I sank down on a white sofa and gratefully accepted the cup of coffee Blair handed me. “Thanks.”
“What’s the matter?” she asked, sitting opposite me with her legs tucked beneath her. She wore a white fleece robe that had the Cloverleigh Farms insignia on it, and her hair was loose around her shoulders. Even with her face bare of makeup, she looked radiant—like a bride should.
“I feel like such a shitty friend for doing this to you on your wedding day,” I told her. “Part of me wants to lie and tell you everything is fine.”
“I wouldn’t believe you anyway,” she said. “You look like you cried yourself to sleep, if you slept at all.”
“Accurate,” I admitted, taking a sip.
“So talk. We have at least forty-five minutes before the rest of the gang arrives.”
I told her what had happened, watching her expressions run the gamut from surprised to angry to sad to impressed to sympathetic. “Oh, honey,” she said, learning forward to hug me.
“Oh God, don’t make me spill coffee on this white couch,” I said, setting the cup down on the glass coffee table.
“You poor thing.” Blair sat back again. “I can’t believe you walked away.”
“I had to,” I said, spying a box of tissues across the room and getting up to retrieve one. “All of a sudden, it hit me that we weren’t on the same page. I was doing it because I’m in love with him, and he was doing it because it would be fun. But fun can be had with anyone, you know? I was afraid it wouldn’t mean anything to him, and it was going to mean everything to me.” I groaned, snatching a couple tissues from the box. “God, that sounds so juvenile and stupid.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Blair said. “It sounds mature and self-aware. Of course jumping into bed with Cole would be fun, but you know that it probably would have made it harder to deal with the fact that you want something he can’t give.”
“Right,” I said, blowing my nose. “But that’s nothing new. I just wish I hadn’t told him so much, you know? Like why couldn’t I have just pretended like I’d changed my mind about sex and walked out? Now he knows how I feel.”
“Maybe it’s better he knows,” Blair said hopefully. “Maybe he just needs time to process it.”
“No. The more he thinks about it, the more pathetic I’m going to look. I told him I loved him, Blair.” I tossed the tissues out and studied my blotchy face in one of the white-framed mirrors. “Ugh. Can I wear a paper bag over my face today?”
“No,” Blair said, getting off the couch and coming over to where I stood. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders from behind and met my eyes in the mirror. “You are beautiful, and you’ve got no reason to hide. I’m so proud of you for standing up for your heart. I love Cole and I know he’s a good guy, but he doesn’t deserve you if he’s not willing to give a little.”
“I don’t even know what to ask him to give,” I said, trying so hard not to cry, my nose burned. “He’s not lying about how tough it is for him to take on a relationship as a single dad.”
“Plenty of single dads have relationships.”
“But his situation is different, and Mariah is special, and he’s made promises to her and to himself that he can’t break, not even for me.” I squeezed my eyes shut against the tears. “Why would I even expect him to?”
“Because you’re worth it,” Blair said softly, giving me a squeeze. “And something tells me he knows that, and it’s only a matter of time before he comes to his senses.”
I smiled and hugged her arms. “Thank you. Spoken like a true sister. Now what do you say we forget about all my romantic troubles and focus on the fact that you and my brother are getting married today?”
She squealed. “Yes, sister!”
I laughed, feeling better. I might not have romance, but I had love in my life.
Today, I’d celebrate that.
Thirteen
Cole
I’d fucked up, and I knew it.
But it was hard to pinpoint exactly where I’d gone wrong. Was I trying to be someone else? Was it Moretti’s advice? Was I trying to have my cake and eat it too, getting Cheyenne in bed while maintaining our just friends status?
After staying up half the night thinking about it, I came to the conclusion that the truth was probably all of the above.
I could admit to myself that a lot of it was me trying to be someone else—someone more like Moretti, who enjoyed acting on his impulses and always managed to have a good time and keep things light. Take a girl back to her hotel room, have some fun, say goodnight. No lies, no promises, no problems.
But I wasn’t Moretti, I thought as I got out of bed and into the shower. And while taking his advice to let go and have fun had made me feel young and alive, pumped full of testosterone and adrenaline, it hadn’t turned out the way I’d hoped.
Because with Cheyenne, there was no way to keep things light. We’d known each other too long. I felt too much for her.
And she loved me—at least, she’d said she did. It had knocked me out the way she’d confessed it. I’ve loved you hopelessly for so long . . . I’d been shocked. She’d hinted at a childhood crush before, but this felt like something different. Something deeper. Something stronger and yet more fragile.
Spending the night with me would give her hope, she’d said, her eyes full of tears, but her smile a little sheepish, as if she were embarrassed that being so close to me would mean so much to her. My chest had felt like it was caving in.
I’d wanted nothing more than to pull her back into bed, put my arms around her, and show her it would mean everything to me too. That I wouldn’t take it lightly. That I’d never hurt her. That I’d guard her heart as fiercely as she would.
Stay with me, I wished I could have said. Kiss me. Touch me. Whisper my name, and I’ll whisper yours. Tell me again how you love me. Let me give you hope. Let me give you everything.
But the words had been stuck in my throat.
Instead, I’d fallen back into the rut. Kept the walls in place. I’d let her go and promised to stay away.
It was all I could offer her.
* * *
“So how’d it go last night?” Moretti asked. He, Beckett, and I were seated by the fireplace in the lobby with cardboard cups of coffee, waiting for Griffin to come down. Then we’d all head into town for a proper shave at a barber shop. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Griff, but I saw you and Cheyenne leave together.”
“I saw that too,” said Beckett from next to me on the couch. “What’s up with you guys?”
I sipped my coffee. “Uh, we left together, but it didn’t exactly go as planned.”
Moretti’s smile faded. “Don’t tell me. You fucked up the line.”
“No, the line was fine the way I delivered it.”
“What was the line?” Beckett wanted to know.
“I just asked her if she wanted to go up to my room.”
Moretti rolled his eyes. “You fucked up the line.”
“So what happened?” Beckett leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
I took another sip of coffee, debating how much to say. “We went to my room, and she changed her mind.”
“Why?” Moretti asked.
I shrugged. “She realized it would be a bad idea. And she was right.”
“But she wanted to?”
I thought of how wet she’d been when I touched her. The way she’d sucked my tongue into her mouth. How her body had moved against my hand. The thought of it nearly made me groan. “Yeah.”
“And you wanted to?”
“Yeah.”
Moretti shook his head. “I really don’t understand this.”
I tried to explain it without betraying her feelings. “She was thinking ahead.”
“Ahead to what?” Beckett asked.
“Ahead to how she’ll feel once it was over,” I said, thinking that of all my friends, Beckett would probably understand the situation best. He was the quietest one in our foursome, but
definitely the deepest thinker. We joked that he was probably the only cowboy in existence that had an MBA.
From fucking Yale.
But Moretti jumped in. “She’d feel fucking great, because you’d give her at least two orgasms—you do remember how to do that, right?”
Beckett laughed, and I rolled my eyes. “Yes, asshole.”
“So what’s the problem? Why is she able to think beyond orgasms in your hotel room?” Moretti shook his head. “Maybe you’re not doing it right.”
“Will you fuck off? It’s not just about that with us. There are other things involved.”
“Like what?” Beckett asked.
“Like feelings.”
“Oh. Well.” Moretti sat back, like he was giving up. “Feelings. You didn’t mention those before.”
“Yes, I did,” I said defensively. “I told you she didn’t want just a one-night stand.”
“I meant your feelings. You didn’t mention those when you said you wanted to bang Cheyenne.”
“I never said it like that,” I snapped. “And you guys better not say anything to Griffin about this.”
“Griffin isn’t an idiot, Cole. He can see the way you look at her—everyone can.” Moretti appealed to Beckett. “Am I right?”
“He’s right,” Beckett confirmed. “My dad saw you guys at dinner last night and asked me when you’d gotten married.”
That almost made me smile.
“And Griffin’s okay with it,” Moretti went on. “The question is, why aren’t you okay with it?”
I leaned back, grumpy and confused. “I don’t know. What if I fuck it up? Or what if things just go wrong, the way they always do, and we’ll all end up worse off than we are now?”
“You could definitely fuck it up,” Moretti agreed casually, taking another sip of his coffee. “And sure, things can always go wrong.”
I looked at him incredulously. “Is this supposed to be a pep talk?”
“Yes. But no sense ignoring the obvious. Relationships are hard. They’re risky. There’s a reason why I prefer to play it safe.”
“I thought you had a girlfriend,” said Beckett.
“Still safe,” Moretti insisted. “Because it’s more of an arranged thing. I don’t have the feelings Cole has.”
Exhaling, I shook my head. “I don’t know what to do. My head says one thing, my gut says another.”
“What about your—”
“Don’t ask,” I said, noticing Griffin walking down the staircase. “You know what my dick says.”
Moretti looked offended. “I was going to say your heart.” He took a drink of his coffee. “You’re such an asshole. I’m glad we’re not a couple anymore.”
Beckett choked on his coffee. “What?”
“Long story,” I told him. Then I turned the tables on Moretti. “So what happened with Bianca last night?”
He frowned. “It was a real struggle, I tell you. I ordered her a holy water martini garnished with garlic on a crucifix, and I still couldn’t exorcise the demon.”
Laughing, I stood up as Griffin reached the bottom of the stairs and headed our way. “Well, keep trying,” I said. “And thanks for the advice—I think.”
* * *
After we finished up at the barber shop, we came back to the inn and grabbed a quick lunch at the restaurant. Afterward, I went back to my room and checked in with my mom, who was chaperoning Mariah in something called the “bridal suite,” where all the girls were getting ready. I felt bad that I hadn’t spent more time with her over the last couple days, but I also knew she was having the time of her life being included in almost everything the wedding party did.
My text to my mom went unanswered for a few minutes, and then it buzzed.
Mom: Hey, it’s Cheyenne. Your mom handed me her phone because she decided to get her makeup done at the last minute. One of the artists had time.
At the sight of her name, my stomach muscles clenched.
Me: No problem, I was just checking on Mariah.
The next text came from Cheyenne’s number.
Cheyenne: She’s great. Dress is on, and she’s perched like a princess on a throne in one of the salon chairs getting her hair curled.
Me: Sounds good. Thanks for including her the last couple days. She’s in heaven.
Cheyenne: We love her. You guys doing okay? Griff holding up?
Me: Griffin seems cool and calm.
As opposed to me, who felt so uneasy you’d have thought I was the groom instead of the best man. None of this casual shit was what I really wanted to say to her.
Cheyenne: Blair is surprisingly calm too.
Me: I think all the nerves are mine.
Cheyenne: The toast?
I thought for a moment, then decided it was best to blame all my anxiety on the toast—at least for now.
Me: Yeah. I know what I want to say, I’m just scared it’s going to come out wrong.
Cheyenne: Speak from your heart. If you do that, you can never go wrong.
While I was thinking about that, and what I’d say to her if I spoke from the heart, she texted again.
Cheyenne: And if all else fails, think fortune cookie.
I smiled.
Me: Thanks.
Cheyenne: Mariah is done. Want to talk to her?
Me: Sure.
A moment later, my phone vibrated. The screen said Cheyenne calling, and it gave me a little kick, even though I knew it would be Mariah’s voice on the other end.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Hi, peanut. Having fun?”
“Yes. I’m so excited!”
I smiled. “I miss you. I feel like I haven’t seen you in days.”
“That’s because the bridesmaids aren’t supposed to be with the groomsmaids before the wedding.”
“Groomsmen,” I corrected with a chuckle.
“Groomsmen. Are you guys ready yet?”
“Not quite. I have to put my suit on, but then I’ll be ready.”
“We’re already dressed. We’re going to take pictures in a minute. As soon as Blair is ready.” A big sigh. “She looks so beautiful, Daddy. Like a fairy tale princess.”
For a fleeting second, I thought of my wedding day—the nerves, the excitement, the hope, the thrill. Would I ever feel that way again, like I had everything to look forward to? Or would I always have to look back in order to experience joy? Why did happiness have to be just a memory? I glanced down at my ring.
“Miss Cheyenne looks beautiful too,” Mariah was saying.
I swallowed hard. “I’m sure she does. I can’t wait to see you all.”
“Okay, I have to go because the photographer is telling us we’re leaving.”
“Okay. I’ll see you soon, peanut. I love you.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
I waited for a moment in case Cheyenne came back on the line, hoping she would, but there was only silence on the other end.
Disappointed, I tossed my phone on the bed, and started to get undressed.
As I traded my jeans and flannel for a dark blue suit, white dress shirt and burgundy tie, I couldn’t help noticing how empty and quiet the room was. I glanced around, wondering what it would be like if there was another suitcase on the floor, a black dress hanging in the closet, makeup and hairspray and earrings on the bathroom sink. It would even smell differently in here—like orange blossoms in the middle of winter.
There would be someone to talk to at the end of the night, someone familiar in a strange bed. Someone to hold, to whisper to in the dark, someone whose skin felt like satin against mine, who put her hands and mouth on me, who was warm and soft and beautiful. Someone who wanted me.
Someone who loved me.
I looked behind me at the bed, where I’d lain with Cheyenne last night, where I’d slept fitfully and alone, missing her, where I’d sleep alone again tonight, unless I was willing to take a risk.
Straightening my tie, I looked at my reflection and made up
my mind.
Then I pulled off my ring and headed out.
* * *
“You ready, man?” Beckett clapped his hands on Griffin’s shoulders. We’d just finished taking groomsmen photos down in the bar, which wasn’t open yet, and we were having a quick shot before heading over to the barn.
“I’m ready,” Griffin said, and he looked it. No sheen of sweat on his forehead, no nervous laughter, no shaking hands.
“Here you are, gentlemen.” The bartender placed four shot glasses of whiskey on the bar with a grin. “For courage.”
“Look at him, he doesn’t even need it,” Moretti said with a grin, handing Griffin a shot.
“No, but I do,” I said, grabbing one for myself.
“You’re gonna be great.” Griffin slung an arm around me.
Moretti held his up. “Beviamo alla nostra,” he said. “To us.”
“Don’t be a dick.” Beckett elbowed him. “Make it to Griffin.”
“Relax, will you?” Moretti shot him a look. “We’ve been drinking to Griffin for weeks. And we’ll be drinking to him all night. I just wanted to take a moment and appreciate our friendship. It’s been a long time, and we’ve seen each other through a lot of things.”
I nodded, thinking about the struggles we’d endured as friends over the last twenty-plus years. It was easy to forget how rare our bond was—these guys were like brothers to me, and I couldn’t imagine my life without them.
“A lot of hardships, but a lot of good times too,” Moretti went on. “Especially those baseball championships where we beat the pants off the Mason City Mavericks.”
I raised my glass. “To the Bellamy Creek Bulldogs.”
“To brotherhood,” said Beckett.
“To the next twenty years,” added Moretti.
Griffin lifted his glass higher. “And fuck the Mavs.”
We laughed and tossed back our whiskey.
* * *
After one more shot—for warmth, we decided—we set our empty glasses on the bar and made our way through the ice and snow over to the barn, where the ceremony and reception would take place.
Make Me Yours: The Bellamy Creek Series Page 15
