liv, she wasn’t having it. Esme had to beg Liv for two days straight, knowing that if Liv didn’t go for it, neither would I. In the end, Liv relented, but not before Esme made Victor promise Liv that Smith would behave.
“He has to be told to behave?” she’d asked. “That’s not a red flag or anything.”
It took some convincing before Ian agreed to make this a couples’ trip. Having two men vacationing with us when he won’t be able to make it down until Sunday because of his shifts at the hospital was almost enough for him to cancel the entire trip.
After the Midnight Blues incident, Ian wants me to pick a side. He told me—no, he demanded me to stay away from Victor. And I have—so far. Victor and I haven’t been alone in the same room with each other since the fiasco at Midnight Blues. And the way my heart hurts? It has me seriously worried.
I’m not a chatty person by nature, but Victor is a person this introverted girl enjoys talking to. We talk about everything —everything but our significant others. I’ve told him about my parents, particularly my experience growing up around addiction, and he’s told me about the precarious relationship with his stepfather and why he uses the distinction of “step” when talking about his stepdad and stepbrother—because the senator almost always made the distinction when introducing Victor to others.
And it’s not just the deep conversations that have me invested in our friendship. I used to be in love with him. Therein lies the problem. Because of that reason alone, I should stay away. I’m already in too deep. It shouldn’t be hard to walk away if it makes Ian uncomfortable.
“I can’t believe I let Esme and Victor talk me into this,” Liv laments as she pulls her car into our driveway behind the new car Victor leased for Esme. She’s finally wearing him down, Liv had said when Victor took Esme to the dealership to lease the brand-new Mercedes convertible. She’d wanted a Porsche, but he shot down that idea.
I reach behind me, searching blindly for my purse amid the hastily bought Target essentials. Esme stayed behind to finish packing while Liv and I went on a store run for last-minute toiletries and snacks. “I can’t believe you let them talk you into it, either.”
“Gee. That’s comforting.” The dry sarcasm in her voice is thick.
Realizing my mistake, I clarify, “I didn’t mean it like that. From what I remember, Smith’s really cool.”
Liv rolls her eyes, seeming unconvinced. “You know what they say about guys who have last names as first names.”
We gather our things from Liv’s car and make our way to the house, our arms full with shopping bags. “That they can’t be trusted?”
A smirk finds her lips. “Bingo, bitch.”
Our second trip to retrieve our shopping bags from Liv’s car is interrupted by the sudden arrival of an unfamiliar vehicle. Its engine grumbles as it comes to a stop at the curb, catching our attention.
The sight of Victor as he and Smith exit the backseat of the ride-share has my pulse racing. His T-shirt hugs his broad chest, accentuating his well-defined biceps. The shorts he’s wearing complement his muscular thighs, showcasing the length of his toned legs. And his dark hair is tucked underneath a backward baseball cap, a style that unexpectedly amplifies his glacier-blue eyes and the sharp contours of his jaw.
Liv hunches over the trunk, gathering her bags one by one, leaving me no choice but to acknowledge the guys with a wave. “Find what you’re looking for?” I tease her.
“I can’t find the—oh, here it is.” She flips me her middle finger.
I snort, fixing my face as quickly as I can since the guys are watching us as they approach.
“What’s up, ladies?” Smith’s deep voice drips with Texan charm.
“Welp, that’s everything.” After pulling out the two bags she’s had in her hand all along, Liv straightens up from the trunk and turns around. “I’m Liv.” Her gaze sweeps over Smith, her eyes subtly expanding in quiet appraisal.
“Smith,” he replies with an easy smile and extended hand. Unlike Victor, his muscular arms are tattoo-free, with golden hair dusting his tanned skin. Liv takes Smith’s hand, and the two of them stand there with something like hearts in their eyes, giving off vibes straight out of a romance novel.
“Hey, Skylar,” Victor greets me with a slight smirk that makes my heart flutter.
“Hey,” I reply, pushing my glasses up my nose as a blush heats my cheeks.
Liv recovers first, letting go of Smith’s hand. Victor rolls his eyes at their exchange—at least I assume he does, because I want to do the same. I want to nudge Liv’s arm, but that wouldn’t be discreet.
“Let me get those for you,” Smith says, taking the bags from her hand.
“Thanks.” Her tone is polite but dismissive, and I know from experience that she’s shutting down like she does with every guy who expresses any interest in her. “I’ll show you inside. Come on,” she continues in a businesslike manner.
Smith chuckles at her bossiness before playfully responding, “Yes, ma’am.”
The two of them walk off together toward the house without another word to either me or Victor.
And now we’re alone.
I clumsily drop the bags in my hands, avoiding eye contact as I speak. “Esme’s upstairs packing.”
The sun beats down on us, and heat rises in my cheeks, though I’m not sure if it’s from the weather or the intensity of Victor’s gaze. He tilts his head to the side, squinting against the harsh sunlight. “How have you been?”
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “Good. You?” My fingers fidget with the hem of my shirt, and I tuck a few flyaways behind my ear, all too aware of his eyes darting to my engagement ring.
Victor’s jaw clenches, and a flicker of something—hurt, anger, disappointment…jealousy? No freaking way —crosses his face before he composes himself. “So you’re still going through with it? You’re still marrying him,” he clarifies, his tone sharp and unforgiving.
I lift my chin defiantly, not wanting to have this conversation, but better now than later. “I’m still wearing his ring, aren’t I?”
“Did he tell you to stay away from me?” His words come out in a low, controlled voice, but I can hear the undercurrent of frustration beneath them.
I open my mouth, then close it again, struggling to find the right words. “He…I-I’ve been sleeping in lately.”
He drags both hands up and down the bridge of his nose. “He’s a manipulative asshole.”
“You don’t know him. We never talk about him. All you have to go off is that one time when we were together.”
“What else is there to know? He treats you like shit. I was there. I saw it with my own fucking eyes. You really want to be with someone like him?” Victor’s icy blues fill with sorrow and pity, making me feel weak and small. “You deserve better than him.”
“He has a good heart. He saves lives.” It feels like a lame excuse even as the words tumble out. But I want Victor’s approval. He needs to know I’m okay. They all do . “I’m okay. Really. We’re fine.”
“But you’re not, though. It’s just a comforting lie that you’re telling yourself because it’s easier than facing the truth.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. But I can’t back down. Not when he’s attacking the person I’ve chosen to be with. Shock, hurt, and anger wrap around me like an extension cord cutting off my air. “ The truth ? You need to stay out of my relationship and worry about your own.”
A flicker of pain crosses his face, vanishing instantly as his expression turns to stone. “The last thing I want to do is upset you. But answer me this.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Has he ever hit you?”
Panic courses through me, replacing my irritation. Why would he ask me that? Ian wouldn’t do that. “What? No,” I scoff. Doubt lingers in his eyes, skepticism etched into his features. Desperate to reassure him, I step closer and place my trembling hands on his warm, solid chest. “I’m serious, Victor. He’s never hit me.”
There’s an undeniable charge that hums through me as his gaze trails from where my hands rest on his chest to focusing on my uncertain smile. “Okay,” he murmurs, yet his eyes are clouded with lingering doubt.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Thank you for being my friend. And thank you for standing up for me that night.”
“I’ll do it again in a heartbeat. No question.”
A tiny, grateful smile twitches at my lips. “I know you would. But you don’t have to do that. You don’t have to worry about me. You can’t.” I move my hands from his chest, immediately mourning the loss.
“But what kind of man talks to his woman like that? He was out of line, and someone needed to put him in his place.”
“But it can’t be you.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but?—”
With a firm shake of my head, I cut in. “But nothing. It can’t be you.”
His head bows in defeat. He knows I’m right. “Leave him.”
“What?”
He narrows the gap between us, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders, his eyes searching mine with a silent plea. “Leave him.”
“No.” A tightness grips my heart. I press my lips together, struggling to contain the surge of emotions brimming beneath the surface. “I’m not leaving him. We’re getting married.”
A wince crosses his expression, but it disappears so quickly that I must’ve imagined it.
“And if he hurts you? What am I supposed to do?”
“You’re supposed to stay out of it.” The tears I’ve been fighting back slide down my cheeks. Damn it. What the fuck ? “This is my life. My relationship.” I swipe at my wet cheeks.
At the sight of my stupid tears, Victor’s face falls. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to?—”
“It’s fine. I don’t even know why I’m crying. I’m just—” I fan my face, searching for the right word. “Overwhelmed.” I’m crying because my feelings for him are all tangled up with my feelings for Ian, and I’m drowning in guilt because of it.
Victor does the unexpected. “Come here.” He enfolds me in his arms, cradling my head, while I lean into the comfort of his chest. My tears fall faster now, no doubt leaving a wet spot on his shirt.
He holds me like that for a long time—maybe even too long—before we back up from each other. My arms wrap around myself, trying to make up for the loss of his touch. His hand reaches out reluctantly, and his thumb swipes against the wetness on my cheek. “You have a ton of people who care about you, who love you, and who will be there for you if you should ever need them. But if there ever comes a time that you come to me instead, for whatever reason—a place to crash, someone to talk to…or someone to beat Ian’s ass…I’m your guy.”
Laughter bubbles up in me unexpectedly, breaking the solemn moment as I wipe at my tears.
His lips ease into a smile, slow and reassuring. “I mean it, Sky.” I don’t think he’s ever called me Sky before—only Skylar. It hints at a familiarity that we aren’t supposed to have.
“I don’t doubt that you mean it.” The gravity of his unwavering support grounds me somehow, even though I know it shouldn’t.
“And I’ll try not to beat his ass this weekend if he disrespects you.”
My lip twitches. “Now you’re stressing me the hell out.” I let out an audible exhale and head toward the house.
“What did I say?” he asks innocently, grabbing my bags and trailing behind me.