Chapter 8
DEX
Imade it exactly three miles from the farm before I had to pull over.
My hands were shaking on the steering wheel. My chest felt too tight. My mind was racing with the reality of what had just happened.
Eight weeks.
Eight weeks of wedding planning. Eight weeks of events where I’d have to see her, be near her, pretend I didn’t remember every second of that night at the bar.
Eight weeks of torture.
Why hadn’t I considered this before? She was here for the entire summer, and even if she hadn’t been involved in every aspect of the wedding planning, it still would have been impossible to avoid her.
And like an idiot I’d told Trace months ago that I’d help him.
Booker was his best man but he was busy with the rehabilitation centre at the ranch getting busy so I’d offered to step in.
To pick up the slack when Booker couldn’t be available.
And there was nothing in Booker’s personality that said he was the kind of person that would be happy to go and agonise over six different flavours of cake for an hour.
Cake was cake to Booker. Well, cake was cake to most people, but never to a bride.
I sat on the side of the road, head tilted back against the seat, trying to breathe normally.
Leigh had looked beautiful tonight. Not that she hadn’t been beautiful before, but tonight there’d been something different. A softness. She’d been laughing at something Blake said when I walked in, and the sound had hit me like a physical blow.
And then she’d offered to photograph the wedding, and I’d watched my only escape route disappear.
My phone buzzed in the cup holder. Unknown number. My heart stopped.
Unknown: This is Leigh. Blake gave me your number. We need to talk.
I stared at the text for a long moment. I could ignore it. Pretend I never saw it. Drive home and deal with this later.
But “later” would just make it worse.
Dex: Now?
Leigh: Would tomorrow be better? We can’t avoid this conversation though.
She was right. We couldn’t. Not if we were going to survive the next eight weeks.
Dex: Where?
Leigh: The pond? At the farm? In 20 minutes?
The pond. Where the wedding would be. Where I’d have to watch Trace and Delaney get married while pretending I wasn’t dying inside.
How did she even know about it? Delaney must have shown her.
It made sense. She was going to have to photograph the wedding there after all and even I could admit that it was a beautiful spot.
But it was also private. Neutral. Better than trying to do this in public.
Dex: I’ll be there.
I turned the truck around and headed back to the farm, my heart pounding the entire way.
The farmhouse was dark when I pulled up. Everyone must have left already. I parked near the barn and walked down to the pond, my hands in my pockets, trying to figure out what the hell I was going to say to her.
The pond was peaceful at night. Moonlight reflected off the water, crickets sang in the grass, and a wooden dock Trace had recently installed stretched out over the water. I sat at the end of it, feet dangling over the edge, and waited.
Fifteen minutes later, I heard a car. Saw headlights sweep across the property. Then she was walking toward me, a silhouette against the farmhouse lights.
My chest tightened.
She didn’t say anything as she approached. Just walked onto the dock and sat down, keeping distance between us.
The silence stretched. Heavy with everything we weren’t saying.
Finally, she spoke.
“This is going to be hell if we can’t figure out how to be in the same room together.”
“I know.”
“I need this.” Her voice was firm. “The photography. It’s important to me. And they’re my family now. I’m not walking away.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“Good. Because I wouldn’t.” She paused. “But I also can’t do the next eight weeks with this... whatever this is between us.”
I turned to look at her. She was staring out at the water, her profile illuminated by moonlight. Beautiful and stubborn and everything I couldn’t have.
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.” She finally looked at me. “Maybe explain why you freaked out? Why you tried to call them like I was some kind of problem you needed to solve?”
The accusation in her voice made me wince. Because she was right. That’s exactly what I’d done.
“Because you’re their sister,” I said quietly. “And I’m their... I’m their family too. And I couldn’t… I shouldn’t have…”
“Shouldn’t have kissed me? Shouldn’t have wanted me?”
“Yes.” The word came out rough.
“Why? Because they’d disapprove? Because I’m off-limits?”
“Because I would have betrayed them.” I turned to face her fully. “Because I almost slept with you before you even met them. Because I made you feel like you were something to be ashamed of, and you’re not. You’re…” I stopped myself before I said too much.
“I’m what?” Her voice was softer now.
I looked at her, really looked at her, and told the truth. “You’re incredible. And I ruined it. And I’m sorry.”
The silence that followed felt different. Less accusatory. More... something I didn’t dare name.
“I was angry,” she said finally. “I’m still angry. But...” She looked at me. “I also understand. Kind of. It’s complicated.”
“Yeah.”
“That night at the bar...” She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “I needed someone to see me, not as the secret daughter or the complication or the affair baby. Just as me.”
“I did see you.” I couldn’t help it. The words came out before I could stop them. “I do see you.”
“I know.” She rested her chin on her knees. “Which is why this is so hard.”
We sat there for a moment, the truth hanging between us.
“I have an idea,” she said finally. “It’s probably stupid.”
“Tell me.”
“We pretend it didn’t happen. The bar, the parking lot, all of it. We start over. Fresh.” She looked at me. “You’re their family, I’m their family. We’re going to be around each other. So we figure out how to be... civil. Maybe even friends eventually.”
“Pretend it didn’t happen?”
“Can you do that?”
No, I thought. I’ll never forget it. Never forget the way you felt in my arms, the sounds you made, the connection that felt more real than anything I’d felt in years.
But I said, “Yes.”
“Then we have a truce. For them. For the wedding. We put whatever this was aside and we move forward. We get through the summer and then I’ll be leaving and you’ll only see me at holidays. Probably.”
She extended her hand toward me. “Truce?”
I looked at her hand, knowing this was a terrible idea. Knowing that touching her again, even just a handshake, would make everything harder.
But I took it anyway.
“Truce.”
The second our palms touched, electricity shot up my arm. The same spark from that first night at the bar. The same connection that had made me feel alive for the first time in months.
Her breath caught. She felt it too.
But we both ignored it. Let go too quickly. Looked away.
“I should go,” she said, standing. “Wedding planning meeting Monday morning. You’ll be there?”
“I’ll be there.”
She started to walk away, then stopped and turned back. “For what it’s worth... that night? Before everything went wrong? I saw you too.”
Then she was gone, walking back to her car, leaving me alone at the pond.
I sat there long after her taillights disappeared, staring at the water and trying to figure out how I was going to survive this.
Pretend it didn’t happen?
I laughed, the sound bitter in the quiet night.
That was going to be impossible.
Every time I looked at her, I’d remember. Every time she smiled, I’d think about how that smile had been directed at me once, warm and real and full of possibility. Every time we were in the same room, I’d be hyperaware of exactly where she was, what she was doing, who she was talking to.
I’d spend the next eight weeks wanting something I’d agreed to pretend never existed.
But I’d do it. For her. For them. For the family that had saved me when I had nothing.
Even if it killed me.
Even if every moment near her was torture.
Even if pretending was the hardest thing I’d ever done.
At least I’d get to be near her. At least I’d get that much.
I stood finally, walking back to my truck, trying not to think about how her hand had felt in mine. How right it had felt, even for those few seconds.
Eight weeks.
I could survive eight weeks.
I had to.
I got in my truck and drove home, and with every mile, I tried to convince myself that pretending was possible.
That I could look at her and not want her.
That I could be near her and not remember.
That I could survive this with my heart intact.
But as I pulled into my empty driveway and sat in the dark, staring at my grandparents’ house full of ghosts and memories, I knew the truth.
This was going to destroy me.
And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. Because deep down, this was the kind of pain I was familiar with and a part of me was starting to crave it already.