Hitched

by Dawn Rae Miller

  As I stand, I dust the sand from my legs. Tiny granules of sand scrape against my skin. To my left, the ocean is a solid black expanse, and to my right, Brady's house is perched on a gentle bluff, glowing in the night. Up ahead is a footpath that looks like it leads back to Brady's.

  I take it, and tall beach grass brushes against my bare legs while the glow of Brady's house beckons me forward. I continue on to the front of the house, but this time, Wilson isn't waiting for me. The house is quiet, and I climb the stone stairs.

  With each step, I'm more aware of how much I just don't fit in. I often felt this way at Harker, but at least there I had friends, and we pretended none of this - the money, wealth, privilege - mattered. We were all equals in more ways than not.

  Maybe Fletch did me a favor when he left me? Maybe he knew I'd never fit in.

  My phone rings, and I slip it out of my dress pocket.

  Michael.

  I hesitate. What am I going to do about him? The relationship is going nowhere, but I can't bring myself to tell him. Plus, he's so damn nice. And considerate. And into me.

  Which is more than I can say for most of the guys I've dated post-Fletch.

  While I’m waffling, the call goes to voicemail. Which is fine with me. I'll call him in the morning before golf.

  Outside my door, Paige and Reid are quietly arguing. About what, I can't tell, but they are. I want to tell them to go to bed, that it's nearly one in the morning, and Sophie has a big day planned for us, but what good would it do? There's clearly something still there between them. It's in their body language, the way Paige turns her torso to square off with Reid's, and the way he reaches out and touches her arm.

  They are totally going to hook up.

  "Excuse me," I say, stepping around them.

  "Oh, hey, Ellie. I didn't see you there," Reid says. He pushes hair out of his eyes. "I thought you'd be in your room asleep by now."

  I shrug. "Needed to clear my mind."

  Paige perks up. "Oh, I know all about that. This one time, after Reid and I had a fight, I needed to stay away from him for days. So if you need a break from Fletch, I totally get it."

  Heat flares across my face. "No. It's not like that. We didn't have a fight."

  "Then what is it?" Reid says. "Why are you so mad at him?"

  Until Reid says that, I hadn't realized I was mad. Hurt, yes. Mad, no.

  I step around the two of them. I'm not really prepared for their questioning, and to be honest, I don't want to answer them. "Time," I say, hoping that's vague enough. "It's all about time.

  I place my hand on the doorknob.

  "Goodnight," I say. "See you at breakfast."

  They both give me questioning looks as I disappear into my room.

  Once inside, I kick off my sandals. The sand covering my toes flakes off onto the hardwood floor. It's a grainy, crunchy mess. My body is heavy, and I flop down on the bed. My dress hangs from my frame, spreading sand all over the duvet.

  Awesome.

  Before I can crawl into bed, I need to shower if I don't want to sleep in sandy sheets. When I strip off my dress, sand falls everywhere. Hopefully, Brady has maid service to clean up this mess. Who am I kidding? Of course he does.

  There's an attached bathroom in my room, and I stumble into it, my eyes blurry from lack of sleep. Last night, before picking up Fletch, I tossed and turned trying to get comfortable, but memory after memory of Fletch pummeled my mind.

  The hot water of the shower hits my chest, and my muscles begin to relax. Still my mind won't stop racing.

  What did Fletch mean when he said 'it wasn't by choice'? Who made decisions for him? Who told him to stay away from me?

  And why would he do it?

  I scrub my hair, releasing an avalanche of sand, and wash down the rest of my body. It feels good to take a few minutes to pamper myself.

  When I step out of the shower, a fluffy white towel awaits me. I wrap it around my body and head back into the bedroom. Since my brain won't stop racing, I fish through my purse until I find the sleeping pills my doctor prescribed. Being on the road and traveling in and out of time zones, wears on you. So I have these for when I need to sleep, no matter what the time.

  Or for when I just need to quiet my mind, and sleep off all the bad feelings.

  I pop one and dry swallow it.

  I wish I had some of my anxiety pills, too - something to take the edge off of having to be around Fletch - but I couldn't refill my prescription before I left.

  The bed beckons me, so I quickly brush out my long hair and twist it into a bun. Then I crawl under the covers, naked, and close my eyes, willing the pill to work quickly. I need to get away from my racing thoughts.

  When sleep comes, I don't fight it.

  Part Two: FRIDAY

  Chapter Eight

  Morning tiptoes through my window and tickles my eyes open.

  Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Ugh. I roll over, pulling the pillow over my head. It doesn’t block the noise.

  "C'mon, Ellie. Get up." I startle at the sound of Fletch's voice and toss the pillow off my head. "You're going to miss your ride to the course."

  My heart jitters. Who sent Fletch to get me and why? Couldn't Brady or Paige or Reid have come?

  “I’m up. I’m up.” I slump off the bed, grab my still damp towel and wrap it around me. When I reach the door, I throw it open.

  Fletch blinks his eyes, as if seeing me wearing just a towel wasn't what he had in mind. A faint blush tints his cheeks.

  "Ummm…Good morning," he says.

  "I'll be ready in ten minutes," I say before shutting the door in his face.

  The last time Fletch saw me like this, we were in my Boston apartment. Light spilled across his body, and I softly kissed his shoulder.

  "Ellie,” he had mumbled. "What time is it?"

  "A little after seven."

  Fletch stretched and lifted his arms over his head, but not before pulling me down into a kiss. I dove onto the bed and wiggled under the covers.

  "Let's never forget this," I had said.

  "Never," Fletch answered, smoothing my hair. "I want to stay like this forever."

  If only I'd known that was the last day I'd spend with Fletch Colson.

  Forever, it seems, meant nothing to him.

  Tears sting my eyes, and I lean against the side of the bed. I sniff and try to pull myself together, but how can I, when the damn memories keep raining down on me?

  Damn you, Fletch.

  From the dresser, I select my golf skirt and shirt, and pull them on. Next, I slip on the overpriced golf shoes I had to buy, but at least it will make Brady happy.

  "Ellie? You ready?" Fletch asks through the door.

  Oh hell. He's still standing out there, waiting for me?

  "In a minute." I undo my bun and brush out my hair before squeezing Visine into both of my eyes. I blink a bit, letting the liquid wash away the redness. A quick swipe of mascara, and I'm ready.

  My phone is on the dresser. It's a Friday, and I should be accessible, but something defiant bubbles inside me, and I leave my phone sitting there. Maybe it’s to demonstrate how different I am than Fletch, but I’m going to go offline - at least for the golf outing. I'm going to live in the moment as Brady always admonishes me to do.

  Plus, I hate my job, and I need a break. Sometimes, if a client is in crisis, I don't even get the weekend off, or work normal nine-to-five hours. Nope. I'm on call all day, every single day.

  When I swing the bedroom door open, Fletch does a double take. At least he doesn't fixate on my breasts like he did when I first met him.

  "I'd say you look nice, but I've been told that you're tired of hearing that," he says with a smirk that makes me want to slap him.

  Or kiss him.

  I can't decide.

  "You missed breakfast," Fletch says. "But there's still some salmon and hard-boiled eggs out." He names two of my favorite breakfast foods.

  "Great. Do we have
time to swing by the dining room? I'm starving."

  Fletch nods and leads the way. I trot along, following like an obedient dog.

  After I fill a plate, I sit down and inhale my breakfast. When I'm done, Fletch grins at me. "You never were one to starve yourself to look good."

  "Oh, you mean like Calista." It's bitchy, but I can't help it.

  Fletch’s face falls, and he turns away from me. "The car's waiting. We're riding with Brady and Reid."

  I notice he doesn't mention the other girls - women — when will I ever get that right?

  I scurry down the stone steps to the waiting SUV. Brady and Reid are already inside, as is the driver.

  "Good morning," I say as cheerfully as I can at such an early hour. "Where is everyone?"

  "They've gone ahead. We drew the last tee time for our group," Brady says. "If I knew how much beauty sleep you needed, we could have started a little later."

  I rub my eyes and stretch. "Beauty sleep? More like a sleeping pill that knocked me out."

  Brady cocks an eyebrow. "Ellie's doing drugs? What's up with that?“

  We're driving down the road now, and the early morning light barely touches the tops of the trees.

  "I'm not doing drugs. I have a prescription to help me fall asleep when I'm on the road."

  "Uh huh," Brady says. "Those are gateway drugs. I learned all about it in DARE back in fifth grade."

  Fletch bursts out laughing. "Only you would remember something like that since the program so clearly worked on you."

  "What?" Brady says. "So I smoke a little weed and pop a benzo once in awhile. Who am I hurting?"

  "Clearly Sophie," I answer. "She didn't seem to approve of your lighting up last night."

  Brady laces his fingers together and taps his thumbs. "Yeah, well, she has her reasons."

  It's such a strange answer that I scrunch my brows together.

  "Don't think too hard, Ellie. There really isn't much to the story,” Brady says. He glances at my feet. “Are you wearing your golf shoes?”

  “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

  “You’re supposed to put them on at the course.”

  “And I was supposed to know that how?” I say.

  We pull into the golf course and up to the bag drop. An attendant hurries over and removes two golf bags from the trunk. Since neither Fletch nor I have clubs, we have to go into the pro shop to rent some.

  "Are you as bad as me?" Fletch asks. "I'm lucky if I can drive the ball to the green." He pauses for a moment, as if waiting for me to say something. When I don't, he adds. "I don't get to golf much these days."

  I nod, but really don't feel like saying anything, because even small talk is painful with Fletch.

  "Okay," Brady says wrapping his arms around both Fletch and me. "Here's the deal. You both suck, so Fletch you're with Reid. Ellie, I'm going to be brave and take you."

  "Hey," I say, smiling. "I may surprise you."

  "You have surprised me many, many times Ellie Jacobs, but I highly doubt you will today. Golf takes years to perfect, and you, my feisty little friend, have only played a handful of times."

  I puff out my chest, "I've played three times, to be exact. Which makes me nearly a professional."

  Reid laughs. "Right, Ellie."

  Everything feels so easy at the moment. Like nothing has changed between the four of us. Then I catch Fletch's eye, and my stomach churns.

  Suddenly, I'm aware the other girls aren't here. "Where's Paige and Calista?"

  Brady shakes his head. "This is a men's only event." He winks at me. "Well men plus you."

  "So I'm the only woman playing?"

  "Ummm…yes?"

  I groan. "Brady, why would you do this? I'm not going to fit in with Sophie's family and all the rest of the guys playing."

  "Whatever," Brady says. "You've always been more of a one-of-the-guys girl anyway."

  "Still, I should be with the other women."

  "I…I wanted you with me," he says, glancing over my shoulder. Refusing to look me in the eye.

  That's when it hits me. I wasn't invited to do whatever the girls are off doing. Probably a spa day. But like Fletch not wanting to drive out with me, Sophie and the rest of the girls didn't want to spa with me.

  I am officially the biggest outsider at this wedding.

  Fuck my life.

  "I need some clubs," I say to the man behind the pro shop desk. I point at Fletch. "And so does he."

  The man sizes us up and disappears into the backroom. When he emerges, he's carrying two bags. He hands one to me and one to Fletch.

  "Tell me how those feel," he says.

  I take out the driver, because at least I know what that is, and wiggle it back and forth. The weight feels balanced in my hand, but I don't know whether that's a good or bad thing.

  "These work for me," I say.

  "Mine feel just right," Fletch says. I have a feeling he's bull shitting, like me. Fletch, at least the Fletch I knew, wasn't a golfer. The three times we played were with Brady. But who knows? Maybe Fletch 2.0 plays golf every weekend. Maybe it's part of his new career as CEO.

  Brady and Reid have left Fletch and me alone. Most likely to get the golf carts. There's an awkward silence between us that I can't bare. "Should we go outside?"

  Fletch nods, and we head out the door. Sure enough, Brady and Reid are driving two carts in a circle.

  Brady pulls up to me, hops out, and swings my bag into the back of the cart. "You ready, kid?"

  "As much as I can be," I answer while climbing into the passenger seat.

  Once he's settled, Brady hits the accelerator, and we lurch forward before careening down the cart path. Fletch and Reid are ahead of us, driving almost as erratically.

  "Brady," I say, gripping the plastic bar above my head. "Where did you learn to drive this thing?"

  He laughs. "Everyone drives like this, Ellie. It's part of the game."

  “Drive like you’re drunk?”

  “Until you really are.” Brady laughs as we pull up to the first hole. "Okay, you get the easy tee, up there."

  "Easy?" I shoot my eyebrows up.

  "It's the ladies tee. Don't go getting pissy with me."

  I throw up my hands. "I'm not. I'm not."

  Reid and Fletch have already hit their balls onto the green and decided to play ahead of us.

  I hold the driver in my hand and wiggle it at Brady.

  "Are you going to use that thing or what?" Brady says, puffing out his chest.

  "You want me to beat you with it, because that's what I'm thinking."

  He laughs again and lunges at me. I jump to the side, avoiding being taken out by a bear of a man.

  "I can do this all day," I tease. "I'm like the mother-fucking gingerbread man.”

  Brady doubles over, laughing. When he stands up, he pulls me into a hug. "Thanks, Ellie. That's just what I needed."

  "Huh?"

  "A good laugh." His face falls.

  "Brady," I say. "What's going on? Why am I not with the girls today? Are you the only one who wanted me here?"

  He shakes his head. "No, it's not like that. Paige pleaded for you to go with them, but I needed you more."

  "Why? What's going on?"

  Brady shrugs his shoulders like it's something minuscule. "Sophie's pregnant."

  I keep my jaw glued together, but my eyes grow wide.

  "So that's why we're getting married. I mean, she's cool —and hot— but I don't know if I'm in love with her, you know?"

  I don't know. Because what I thought was love turned out to be anything but.

  Unsure of what to say, I offer, "You don't have to marry her. This isn't the middle ages, or the 1950's."

  Brady shakes his head. Off in the distance, Reid and Fletch have moved on to the next hole. "C'mon," he says, "We're falling behind, and we can't blame it on your shitty swing."

  "Hey, now. I may be terrible, but you love me. Don't deny it." I jab him in the ribs before teeing up a
nd swinging. The ball miraculously hits the fairway.

  Brady drives his ball with minimum effort toward the hole.

  "How far along is she?" I ask.

  "Three months."

  Suddenly, it all makes sense. How Brady never mentioned wanting to marry Sophie until the invite came six weeks ago. How whenever he was with her, he never seemed himself. More like a stressed-out version of what he thought a grown-up should be.

  We hurry through the hole and jump back on the cart. Brady steers the cart down the path toward the next hole.

  "I always thought," he says. "That you and Fletch would get married. At least before me, you know."

  "That ship has sailed, Brady."

  "Has it? I've seen the way the two of you look at each other."

  "What, with hurt and pity?"

  Brady touches my arm. The cart veers wildly to the right.

  "With hope and longing."

  Chapter Nine

  On the third hole, Brady gives me a beer after taking one for himself.

  I check my watch, which was a gift from Fletch way back when. I wonder if he’s noticed it. "It's only nine."

  "And what better time to have a beer than now?"

  I roll my eyes. What should I expect from a guy who used to drink all day long in high school? High school - Brady used to tell me that that was a perfect name for Harker. The High School. Because everyone was high all day, everyday. I had to remind him that I never touched weed. Still, he insisted it was the perfect name.

  Down near the green, Fletch and Reid wait for us. They, too, have beers in hand.

  "That's some phenomenal golf you’re playing, Ellie," Reid says sarcastically. "Where'd you learn to play?"

  I suck in my cheeks and dart my eyes to Fletch. "From Fletch."

  Fletch throws up his arms. "Don't blame me for her slice and swing."

  "Hey, I have a life which requires me to work normal business hours. I don't get to be out on the course all day long."

  "Neither do I,” Fletch says. “I have a company to run. It doesn't allow me much free time."

  "And yet, you can be here for four whole days? That's some busy CEO."

  Fletch spreads his legs wide. "What do you do Ellie that requires you to be plugged in twenty-four seven?"