DECLAN
Something rattles next to me, pulling me out of the hazy in-between state of sleep I must have fallen into. Sleep doesn’t come easily to me on a good night, so it’s no surprise that I barely got a couple of hours after the chaos of last night.
The rattling turns to slamming, now accompanied by thuds and screams of frustration. I’m about to get up from my place on the couch when a fuming redhead marches into the living room.
“Where the fuck is it?” she screeches, flipping over some magazines that are on the side of the TV stand.
I rub my face, gearing up for what is likely to be a long morning. She hasn’t even noticed me yet, but it’s only a matter of time.
“Shit,” she roars, and I duck as a book sails across the room, nearly hitting me in the head.
At first, I think it was on purpose, but I still don’t think she sees me.
Her hair is messy, her eyes streaked with mascara, and she’s still in the T-shirt I found for her last night.
Now she’s rifling around in a giant wicker basket with blankets in it.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her what she’s looking for, but she’s bent over, her ass in the air, covered by nothing but those damn cotton panties she still seems to love, and I can’t bring myself to ruin the moment.
The moment where this could be a normal morning.
I could have fallen asleep on the couch because I didn’t want to wake her up with my tossing and turning, and she could be angry because she misplaced something, not because she made the biggest drunken mistake of her life mere hours ago.
We could get pancakes at the diner down the street after she finds whatever she’s looking for because we do that every Sunday and then stay in bed for the rest of the day.
I could count the freckles on her cheeks while I fuck her slow and deep because that’s how you fuck sometimes when you love someone.
We could just be together, like it was always supposed to be before I ruined everything.
I stay quiet. I let the alternate universe I’ve created in my mind wash over me until the rummaging noises come to a complete stop.
“You’re here?” Her words are rushed out in anger, but her tone carries a hint of sadness.
I go to stand up, but she backs away. “Don’t come near me.”
I put my hands up. “I’m not—”
She throws her left arm up in the air before I can get any other words out. It’s the one with the cast, and it makes me wince, even knowing that no one hurt her on purpose. I hate seeing her hurt. The irony of that isn’t lost on me.
“What the fuck is this, Declan?” Skylar bites out.
I don’t have to look to know she’s pointing to her ring finger.
When I don’t answer, she takes a step toward me, my left foot now resting on top of the coffee table.
“I asked you a question,” she hisses, green fire dancing in her eyes as she kicks the table, sending it screeching along the hardwood floor and knocking my foot to the ground.
“I thought it was rhetorical.”
“Rhetorical?” Her voice is higher-pitched now.
“Yeah. Unless…” Does she not remember? We were both clearly drunk, some of us more than others, and she did pass out, but she has to remember everything before that.
Her hand comes up to cradle her forehead. “I can’t do this. Where is my phone? I need to find my phone.”
I look down to where it’s sitting on the coffee table in plain sight. She lets out a frustrated sigh, swiping it from the table. “Why do you have my phone?”
“Skykar, you passed out on me. I caught it before it smashed to pieces on the floor. I would have plugged it in, but I was a little preoccupied with wrangling you into bed.”
Her thumb freezes on the screen. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Not like that. Jesus, Sky. You could barely walk, so I carried you home from the restaurant. I found a shirt in your drawer and left you to change yourself. Then I came out here and fell asleep on the couch. That’s it.”
She suddenly seems to remember that she’s standing half-naked in front of me and pulls her shirt down to cover more of her thighs, her anger melting into self-consciousness. I hated when she would do that. Hide herself. But just as fast as it left, her rage comes barreling back.
“Don’t call me that,” she hisses, holding her phone to the side of her hip as she paces back and forth.
“God, Declan. Why did you even come to the after-party? Let me guess. You fucked your way through all the girls in Connecticut, so you thought you’d start revisiting your old high school conquests?
Why not go to New York if you’re bored? Or have you fucked that entire state too? ”
“Nah. New York girls are too uptight.”
I smirk. I know I shouldn’t. It’s only adding fuel to the fire, but damn, Skylar Galloway is beautiful when she burns, and as much as I’ve been worried that I may have caused her light to dim, if anything, it’s brighter, fiery. Fucking magnificent.
“What is that look for?” Her right hand slides down to her hip.
“I just don’t remember you having such a mouth on you. You didn’t even say the word ‘hell’ in high school.” Lowering my voice an octave, I add, “I kinda like it.”
Skylar ignores my last comment, as she brings her phone back up to her face and starts scrolling. “Fuck!”
I’m guessing she was frantically looking for her phone so she could check if there was a confirmation email for our recent nuptials, which is, I’m sure, what is causing her face to contort in anguish right now.
Of course, I knew what she was doing the whole time.
There’s no other reason why Skylar would choose to be within ten feet of me, let alone marry my sorry ass.
I knew it the second I uttered those words.
She was calling my bluff. Waiting for me to be the first to stop the madness, but doesn’t she remember that I thrive on chaos?
I’m not even sure what made me say the words, but they fell out of my mouth so easily, there was no way I could take them back.
I would marry you right here and now if you let me.
I meant it. Every single syllable. Sure, I'd been drinking, but the alcohol didn’t cloud my brain.
If anything, it brought me clarity. It was why I brought up what she said when we were teenagers in the first place.
The truth is I’ve never been able to get the thought of Skylar, high off her ass, looking up at me with those damn sparkling green eyes and telling me that she wanted to have my babies someday, out of my head.
So I said it, and I could see the wheels turning in her head the second I did.
I let her go on with the whole charade, thinking she had some insider knowledge, and that she wouldn’t let it get too far.
Because the Skylar I knew doesn’t take uncalculated risks.
When that screen popped up congratulating us on our marriage, the warmth that ran up my spine was like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
She looked up at me like she did all those years ago, but instead of balmy contentment, fear and uncertainty reflected back at me, and then she fell into my arms.
Clearly, she wasn’t expecting it to go through. Or maybe she thought I would stop her at the last second. Either way, it doesn’t change what she said. What we both said.
I do.
“We have to go to the courthouse,” Skylar announces, breaking through my thoughts.
Not waiting for a response from me, she turns on her heel and stomps back to her bedroom.
It’s not long before her head peeks out from around the door.
“Hey, how did you know where I live?” she calls out, her voice slightly calmer now, though still laced with irritation.
“You gave me your address.” It’s not a total lie. She did mumble something that sounded like an address at one point while I was carrying her down the street, but I’ve known where she lives since she moved back from California a few years ago.
A few minutes later, she rushes out of the bedroom wearing wide-leg jeans, a pale blue T-shirt, and her hair tied in a bun with a navy polka-dot bandana around it.
Loose auburn waves fall out from the sides, cascading along her cheeks, and all traces of makeup have been wiped clean from her face, making her freckles even more pronounced. “Ready?”
“Skylar, I’m not going to the courthouse.”
Her face falls. “I swear to God, Declan. I will drag you there—”
“Skylar,” I try again.
“No, don’t ‘Skylar’ me. We need to go. The sooner, the better. Maybe they can reverse it. Of course they can. There’s no way this can really be legal.”
“Skylar, look at me.”
“No, you don’t understand. This can’t be happening. How could we have been so reckless? So stupid.”
“Sky.”
“I think I remember that there’s some sort of cooling-off period. Like when you buy a car? Or is that for a house? I can’t remember.”
“Would you just listen to me for two fucking seconds? It’s Sunday. The courthouse is closed.” I hate raising my voice, but I tried the calm approach and she wouldn’t fucking listen.
“Oh my God.” She swipes her forehead with the back of her hand. “I think I’m going to pass out again.”
“Hey, hey. Look at me. You need to breathe.” I reach out to hold her arms steady in case she does fall, brushing my hands against the fabric of her shirt, and for the briefest of moments, she lets me. But then she wrenches away, stepping back and folding into herself like she’s been stabbed.
“Don’t touch me.” She turns back around. “What do you want from me, Declan? Why did you come back last night? You left, and everything was fine, but then you just had to come back.”
“I wanted to see you,” I say honestly.
“You saw me at the ceremony.”
“I know, and I couldn’t stop thinking about your wrist.”
“My wrist?”
“You were hurt.”
“You think you get to care whether or not I’m hurt?”
I don’t answer that because she’s right. I don’t deserve to care. I don’t deserve her. I didn’t back then, and I sure as fuck don’t now. The problem is I’m too damn selfish to let her go.
I look down at my feet, the dress shoes I never bothered to take off last night still firmly in place.
“Declan,” she says more softly now. “I was trying to mess with you like you were messing with me. There was supposed to be another page after the first confirmation. They must have changed it.” She moves closer to me, and I can’t help thinking it’s instinctual—that she knows her next words are going to wreck me and that her proximity will soften the blow.
Even now, in her frantic state, hating me, she doesn’t want to see me hurt.
“We obviously need to fix this. Tell me you know that.”
She wants to fix it because it was a mistake. The worst she’s ever made. I was right. Her words do wreck me.
“Of course.” It’s all I can think to say.
“Then meet me at the courthouse. First thing tomorrow morning. They open at eight.”
“Okay,” I say, picking my jacket up off the couch before I head to her front door. I don’t allow myself to look back, but her soft voice calling out makes me spin around.
“Declan.”
I look down at her, hope staining my gaze.
“Why did you stay here last night?”
I sigh. “You fainted. I didn’t want you to be alone.”
She gives a slight nod, and with that, I turn around, making my way down her front steps and onto the sidewalk.
Skylar lives in a little cottage off Main Street, so it’s only a short walk back to where I parked my bike last night.
Luke would have a stroke if he knew I left it out in the open all night where anyone could mess with it.
In fact, I’m sure he saw it when he left Allie’s restaurant and is going to give me an earful, but I don’t give a shit.
All I can think about is the last twenty minutes. Skylar’s words bang around in my skull like dirty sneakers in a washing machine.
Maybe they can just reverse it.
How could we have been so reckless? So stupid.
We obviously need to fix this. Tell me you know that.
Of course I know it. How could I not? What happened last night was the result of pent-up, drunken rage.
She confirmed what I had known all along.
She was fucking with me. That’s not the part that kills me, though.
No, the worst part is that she thinks I wasn’t serious, that I would joke about wanting to marry her.
That’s when it hits me. Throughout our entire conversation this morning, neither of us said the word ‘married’ once. Like if we didn’t say it, it wouldn’t actually be real. But it is. At least for the next twenty-four hours, Skylar Galloway is my wife.
After that, there’s nothing else I can do. We’ll get it reversed or annulled, and it will be like it never happened.