Chapter Thirty-One Vegas
JULIAN
In the darkness, I still hear the music pounding. I still feel her hands. The dance floor pounding. And then...
Light. I open my eyes. The blinding Vegas sun is cutting directly through a gap in the heavy velvet curtains, slicing across my face like a hot blade. I groan, a dull, rhythmic thumping starting up behind my eyes. My mouth tastes like ash, and my brain feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton.
Ugh…what time is it? Definitely past four for once. I grab my phone sitting on the end table next to me. It’s almost noon. Holy shit! I see I also have an email from Liam Sullivan with the topic, Contract Notes, but I decide to ignore that for now.
Setting my phone back down, I roll over, ready to bury my face back into the pillow and figure out how three drinks turned into a hangover this brutal, when my shoulder hits something soft.
I freeze. That definitely wasn’t a pillow.
Slowly, I open my eyes, blinking against the glare. The generic luxury of the hotel room starts to register, but my focus instantly locks in on the girl lying right next to me.
Hadley. What the hell?
Her heart-shaped face is soft in sleep, a few stray brown highlights falling across her cheek. She’s curled up, one hand tucked under her chin, her breathing slow and even.
A heavy, liquid heat settles deep in my gut just looking at her.
She is so breathtakingly beautiful like this…
stripped of her usual cautious defenses, completely soft and trusting in the quiet of the early morning.
I find myself holding my breath, terrified that even a sudden shift in my weight will shatter the moment and wake her up.
A dangerous, terrifying realization claws its way up my throat.
Waking up to her next to me like this is something I want to do every single day for the rest of my life.
It’s an addiction I know I should be fighting, a line I never should have crossed, but looking at her flushed skin and the quiet peace on her face, I know I'm already ruined.
Panic hits me right in the gut. I sit up too fast, causing the room to spin.
What the fuck happened last night? My mind is a complete blank.
I remember the club. The flashing green lights, the deafening bass, and the exact moment she walked straight up to me in that emerald-green dress and dragged me toward the dance floor.
After that? Nothing. A gray, hazy void.
Did I...? Did we...?
My chest heaves as I frantically look down under the white duvet. Relief washes over me so hard, my shoulders sag. I’m still wearing my dark button-down shirt and jeans. She’s still in her green dress, the fabric wrinkled but completely intact. We’re both fully clothed.
Before I can even begin to untangle the knot of confusion in my chest, a loud, generic ringtone shatters the quiet of the room.
Hadley stirs with a soft groan, her deep chocolate eyes fluttering open. She blinks up at the ceiling, then turns her head and looks at me. There’s no confusion in her expression. Just a quiet, sleepy warmth that makes my throat tighten.
She reaches past me, grabbing her phone off the nightstand. The screen is flashing Grace.
“Hello?” Hadley’s voice is thick with sleep. She clears her throat, sitting up and pulling the duvet to her chest. “Yeah. No, I'm okay. What time is it?”
She glances at the digital clock on the nightstand. Her eyes widen. It's nearly noon.
“Right. Yes. The wedding!” She sounds a lot more alert now. Her cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink as she avoids looking at me. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes to start getting ready. Bye.”
She hangs up and slides her legs out from under the covers. The sudden distance leaves me feeling cold. She stands up, smoothing down the emerald dress, her movements just a little bit self-conscious now.
“I have to go,” she murmurs, finally looking up to meet my eyes. There’s a vulnerability there that cuts right through my hangover. I want to say something…anything! But it’s like my brain and mouth have totally disconnected. All I can do is look at her. “But...I hope we can talk later, Julian.”
She steps closer to the edge of the bed, her voice dropping and taking on a fierce edge. “Please stop avoiding me.”
Before I can answer, she leans down. Her lips brush my cheek. It’s a completely innocent gesture, but it sets my blood on fire. I ball my hands into fists to keep myself from reaching out and wrapping her in my arms.
She turns and makes it all the way to the heavy suite door, her hand resting on the brass handle, before something inside my chest snaps.
Seeing her last night in that tiny, lethal emerald dress had nearly driven me out of my fucking mind, but it’s the memory of her wearing my jersey that’s lit a territorial fire in my veins that I can’t put out. She had been wearing my number. She had chosen me.
“Hadley.”
Her name leaves my mouth before my brain can stop it. I’m out of the bed in a single stride. My hand catches her forearm, and I pull her back against my chest, twisting her around until her back hits the door, and then I lean down and slam my mouth against hers.
It’s not like the bruising, desperate kiss in the stadium hallway.
This one is deeper…more significant. She tastes so sweet, and she lets out a small gasp against my lips before she melts into me, her hands rising to grip my shoulders.
I kiss her until my heart is hammering against my ribs, stopping just long enough to pull back an inch.
“Okay,” I rumble, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “We'll talk, and I’ll stop avoiding you.”
A small, breathtaking smile spreads across her face. “Okay.”
She slips out of my hold and out the door, leaving me alone in the quiet suite.
I lean my forehead against the wood, exhaling a long, ragged breath.
I’ve missed her. God, I’ve missed her more than I ever wanted to admit to myself.
Trying to freeze her out for the last two weeks didn’t change a damn thing.
I thought distance would help me want her less, but she’s constantly on my mind and entirely under my skin.
So maybe here, in Vegas, I can just stop fighting. For now, anyway. Before the Chicago contract catches up to me, before the world pulls us apart, or before she eventually realizes who I am and leaves me. I just want to be with her.
By six o'clock, my hangover is gone and has been replaced by a tight, hyper-focused adrenaline.
I stand in front of the mirror in the groomsmen’s suite, pulling the stiff collar of a white tuxedo shirt together and fastening the bowtie. I adjust the cuffs three times, ensuring exactly half an inch of white fabric shows past the sleeve of the jacket.
The material is flawless. Custom-tailored.
Italian silk-lined. I smooth the lapels down, staring at my reflection, but a familiar, uneasy knot tightens in my gut.
No matter how much money is sitting in my bank account, or how many high-end designer suits are hanging in my closet, putting this shit on always feels a little like wearing a disguise.
“Hey, Wilder, stop flexing at yourself and help me before I choke,” Carson mutters from across the room.
The guy is an absolute basket case. His shaggy dark hair is a mess from him running his fingers through it, and his hands are shaking so badly he can’t get his cufflinks through the holes. He looks like he’s about to face a fifty-shot night against a team of clones.
“Hold still, Monroe,” I murmur, stepping over and taking his wrists. I slide the silver links through smoothly, clicking them into place. “What are you freaking out for? I figured marrying Skyler would be the easiest thing you ever do.”
“I just don't want to screw it up,” Carson breathes, looking at me with wide, panicked blue eyes. “What if I trip? What if I say the wrong name?”
“You're a professional athlete; your balance is fine, and her name is Skyler. It’s six letters. You can handle it.” I clap a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You got this, man. She’s already at the chapel. She’s not running.”
“I'm telling you, Carson, it’s a good thing Wilder’s got your back. If you faint on the altar, I’m not catching you,” Jensen says, his deep voice carrying over the din. He’s leaning against the wet bar, fully suited up.
“Screw you, Jensen,” Carson mutters. “I'm fine. I'm totally fine. I just...does the room feel hot to anyone else? Jayce, turn the AC down.”
“It's set to sixty-five, you lunatic,” Jayce laughs, adjusting his own tie without looking. “You're just sweating through your layers because you realized Skyler is about to legally trap you in a room with her forever. No more escape. Just video games and feelings.”
“Good,” Carson cracks. His voice is dangerously tight. “That's exactly what I want. What if I mess up the vows, though? What if I stumble over the wording? Say something stupid?”
“You always say something stupid,” Zander chimes in, clapping a massive hand onto Carson’s shoulder, nearly rattling his teeth.
“Skyler knows that. She’s seen you post-game after a shutout.
She knows you have the vocabulary of a golden retriever when you're emotional. Just look at her and try to breathe.”
“Keep your eyes on the minister,” Owen adds from the corner, checking his watch. “Don't look at the doors until she’s actually walking down the aisle. If you stare at the back of the room the whole time, you’re going to pass out from the anticipation.”
Carson snorts. “Says the guy who’s been engaged now for how long?”
I don't say much. I just stand by the window, my hands shoved deep into my pockets so no one notices the way my fingers are tensing.
“Alright, boys,” the chapel coordinator says, slipping through the door with a clipboard held like a shield. “The chapel is set. It's time to take your places.”
The walk down the back hallway of the chapel is a blur of plush carpets and dim, golden lighting, but the second we step through the side door and take our places at the front of the small, upscale candlelit chapel, the noise completely fades.