by Marina Adair
It might not seem like it now, but this change was for the best—for everyone involved.
“What’s one more haunt to keep me company?” Laney picked up her shot and, with a salute, downed it, then stood.
She’d known what needed to happen when she’d agreed to come to the rehearsal. So, without a backward glance, she moved toward the door. In her attempt to go unnoticed, she knocked over a barstool and, unaccustomed to wearing anything higher than converse, stumbled into something strong, solid, and body-meltingly warm.
“Where are you sneaking off to, Trouble?” Rhett asked, and that low gravely timbre of his that made him a superstar, rolled right through her.
“I don’t sneak,” she said, refusing to meet his gaze since his BS meter was always set to high around her.
“I know sneaking when I see it,” he said with a chuckle. “And you’re sneaking. Out of my rehearsal dinner.”
“I’m not sneaking,” she said, looking at his hands. His big, masculine, almost-married hands that had grabbed her waist to keep her from falling. “And for your information, I was looking for the ladies’ room.”
“The ladies room is behind you. And the exit, that you were making a beeline for, would be in front of you. Just past the rose garden, the hoard of guests waiting for dinner, and your pride.”
“Fine,” she admitted. “I was sneaking.”
“I know.” He sounded so smug. “You always look like you want to cry when you’re contemplating something illegal.”
She snorted. “Leaving a dinner, in which you aren’t obligated to pick up the tab, is hardly illegal.”
“It is when your fiancée thinks your best friend hates her,” he said quietly.
“I don’t hate her,” she said looking up and—oh God, how was she ever going to say goodbye when those eyes of his drew her in.
They were deep and bright, and the color of a gentle rolling sea. So mesmerizing she was actually standing in a dress in the middle of a wedding rehearsal, waxing poetic in whimsy.
She needed to get a grip.
“Then what’s going on?” he asked. “You bailed on the last few weeks of the tour, you cut out of the bachelor weekend early, and you’ve been avoiding us all night.”
You. I’ve been avoiding you.
“I’m not a playing member of the band. I help you write songs.” Her throat closed, because after tonight she wouldn’t even do that. “We weren’t writing anything, so I came home. As for the bachelor weekend, I cut out two days early.”
“It was a three-day trip?”
“The guys were talking about going to a strip club. I don’t do strippers.”
“That’s a shame.” His eyes roamed down her body, slowly coming to a stop at her heels. “Because you in those shoes with a stripper would have made for one hell of a bachelor party present.”
Even though she knew he was teasing her, an unwelcomed, but all too familiar heat surged through her body. When it reached her cheeks, she smacked him in the chest, averting his attention.
Unrequited love sucked—but not nearly as much as would if he learned about her unrequited love the night before his wedding.
“Ow,” he said. “And I don’t do strippers either.” She rolled her eyes. “Okay, well just that once, but she was in grad school and liked classic rock, and we dated for almost a month.” Which before Stephanie would have been considered a serious relationship for Rhett. “And I’m not that guy anymore. I’m getting married tomorrow and my best friend won’t even give me one dance before she bails.”
“Gage is your best friend.”
“He isn’t wearing a dancing dress.”
Rhett’s fingers slowly slid around to her lower back and pulled her further into his strength. She’d relied on it, and needed it with a desperation that consumed her and caused her head to fall gently against his chest, resting there for just for a moment.
“One dance with the girl who knows my every move,” he whispered. “That’s all I’m asking for.”
One last dance, she told herself.
Laney breathed in his scent, yummy male with a punch of high-octane testosterone, and a sweetness that was addictive. The last time he held her like this, she’d finally found the courage to leave Simon. Rhett had given her a safe place to stay, a shoulder to cry on, and promised her everything would work out.
In a way, it had. Simon was a nightmare of her past. She was growing stronger every day, and knew that there were good men out there. Men who admired strength in a woman, and didn’t try to snuff it out.
And it was that strength that she would rely on to get her through the next few moments—and the next few months.
“I don’t feel much like dancing, Rhett,” she said, stepping back. “I just came to tell you how happy I am for you, and that you deserve every ounce of love that comes your way. You’re a good man.”
He studied her long and hard, until she felt the tears she’d been holding back start to surface.
“What’s going on?” He cupped her cheek. “You look pale. Is it another migraine?”
His hand felt smooth and comforting against her cheek, while the calluses on his musician’s fingers made tiny shivers scatter across her bare skin. She swallowed several times before she spoke, praying she wouldn’t sound as choked up as she felt. “It’s not my head that aches.”
She couldn’t feel anything over the aching in her heart. Rhett’s genuine concern served as a reminder of how much she was losing. No one cared for her like he had, and now that he was getting married, taking care of her would be inappropriate.
The weeks that followed the announcement of his engagement dragged by and her grief had turned to a dull longing. Hanging in the background of her every breath was the constant reminder of the changes that would come. And losing Rhett wasn’t the only change headed her way.
Gone would be the closeness they shared, the comfortable silent moments, and the pee-your-pants laughing ones. The ones that were so intense no words were needed to express the awesomeness of it.
Now, a ring was in play. In less than twenty-four hours, vows were to be exchanged, and this had to be goodbye.
“I hate to cut out early, but I can’t do this right now,” she said.
His familiar face, overflowing with concern, loomed over her and made the ache even worse. “Okay. Let’s grab a seat and I’ll get you a drink.”
He slid his palms down her bare arms and grasped her hands, offering comfort and understanding, but he didn’t understand, and all of the sudden it became imperative that he did.
“Not the dancing, Rhett. This.” She gestured back and forth between them to encompass the enormity of her words. “I can’t do this right now…I have to go.” Her voice broke on the last word.
“Whoa, don’t cry. Give me a minute and I’ll just grab Gage’s keys and give you a ride home.”
“You can’t leave,” she said, horrified. “It’s your rehearsal dinner.”
“But driving at night is bad for a migraine.”
And staying here for one more moment would be bad for her heart. The weight of her decision was all-consuming. Her chest tightened to the point of agony and the bile that had been churning in her stomach for the past six weeks burned the back of her throat.
She didn’t have any destination in mind. Only knew she had to get out. Spread her wings and find her own happiness—so that Rhett could hold on to his.
“I’ll be fine.” She’d weathered storms rougher than this. “Be happy, Rhett.”
With one last glance, to put every nuance of his face to memory, Laney turned to walk through the rose garden, the pungent fragrance stinging her nose, the weight of the night clinging to her skin. And when she was out of sight, she did what she’d always done—she ran.
Out of Rhett’s life and away from the only home she had ever known.
About the Author
Marina Adair is a #1 National best-selling author and holds a Master of Fine arts in creative writing. Along w
ith the Eastons series, she is also the author the St. Helena Vineyard series, the Heroes of St Helena series, and her upcoming Sequoia Lake series. She currently lives with her husband, daughter, and two neurotic cats in Northern California.
As a writer, Marina is devoted to giving her readers contemporary romance where the towns are small, the personalities large, and the romance explosive. She also loves to interact with readers and you can catch her on Facebook or visit her at www.MarinaAdair.com. Keep up with Marina by signing up for her newsletter at www.MarinaAdair.com/newsletter.
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