Chapter Four
I walked up to the cashier, dropping a pile of my chips in front of her.
She took pity on my evident misery and kept her voice low.
“How do you want to cash out?”
“Cash, please,” I said, mentally ticking one thing off my list.
Cash.
Then coffee.
Food.
Phone.
Lawyer.
“There’s a great café right down there,” the cashier told me after she finished cashing me out. She nodded behind me.
“Bless you,” I said, getting a knowing smile from her.
Each step felt like it sapped more energy as the chimes from various slot machines made my headache ramp up again, the sounds like icepicks to the brain as I passed.
Despite there being no windows in the casino, everything felt too bright, making my eyes narrow.
As I passed through the bar in the lobby, my stomach rolled at the scent of liquor flowing so early in the morning.
I was never drinking again.
My gaze slid to the side, looking at the tables.
And for just a second, there was a flash. A memory from the night before, all blurry around the edges, but there.
Standing at the blackjack table with Harrison’s body right behind mine, his hand draped possessively around my waist, his face pressed to the side of mine.
“I suck at blackjack,” I admitted, voice bright, cheerful, but not slurring, not drunk. Maybe, at that point, just feeling good.
It wasn’t a lie.
I had absolutely no luck at a blackjack table. I’d lost many thousands trying to get better. To no avail. I didn’t even try anymore.
Except, it seemed, the night before.
The memory tightened, sharpened into focus. Cards being dealt, decisions being made.
Then, the dealer announcing, “Twenty-one.”
I’d… won.
“You must be good luck,” I told Harrison, turning my head and accepting a quick, sweet kiss from him.
“Ugh,” I grumbled, forcing myself to keep walking through.
Some part of me wanted to bury my head in the sand, let the whole night before fall away to oblivion.
The other part knew that remembering might help put the whole thing in context. Or, at the very least, reassure me that the wedding was the only mistake I’d made.
I made my way into the café, mentally grumbling at the line, but finally, finally getting a large cup and moving to a table where I all but fell into the seat.
The coffee was hot—blessedly so—burning just enough on the way down to pull me back into my body. The too-sweet sugar and caramel exploded across my taste buds, a little moment of joy in a rough morning.
For just a moment, nothing else mattered.
Not the unfamiliar hotel room.
Not the ache behind my eyes.
Not the heavy, unsettling weight of my mistakes.
Just the warmth spreading through my chest, the steady comfort of caffeine working a quiet miracle.
The panic that had been circling me since I’d opened my eyes softened a bit at the edges, retreating just enough to give me space to think.
Coffee didn’t fix things, I knew that, but it helped make them feel just a tad more survivable.
I finished my cup and got another to go, knowing it was going to be a day that required caffeine constantly circling my bloodstream.
Then I made my way to the front desk.
“Could I possibly use the phone?” I asked. “I can’t find mine.”
“Of course,” the man said, giving me an understanding smile.
And, God, I hated being a Vegas cliché.
But there was no mistaking it.
So I reached for the phone and plugged in my number.
“What…” I said when my ringtone sounded from somewhere behind the desk.
The clerk reached under, pulling out a phone in a familiar black and red case.
“Oh, thank God,” I said, practically lunging at it.
That was two things off my list.
Next up?
Food.
After food, I was reasonably sure I could handle the lawyer and all their uncomfortable questions.
I made my way through the casino, ignoring all the many options for food.
I’d eaten at just about all of them in my day. None of them offered what someone dealing with a major hangover needed.
Grease.
All the deep-fried greasy goodness.
That was the only thing that worked for me.
So I made my way out of the casino and nearly cried at the desert sun pelting down on me.
On a grumble, I made my way back inside and up, stopping at the sunglass store, grabbing a pair, then making my way back down.
“Why is everything a pain in the ass today?” I grumbled to myself as I made my way back outside.
Fast food was never hard to find, and the scent of greasy fries met my nose as soon as I let myself inside and made a beeline for the counter.
I guess I could be glad that I’d slept in because the menu had shifted to lunch, and I ordered myself a large fry, a burger, and a large box of nuggets. The milkshake? That was purely for comfort.
Things felt like they were finally looking up.
Until I turned with my tray.
And there he was.
Harrison.
My husband.
Whose last name I didn’t even know.
I didn’t even try to silence the growl that bubbled up and burst out of me.
“Are you following me?” I snapped, walking closer.
“I was here first,” he said, waving at his tray.
“Men like you don’t eat fast food. You were waiting for me.”
“Men like me?” he asked, head tilting to the side.
“Oh, don’t give me the offended look. Guys with five-thousand-dollar suits and six-figure engagement rings.”
Speaking of rings.
He had the matching platinum wedding band on his finger still.
“Why are you wearing that?” I snapped, dropping my tray onto his table and glaring at his hand.
“The ring?”
“Yes, obviously, the ring.”
“Because I’m married now.”
“Oh, God,” I grumbled, melting into my seat when my legs seemed to lose all their strength at once. “So, you’re just… crazy. Great. Fantastic. I’m married to a crazy guy.” I stuck a too-hot fry into my mouth and glared at him.
And Harrison?
He had the audacity to smirk at me.
“Are you always this cheerful in the morning?”
“You should count yourself lucky that you’re not melting in a bath of lye this morning,” I mumbled to myself.
“Where would you get lye around here?” he asked, unbothered by the threat of murder.
“I have my ways,” I said, my lips curving up ever so slightly.
“I bet you do,” he agreed, his eyes warm. “Well, I will leave you to your… impressive meal,” he said, his gaze scanning my tray.
I said nothing as he got up, taking his tray with him.
Though I maybe did turn to watch him clear his tray and walk out.
It wasn’t my fault the man was so damn attractive.
When I looked back at the table, I realized he left something on the surface.
Two somethings, in fact.
“Harrison!” I called, but he ignored me as he made his way out the door.
And, damn him, he knew I was in no shape to chase him down. Nor was I willing to leave my food now that my stomach got a taste and was craving more.
With a sigh, I reached for the rings.
I slid them onto my finger.
To, you know, keep them safe until I could make him take them back.
I slowly plowed through my food while glancing at my phone.
I had dozens of people I could call. Seek solace in familiar voices.
But, well, this was not a story I wanted to tell.
At least not yet. Not until after I got the mess all cleaned up.
Maybe then, it would be funny. Just a story to tell everyone about how lethal tequila was.
And how easy it was to make life-changing choices in Vegas.
Until then, I felt like I needed to keep my mistake to myself.
So instead of reaching for comfort, I turned toward practicality and started searching for local lawyers.
I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised at how many there were that proudly proclaimed that they dealt almost exclusively in ‘quick, efficient’ annulments.
How many people woke up wed each year? How many felt the same regret and embarrassment that I did right then?
How many of them had six-figure engagement rings from delusional men who didn’t want to get divorced?
On a sigh, I cleared my tray and got yet another coffee to go before making my way back out into the heat.
It was uncharacteristically warm for spring. It was barely pushing eleven, and it was already in the mid-eighties.
I made it maybe halfway to the office before I couldn’t take the foot pain any longer and ducked into a shop to grab a pair of sandals. I tossed my heels. I felt like everything from the night before needed to go in the trash. Scorched earth.
When I looked up, my blood ran cold.
Because there it was.
A stupid Vegas wedding chapel.
With a freaking 24-hour drive-up wedding window.
Because that was a totally necessary service.
I was suddenly pissed off at the whole mass marriage business model.
Who in their right mind thought it would be smart to offer to let very drunk people get married without any sort of waiting period? Without any thought at all?
I was sure it all came back to money, to a service that could be used to make a select few people very rich. While screwing up countless lives in the process.
Like mine, dammit.
A memory flashed.
Gone in a split second.
But I remembered that chapel.
That sign out front with the hearts.
Stumbling inside with Harrison at my side.
Before I could think better of it, I found myself crossing the street and beelining for the chapel.
Because maybe, just maybe, I could skip the whole lawyer part of this.
We had to have gotten married sometime late the night before. There was no way someone had submitted the paperwork right away, right? Surely that was something that was done during normal business hours.
If I got there before they sent off the paperwork to the state, maybe this whole thing could just go away like it never happened. No paperwork. No actual physical proof of this idiotic drunken marriage to follow me for the rest of my life.
I mean, this whole town ran on money.
And I had a chips bag full of it.
More than most of the employees would see in a year, maybe more.
Surely one of them would take the bribe, find the paperwork, and shred it like it never existed at all.
There would be no need for lawyers.
No arguing over divorce paperwork.
Just… a reset button for the night before.
Did I think Harrison would be happy about it? No. The freak. But… if the marriage contract was gone, what leg did he have to stand on legally? None. If questioned, I could just claim I had no idea what he was talking about.
We’d hooked up, that was it.
No marriage.
No lifelong regrets.
Just a mistaken memory.
And I wouldn’t even feel bad about the lie.
He didn’t seem to feel bad about saying no to a divorce.
So why should I feel that way about erasing our mistake?
I sucked in a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and moved up the front path.
For the first time all morning, something dangerously close to hope unfurled in my chest.
Everything was going to be okay.