by Hart, Holly
Ditched
A Left at the Altar Romance
Holly Hart
Red Cape Romance
Stay in touch!
I hope you love the book nearly as much as I loved writing it.
* * *
Sign up here to be added to my mailing list, where you can score exclusive reader content, free books and huge giveaways, or click the link below.
www.RedCapeRomance.com
[email protected]
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Stay in touch!
Chapter 1
Max - 2008
* * *
We made it.
I can hardly believe it, but we’re here. This is for us—for me and Kate. We made it, we made it, we made it, and it’s better than anything I could’ve pictured.
The aisle’s decked with white peonies and chrysanthemums: Kate’s favorites. Sunshine streams through the open doors. Outside, the car’s waiting, festooned in tin cans and bunting. Waiting to spirit us away. I’m taking her to Coney Island, our first day in the city. We’ll eat hot dogs and cotton candy. Ride the Wonder Wheel. Act like teenagers for the first time in a year.
Devon elbows me in the ribs as the wedding march strikes up. I stand tall and square my shoulders. That’s his little sister spreading rose petals, three years old and puffed up with pride. Cutest thing I’ve seen all day.
In my dreams, this is the part where the white petals turn red. Where the aisle stretches for miles, and Kate walks it barefoot, pricking her heels on a carpet of thorns. Where I reach for her forever, and our hands never touch.
A collective ahh goes up as every head turns at once. There she is, resplendent in her gown. I hold my breath as her father takes her arm. Her tiara catches the sun. She’s shining all over: white as a swan, with glittering crystals in her hair. Pearls litter her bodice, and even her bouquet sparkles with dew. As if she picked it herself from the church garden. She’s perfect.
One day, I’ll deserve her. Even if it takes the rest of my life.
The music swells. I fidget in my itchy suit. I need to see her face. To look into those serene brown eyes and see my future. To touch the spray of freckles across her cheeks and recall the first day we met. And her smile....
Kate falters. She stumbles, takes one more unsteady step, and stops in the spill of colored light from a stained-glass window. Her father turns to her, questioning. Someone murmurs in the back. A noisy ssh disturbs the tranquility of the morning. I feel it like an electric shock, all the way to my toes. My palms turn clammy as the moment stretches on. She can’t; she can’t—
Splashes of red and green and gold shiver on her arms, and I realize she’s trembling. A breathless lull settles over the congregation. No one whispers. No one fidgets. No one moves but Kate. She takes half a step back. Her heel scrapes on the floor. Her skirts rustle, loud in the silence. Even the minute clack of beads against her tiara echoes through the nave.
Somebody coughs.
Kate adjusts her grip on her bouquet, sets her jaw, and carries on. I let my hand drop to my side. I was reaching for her. Like in my dreams. A choked sound escapes me, and Dev takes my elbow: it’s all good.
All good.
Kate takes another step, and another. She’s looking down, dark lashes heavy on her cheeks. Her father hands her up to the altar, and this is it. Our moment. My heart swells as the organ fades out.
We made it. I mouth the words at her, but she’s looking at her feet.
“Kate?”
A cloud passes over the sun. Kate tilts her head to look. Something glistens under her veil: not a jewel, but a tear, caught on her lashes. It streaks down her cheek and falls on her breast, leaving a faint, ashen trace of mascara.
“What—?”
Her face is ghostly through the veil. Still, I can see it as she turns my way, the evidence of a sleepless night. Hollow eyes. Harsh smears of blush on milk-pale cheeks. And she’s not smiling. She looks haunted—and it’s my eyes she’s avoiding, my hand she’s backing away from. Even in my worst nightmares, this never happened.
Kate looks at her father. At the priest. At the doors, still open to the street. Not at me. Not once at me.
Please....
Her shoulders slump. She closes her eyes. Her fingers loosen, and her bouquet hits the floor.
“Kate!”
She picks up her skirts and runs. I grab for her, but it’s like harnessing smoke. I come away with a scrap of veil, no bigger than my fist—and she’s flying up the aisle, only pausing to snatch off her shoes. Her torn veil streams behind her. Her bare feet slap the flagstones. The sun blazes forth, glaring in my eyes. Kate careens into the light. For a moment, she hovers in the arch, shoes dangling from one finger, and then she’s gone.
Gone.
I drop to my knees. There’s a hand on my shoulder: Dev’s, or maybe her dad’s. But all I can see is her bouquet, scattered on the floor. Peonies and chrysanthemums, crushed underfoot. A drift of petals at the foot of the altar. Tiny glass beads—not dewdrops, after all. I reach for a chrysanthemum, a peony, a spray of baby’s breath.
“Max?”
“Not now.” There’s the ribbon: white velvet, edged with lace. I can put this back together. All of it. Just like new.
“I’ll go after her.”
I nod. That’s right. Her dad’ll bring her back. She’s nervous, that’s all. Freaked out, like before graduation. But she made that speech, and she’ll make her vows. Kate’s never let me down.
“Son....”
I jerk away. Dad’s reaching for Kate’s bouquet. Trying to take it. People are starting to mutter. Shuffling around. A few of them are on their feet. I want to scream at them—sit back down! Everything needs to stay in place. Kate’s coming back. She is. She’s on her way right now, sheepish and red-faced. I’ll rib her hard, later. And then I’ll hold her close, so she knows she’s forgiven.
Somebody laughs: a little kid. And there’s that ssh, again.
Dev kneels beside me. He hands me a stray chrysanthemum. “Need some help with that?”
I shake my head, rearranging a couple of blooms to hide the crushed ones. Good as new: the flowers, the ribbon, the trailing strands of pearls....
“Perfect.” I hold up the arrangement. Dev straightens the ribbon.
“We should, uh....” He trails off.
“What?”
Dad takes over. “He’s right, son. Let’s go outside. Get some air.”
I don’t need air. I need Kate. Any minute now, any second, she’ll walk in...and how am I supposed to see her, with a forest of legs crowding around me? How can I get to her, with all these hands on my shoulders, pressing me down? “Get off me!”
A toddler starts to wail, and the floodgates open. Everyone’s milling around, talking over each other. A knot of rubberneckers is forming by the door, spilling out into the street. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
“Shit!—she’s taking the car!”
“No way!”
“It’s like I said: eighteen’s way too young.”
It can’t be true. “She’s coming back. Last night, she said....” No one’s listening. I slump against the altar.
This is another nightmare. Any second, my alarm’ll go off. Mom’ll be hanging over my bed, camera in hand, ready to capture my wedding-day bedhead. My suit’s still hanging on the door; my boutonniere’s in the freezer. And Kate—she’s been up since five, getting her hair done. Because the practice run took four hours, and she can’t be late for our big day.
That’s not the growl of an engine. That rattling, that’s not tin cans on tarmac. That distant screech of tires, that’s just—that’s just....
“She’ll be back.”
“Oh, Max.” Mom sits down beside me. I turn my head away. Her pity’s killing me. And Kate’s coming back.
Last night, we packed for the Big Apple. She couldn’t get her suitcase to close. It took me and Dev both parking our asses on it before she could work the buckles. And the second I got up, the left one tore off. We ended up lashing it shut with jump ropes. Tomorrow we’re going to Coney Island.
“Max?”
“Leave him alone. If he wants to wait—”
I want to go home. To our new apartment, with the tiny window, where we can just see Manhattan over the East River. That’s where we’re going to sit, at the end of the day, planning our rise to fame and fortune.
The crowd thins and the shadows get long. The priest comes and goes, and comes again. Someone offers me water. Candied almonds. A scratchy, dust-smelling blanket. I clutch my scrap of veil. It’s soft along the edge, where the netting gives way to lace. Handmade lace: Kate loved that. Handmade, with tiny, faceted beads woven into it. Her dress, too: someone slaved over that. Tucked and trimmed and stitched their way through four fittings. Matched the flowers across the bodice to the ones on her grandmother’s dress. That was her “something borrowed,” that design.
She wouldn’t walk out on that. She couldn’t.
They close the doors when it starts to get dark. I want to protest: How’s Kate supposed to get in? How will she know I’m still here?—that I never gave up?
Mom’s tucked into the end of a pew, reading a murder mystery. Dad’s off in back, keeping the priest company. Dev’s sitting vigil with me, one arm draped over my shoulder. He knows. He was there last night. Saw how excited she was.
I jolt out of a foggy half-doze at the sound of Dad’s phone. He’s standing over me. Wearing his bad-news face. He listens, nods, and nods some more, like whoever’s on the other end can see him.
I let my head droop. I don’t want to know.
Dad clears his throat. “Max.”
No.
“Your car’s at the airport. She got on a plane a few hours ago.”
A plane? “That’s not.... New York’s only three hours away.”
“To London.” He shifts his weight. I don’t have to look up to know he hates telling me this. “She, uh...there’s a note. Lorraine’s going to bring it by in the morning. We should....”
Go. I know.
“Father Sewell wants to close up.”
I crush the strip of lace in my fist. The beads dig into my palm. She betrayed me. Kate betrayed me.
I’ll never forgive her.
Chapter 2
Kate - 2008
* * *
This is a disaster. An unqualified disaster. I’m terrible at this. In the last week and a half I’ve messed up everyone’s coffee order, stitched my own skirt into the lining of an insanely expensive jacket, and taken a sewing machine needle to the thumb. Twice. My palms are raw from unpacking, measuring, and rolling fabric. My feet are screaming for mercy. And my boss hates the way I dress.
The pain and humiliation’s keeping me distracted. It’s a good thing.
No, it’s a disaster. A fashion internship—what was I thinking? The second something else opens up—waitressing, slinging burgers, anything at all—I’m out of here.
I rip out a crooked seam and rub the grit out of my eyes. It’s getting dark out already.
Max waited at the altar till the sun went down. This is what I deserve.
Don’t think about it.
I tear out another seam. This part isn’t so bad. I like the pop-pop-pop of the stitches breaking. Mindlessly satisfying.
I’ve never been alone like this in my life. Never. It was always me and Rachel at the mall, me and Wes running errands for his dad, the whole gang at the Breakfast Spot. And Max—
“Don’t think about it.”
“Think about what?” My supervisor peers over my shoulder. “Getting those seams straight?”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah. I thought if I took more of a Zen approach....”
“Or you could do it the way I showed you.”
I duck my head. “Yes, ma’am.”
It’ll be late afternoon, back home. A beautiful day on the lake. Dev’ll be swimming: that’s a no-brainer. Or out on Kyle’s boat with him and Rachel. A month ago, I’d have been with them, diving, snorkeling, working on my tan. What I wouldn’t give to plunge in right now, rid myself of the fluff and lint and mustiness that’s been clinging to me since I started here!
“Katie—coffee run!” A paper plane lands on my table. I unfold it: four espressos, one decaf low fat soy chai latte, two caramel macchiatos, and a bagel, which...where do I even get that, this time of night?
What I deserve; this is what I deserve.
I dust off my pants and grab for my purse. Wes has to be hating me right now, almost as much as Max. His dad’s been going downhill lately, and Carson’s leaving for boot camp—who’s going to do their shopping? Mow the lawn? It’s not fair, Wes being saddled with all that. Wes, of all people. He’s still just a kid, three weeks shy of his sixteenth birthday. He should be headed to Harvard on, like...a child genius scholarship, not playing nursemaid in the town where he grew up.
I jump back from the curb as a taxi horn blats. It’s too loud here. Too chaotic. Cars and buses and people and pigeons and... I just want to sit down, be by myself, and not hear or see or smell anyone for five minutes. Would New York have been like this, as well?
Did Max go without me?
I could find out. I could call. I could even go back. It might not be too late.
There’s a queue out the door at the coffee shop. I take my place at the end. I could go back...and then what? Throw myself on Max’s mercy? Tell him everything, starting with why I left? He’d only hate me more. I’ve dreamed the ending to that story: Max in his handcuffs, me in mine. And as the cops pulled us apart, he’d scream at me, why couldn’t you stay gone? Why didn’t you—
“You going or what?”
I blink. The queue’s moving. I shuffle forward.
This is what I deserve.
Chapter 3
Max - 2008
* * *
Dev flops onto the raft, shaking water out of his hair. Kyle turfs him back into the lake—“What are you, a dog? Use a towel.”
Dev swims up and rests his elbows on the ladder. “What’s it matter? We’re all wet, anyway.”
“Yeah, but you’re diluting my beer.” Kyle takes a swig. “Yup. Coors to Coors Light in five seconds. G
ross.” He upends the bottle over Dev’s head, and Rachel cracks up laughing. Dev ducks under the water and resurfaces several feet away.
I finish my bottle and start on a second. The rate we’re going through these, we’ll be dry before Carson gets here. It’s his going-away party, at least in theory. I’m pretty sure most of this is for me: my favorite beer, my favorite place—hell, even the radio’s tuned to the same station as my car. The one everyone’s always trying to change.
I’m going to New York, anyway. I decided last night. Can’t afford the apartment on my own, but there’s a guy on Craigslist who wants to be my roommate, and I’ve still got the car. It’ll suck ass, but at least—
“Hey!” Dev pops up like a cork. “Check it out—they’re coming!”
I squint into the sun. He’s right. Carson’s wading into the shallows like he’s on a mission, thigh-deep already, and Wes—
I laugh. “Look at Wes.”
“Aw, don’t make fun.” Rachel chunks a potato chip at my head. I pluck it out of my hair and eat it.
Wes dips his toe in the water again. I cup my hands around my mouth and yell out, “It’s not even cold!”
