Ditched_A Left at the Altar Romance

by Holly Hart

They wouldn’t. Crap.

  Reminds me of the time Wes stuck an extra red sticker on my Rubik’s cube. Right before midterms he did it, right when I needed something to mess with, to keep me cool. And it took me forever to spot. Drove me nuts the whole time, trying to make it all fit, when it never would.

  There’s an extra red sticker here. Something we’re taking as fact that isn’t. Something missing, something superfluous. An assumption, a faulty leap of logic. It’s here. It has to be. Can’t pin it down.

  Fuck, but I’m tired.

  I bury my face in Kate’s hair. On the desk, her laptop whirs and goes back to sleep. I should do the same.

  She left me.

  She loves me....

  I watch the shadows of headlights chase each other across the ceiling, far from sleep.

  Chapter 30

  Kate

  * * *

  This isn’t going well.

  Wes has been quiet since we left the Plaza, downright truculent since we arrived at Max’s. Carson’s in fine form, picking holes in everyone’s logic. Max’s frustration is building: I can see it in the set of his shoulders. Don’t think he slept much last night. So far, he’s holding it together, but my anxiety’s rising to match his.

  He looks down at his laptop. “You can’t just say yo mama whenever you’re out of ideas.”

  Carson tilts his chair back. “At this point, your goddamn mother makes as much sense as the next person. I mean, you call us here, like, okay—let’s do this. And you got nothing.”

  “I—”

  “Name one point you’ve made, one insight, one—”

  “One of Matt’s friends—I just fucking said—”

  “Think we were closer with your dumbass theory about Dev’s shrink.” Carson bites into a lemon bar and makes a face. “Gross. What is this shit?”

  Max’s hands twitch, like he’s thinking about strangling someone. “Okay—let’s ignore possible culprits, for now. There has to be—who are you texting?”

  Wes looks up, sullen and defensive. “I’m getting an Uber. This is going nowhere.” He tucks his phone away. “Let’s face it: we’re no closer now than we were almost a month ago. What do you expect to accomplish, with no new information?”

  “I—”

  The intercom buzzes. Max hits the button with a scowl. “What?”

  “Delivery for you, sir. Shall I bring it up?”

  “Yeah. Fine. Whatever.”

  Carson quits picking apart his pastry. “Were you expecting something?”

  “No....”

  Wes pushes away from the table. “I’m going downstairs to wait for my Uber.”

  “Sit your ass down.” Carson grabs him by the sleeve. For a moment, Wes struggles, swatting at him like a fly, but a sharp look from Max has him sinking back into his chair.

  “It’s probably something from work. Nothing to worry about. Can I trust you three to refrain from ripping each other’s throats out while I’m gone?”

  Carson grumbles something. Wes puts his head down on the table, thumping it dully on the glass. I narrow my eyes at him—the airport was bad enough. If he’s thinking about a repeat performance....

  “This sucks.” Did he just—did he just actually stamp his foot?

  I take a deep, calming breath. “Don’t panic. Not till we’re sure there’s something to panic about.” I manage to keep the quaver out of my voice, but a tense silence falls anyway. I thought Max’s conservatory would be the perfect place to meet—open and airy, with the rustling of leaves to keep us calm—but it’s just hot, like sitting in a greenhouse. Carson’s already shed his jacket, and Wes is turning an unhealthy shade of puce.

  I feel hot and sick myself, but I’m not so sure it’s the sun. If this is another round of blackmail notes...am I to blame? The timing’s damning: I spill my guts to Max, and the next day, the very next day—

  Max is coming back. I strain my ears—he’s walking slowly. A good sign?—he’s not in a rush? Delaying the inevitable?

  “Knock it off.”

  I realize I’m drumming my nails on the tabletop and curl my hand into a fist. I could strangle Carson myself. He’s working my last nerve—that domineering attitude, that smug, condescending voice.... He’s not always right, much as he might like to think it.

  My throat tightens as Max stumbles over that sneaky step. That’s a FedEx pouch in his hand, and I don’t see a waybill.

  “Oh, no.” Wes rakes his fingers through his hair, leaving it standing in sweaty spikes. “Oh, no, no, no.”

  Max sits down heavily, tearing the package open with his thumb. Four flash drives rattle out. I can see my name on the closest one, spelled out in Liquid Paper.

  Carson reaches for his. “Pass me your computer. I’m getting this over with.”

  I push Max’s laptop his way. He plugs in the drive, taps the trackpad, and stares at the screen. His lip twitches like he’s about to laugh, but the sound that comes out of him is closer to a snarl. “Unbelievable.”

  “What does it say?” Wes leans in, trying to read over his shoulder.

  “It’s a joke. It has to be.”

  “You said you were getting it over with, so get it over with.” Max taps his own drive on the table. “The rest of us are waiting.”

  “Fine. Hey, Gomer. How you been? Got an ache in that yellow belly yet?—I’m a coward: how about you show your face? Fucking hypocrite.” Carson yanks the drive and shoves the laptop away. “He says I gotta take my wife walking in Central Park on the fifteenth of next month. They’re having some kind of Civil War re-enactment. And when the cannon goes off, I’m supposed to....” He wipes the sweat off his upper lip. “I’m supposed to piss myself.”

  Wes makes a choking sound.

  “She’s already left me!” He’s bellowing at no-one, head thrown back. “What’s she going to do, divorce me twice?”

  I drag the laptop back over. “It’s not going to come to that.”

  “Where’ve I heard that before? Oh, yeah—from you, three weeks ago.”

  I slot in my own flash drive. There’s only one file, this time—boobs.txt. Classy. “Here it is—Hiya, Boobs. Sweet show, and I don’t mean the dresses! Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll make up for it at that charity do. Heard about your new line: Spandex and satin and fleece—oh, my! Don’t forget to dress it up with a gold chain or two.”

  Carson cocks his head. “I don’t get it.”

  I do. Oh, hell, do I ever. “It’s a fundraiser for inner-city schools. The models are all students. He wants me to dress them up like....” I purse my lips. “It’s racist. He wants me to make a tacky fascist spectacle of myself, in front of the worst possible audience.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  You think? He’s right—of course he is. I’d disgrace myself, my family, everyone who works for me—not to mention how those kids would feel, being asked to wear—damn it.

  “Like I said. We’re stopping it this time. No one’s doing any of this stuff.” I slide the laptop Wes’s way. “Your turn.”

  Wes hesitates with his fingers on the keyboard. “He called you Boobs. Wasn’t that Matt’s name for you?”

  Hysterical laughter bubbles up in my throat. I swallow it down. He can’t be saying what I think he’s saying.

  “What if he’s still alive? Hideously burned, hiding away from the world....”

  Oh, God. He is. Just what I needed: a vision of Matt Danbury’s ghoulish face—red, peeling skin, cratered and shiny. It couldn’t be. I was at the funeral. All of us were. They wouldn’t have—

  “Quit stalling.” Carson leans over and opens Wes’s file himself. “Need me to read that for you?”

  “No.” Wes swivels the screen out of Carson’s line of sight. “Mine’s the same way. With the...with the nickname.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “I can’t do this.”

  Carson drops a hand on his arm. “I wasn’t being an asshole just now. Not on purpose, anyway. I’ll read it, if you want.”

  We
s swallows again. Nods tightly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “Okay, then.” Carson keeps his hand where it is as he reads. “Poor Skidmarks—there’s not a lot left to take from you, but you can still help me mess with Boobs. The Daily Mirror’s going to flip for those steamy Tinder chats. Didn’t know you had it in you—but the real question is, did you get it in her?” He looks up. “What the hell? You and Kate?”

  I risk a peek at Max. He’s looking at me like I just slapped him in the face. I didn’t! We didn’t! It’s not true!

  “Wes?” It isn’t true. It can’t be. Him and me...on Tinder? When?

  Wes won’t meet my eye. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

  So it’s something, then. “What did you do?”

  “You were using Sonia’s picture on your profile. We got matched, and I knew it wasn’t her, so....” He holds out his phone. It’s not even turned on. “See? See? I ghosted as soon as I realized it was you. I never—you have to believe me!”

  “Which one were you?

  “I—I—” He won’t even look at me.

  “I said which one were you?”

  “Danny. I was Danny.”

  I think back furiously—Danny? Which one was he? There were a few D names in there.

  “Blond hair, kind of chubby?”

  Oh. Danny. Sweet guy, sort of witty. Shared my taste in music. I breathe a sigh of relief: at least I never sexted him. Or...he never sexted back. Shit. I look away, cheeks flaming.

  “So, let me get this straight.” Carson waggles a finger between me and Wes. “You two were on Tinder using other people’s pictures, and you matched with each other?” He laughs. “Creepy motherfuckers.”

  Wes bristles. “Mine wasn’t fake when I signed up. I changed it when I caught her using my ex’s picture.”

  And the cheese stands alone. Thanks for that. I cover my face with my hands, wanting to disappear.

  It’s Max who comes to my rescue. “Whatever. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. That’s pretty much why we’re here.” He rescues his laptop. “Speaking of which: Nice save, Maxi Pad—fuck. I’d forgotten that one. Anyway—Nice save, Maxi Pad. And congratulations on your recent...what do you call it when you bang your—” He slams the screen down. “I’m not reading that.”

  “Give it here, then.”

  Max smacks Carson’s hand away. “No one’s reading that shit.”

  “Get over yourself. No way is it worse than his.” He jerks his thumb at Wes.

  “Kate.” Max skates the laptop my way. I open it, read what’s on the screen, and clap my hand over my mouth. I’m going to puke. All over the floor, in front of everyone. I close my eyes and wait for the room to stop spinning.

  “Seriously?” Carson’s reaching for the computer again. Nope, no way—not happening. I shut it down and pull the drive for good measure.

  Max squeezes my knee under the table. “Up to you.”

  I grit my teeth. “He thinks we’re back together, me and Max. He wants—he wants Max to book the church again. The same one we....”

  “From the wedding?”

  I nod. “He’s supposed to invite everyone—friends, family, co-workers, and then.... Then, I run out on him. Like before.”

  My stomach lurches. It’s too much—the heat, the stress, the strong coffee I chugged on my way over. I stumble to the reflecting pool, drop to my knees, and cough my breakfast into the water.

  Chapter 31

  Max

  * * *

  Kate wobbles on her knees, one hand planted on the edge of the pool. Her hair’s hanging down, dangling in the water.

  “Kate!” Wes knocks over a plate of muffins in his haste to get to his feet. Carson grabs at his sleeve, but it’s too late. He’s at Kate’s side in an instant, crowding her, pulling her back into his arms. “It’s all right. Breathe for me.”

  She scrubs at her mouth, ignoring him.

  “Come on—let’s get you back to the hotel.”

  “Mmph—no. I’m fine. Let’s just....” She coughs and sways dizzily. “Give me a second. We’ll keep going.”

  “No way. I’ll call another Uber. We’ll—”

  Kate shakes him off. She’s hyperventilating. Shivering all over. “I’d rather not get in a car right now, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “At least get out of the sun.”

  She twitches her shoulders, throwing off his hands. He slings his arm around her waist instead. Somehow, that’s what snaps me out of my daze. Fucking Wes—awkward, oblivious, getting in the way—

  “Get off her—give her some space.”

  Wes looks up, startled. Wounded. “I’m just trying to help. She needs—”

  “Five minutes and a glass of water. That’s what I need.” Kate picks herself up, brushing at her knees. She’s pale and sweaty, unsteady on her feet. “Where’s your bathroom?”

  “Down the hall, fourth on the left. There’s spare toothbrushes and stuff under the sink. Do you need—?”

  “No.” She turns and walks away, splotches of red blooming on her cheeks.

  Carson glances at Wes. He blows out a frustrated breath. “C’mon, man. Let’s go.”

  “I’m not leaving Kate.”

  “Oh, for—” He grabs his jacket off the back of his chair. “Read between the lines. These two have shit to talk about that doesn’t concern us. Plus, I don’t know about you, but I could use some fresh air.”

  “But....”

  I frown. Something’s off kilter here. Can’t put my finger on it, exactly, but....

  Carson tucks Wes under his arm, manhandling him toward the hall. “Kate’ll be fine. Let’s get a drink. Lick our wounds.”

  “Shouldn’t we—shouldn’t we be coming up with a plan?”

  “We’ve got almost three weeks this time. Besides, what kind of plan are we going to come up with right now, steeped to the gills in embarrassment, trying to pretend we can’t smell Kate’s vomit?”

  I get to my feet. Carson’s right: it’s disgusting in here, humid as a sauna. I don’t feel great myself, tired and queasy, and, yeah. Embarrassed. What do you call it when you bang your ex in a public park, and her hotel room, and her other hotel room, and wherever else she’ll have you? He was there? He...watched us?—from where? How much did he see?

  Wes comes running back in. Snatches his phone off the table. “Have her text me. I... Just let her know—”

  “Come on!”

  “Better not keep him waiting.” I summon up my best semblance of a grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell her.”

  The second I hear the elevator, I go looking for Kate. She’s not in the bathroom any more. She isn’t in the sitting room, either, or the kitchen, or the study. I spot a light on upstairs, and follow it to my bedroom. There she is, curled up on the couch, with my quilt around her shoulders.

  “You all right?” Stupid question. Of course she’s not.

  Kate sits up with a groan. “Not sure. Thought it was just stress, but I think I might actually be sick.”

  “Ugh.” I touch my wrist to her forehead, then the back of her neck. “You’re a little warm. Can I get you some ice? Ginger ale?”

  She shakes her head. “Sit with me?”

  I sink down next to her. After a moment’s consideration, I join her under the quilt. She burrows gratefully into my side. It’s cooler up here, with a fresh spring breeze blowing in off the terrace. The air smells clean, this high above the city, no trace of dust or exhaust.

  “What happened to Carson and Wes?”

  Carson and Wes.... “Fucked off somewhere. Figured we might need to talk.”

  Kate squirms a little closer. My hand finds its way into her hair, combing it back from her face. That sense of something not quite right niggles at me again. Carson and Wes. Carson folding Wes under his wing like a bossy bird. Carson—

  Carson.

  My fingers still. Kate looks up, questioning.

  “It’s Carson. The blackmailer.” It feels right, now I’ve said it. Obvio
us, even.

  “Wait, what?”

  “It has to be. Or—or it could be.” Already, doubt’s creeping in. Maybe if I talk it through. “Think about it: you got your first note ten years ago, which rules out my shrink theory. Who do we know from high school, who’s close enough to know all our secrets, and sneaky enough to turn them against us? Carson, that’s who.”

  Kate lifts her head, brow furrowed. “Carson? Sneaky? Are we talking about the same guy?”

  “Definitely.” I’m more sure now than ever. “Who turned everyone against you, right from the start? Made sure you’d be alone and unprepared, at that fashion show?”

  “Well, he did, but—”

  “And who tried to push the blame on Dev, then ripped the rug out from under Rachel when she tried to do the same thing?”

  “Shit....” Kate sits up, eyes sharp and focused. “Wasn’t he living with Dev, like...right before he died?”

  “Yeah—from October till, I don’t know—January? February, even. Pretty close to the end.” I shove the quilt off me, prickling with sweat. “He’s been playing us off each other this whole time. He comes on like a wrecking ball, so you don’t see...so you don’t notice him swooping in for the kill.”

  “He has been pretty quick to point the finger. And he loves making the rest of us feel dumb whenever we try to get anywhere. It’s like—it’s like if he rips holes in everything we say, we won’t know what’s important for him to hide.”

  “Exactly! Exactly. But....” Uncertainty creeps in again. “He never has any theories of his own. If it was him, wouldn’t he—I don’t know. Wouldn’t he try to throw in a red herring or two?”

  “Maybe he’s playing it safe. Not being too obvious about it.”

  “Yeah—maybe. I don’t know.” I frown. “No—I do. This is what he does. Skulks around, sowing doubt, and then...boom. I mean...the way Wes was acting at the airport—was that normal for him?”

  “No.” Kate rubs at her mouth. She’s looking kind of green again. “He’s excitable, but...no. That wasn’t him. Like, at all.”

  “And where was he, the night before?”