Chapter 2
Wendell
Present Day
Not earth shattering by any means, but Peyton’s words became a mantra in my life. Though I’d never admit it out loud. Just breathe. That’s all you need to do right now.
Even right now, those words oddly give me incredible reassurance.
“So you’re the wedding planner?” I shoot her a soft smile.
“That’s great.” I hug her. “I’m happy for you.
” How she feels so natural in my arms also feels like some kind of betrayal to Mike, even though he passed away over a year ago now.
I still can’t believe he’s gone. At the funeral, I offered her whatever she needed, but she never took me up on anything.
And then it was best that I stayed away.
I could pine for her in secret, but I would never be the asshole who swept in while she was still grieving and feeling vulnerable.
“Ya. Event planning is what I do, and somehow these two found me.” At her words, Brody and Zane exchange heart eyes with their SOs.
“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not planning Wendell’s wedding,” Pax jokes and I notice Peyton’s cheeks flush a little red.
“Dude’s frugal as fuck. At least with these guys, they’re willing to spend their money.
” Peyton chuckles at that, giving the brides a smile, and I think she mouths the words, Designer Gowns.
Brody slugs me in the arm just as Zane slings a hand over my other shoulder. “My guy just needs someone to spend it on. Am I right?”
I’m just staring at Peyton, recounting how many times I wanted to send her money over the last year but held back thinking it’d be inappropriate.
I don’t know her finances, and I’m sure she’s fine.
Besides, she would’ve hated the handout.
She might plan charity events, but she hates being seen as a charity case.
I just wish I’d done something after Mike passed away.
Which brings on a whole onslaught of other guilt I feel.
It hasn’t overwhelmed me on the daily, recently, but it used to suffocate me.
Survivor’s guilt. Fuck that shit.
“Ya, sure,” I mumble, then tack on, “Anyone want a drink?” I make my way into the kitchen as an excuse to grab something for everyone and to recollect the thoughts that Peyton has scattered across the known universe just by being here.
The few rounds I make eat up some time until I’m on my last trip. I have to hit the head, but someone’s inside the bathroom. I hear Peyton’s hushed voice. I know I shouldn’t listen, but c’mon, this is Peyton. I need to know what’s going on with her.
“Um, can you just give me a few more weeks? I should be getting paid soon. I just landed a couple of gigs. I can get you the money—”
The person on the other end cuts her off. “I’m not waiting any longer. So unless your services are on the table—”
“No. I get it. Ya. Um…I can get you something tomorrow.” The trepidation in her voice trumps the bravado.
“I know where you live, Peyton.”
“I know. I promise.”
There’s a pause and then she ends the call. When she comes out of the bathroom a few moments later, she startles at my presence.
“What the fuck was that about, Peyton? Are you in trouble?”
“What? Um…no. I’m good. That was nothing.”
“It didn’t sound like nothing.”
“It’s just…something.”
“How big of a something?” I crowd her back into the bathroom and close the door behind us.
My heart hammers against my chest. She’s in trouble, and I can feel it as if it’s my own prison.
All I can think about is how I wasn’t there for her this year, and I won’t let another minute pass without stepping up.
The urge to protect her thrums inside of me.
More thoughts pummel me from behind. Thoughts about a crash.
Screeches. Horns. Sounds of metal and bones cracking. And me.
I’m the only one left.
“Wendell?” Her voice pulls me back and I open eyes I didn’t even know I had shut.
“Peyton, please tell me. I can help you. I have money—”
“I’m not taking your money.”
Shit. She’s right. It’s not just about money.
Something doesn’t sit right on my chest. Peyton’s always been smart.
Never reckless or impulsive. How did she get herself into this mess?
But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that she needs out.
“That fucker said he knows where you live. Like he’s straight outta some gangster movie.
” She doesn’t answer me, just drops her head. “Peyton. Please.”
When she looks up, her eyes hold more regret than I’m prepared for.
“Borrowed some money,” she mumbles while wringing her hands. “I…didn’t, well…it doesn’t matter. I’ve got these gigs with Lacy and Willow. It’s going to be fine.” The tossed half smile she tries to plaster on her face does nothing.
“This isn’t some minor panic attack, Peyton. You can’t reassure me that everything’s fine. And you’re right, you can’t just take my money.’
“Exactly—”
“You’re going to marry me.”