by Lexi Ryan
“He’s dumb, though, Mom.”
“Don’t say that. Everyone has something they struggle with in school, Miss Smarty Pants. Just because you haven’t found yours yet doesn’t mean you won’t.”
“No, I mean he’s dumb because he cheated off Mia, who’s doing independent math and doesn’t even take the same tests. He said he did it because he likes her. How does that even make sense? Why do people get stupid when they fall in love?”
Good question, sweetie. “He’s ten. He’s more likely infatuated than in love.”
She shrugs. “Whatever. He’s still dumb.”
“Can I walk you down tonight?”
She tenses. “We agreed that you wouldn’t! No one’s mom walks them to carpool anymore. We’re not six.”
I want to push, but I know what it’s like to be a kid hungry for some freedom. I promised myself the day she was born that I wouldn’t be like my parents. I kiss her forehead. “Have fun at dance. I’ll see you when you get home.”
“Bye, Cami!” Julian calls from the kitchen.
“Bye!” she shouts over a shoulder. “See ya, Mom.” She opens the door and bounds down the hallway toward the stairs.
“I love you,” I call after her.
“Love you too!” she shouts, and throws me a kiss.
I toss one back at her and go to the window to look down at the street, where her friend’s mom waits in their red minivan. I watch until Cami pushes out onto the sidewalk and climbs in.
“Finally alone,” Julian says as he comes to join me in the living room. He wraps his arms around me from behind and trails kisses up and down my neck. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
I stiffen and then force myself to relax. This is my future husband. “It smells great. I might cheat and have just a small bite.”
He hums against my neck. “It needs another forty minutes in the oven.” He gathers my skirt in one hand and strokes my hip with the other, tracing the edge of my underwear. “Care to pass the time with me in the bedroom?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, but all I can see is Marston looking at me with those hot eyes when I sucked the latte foam from my finger. “Are you trying to turn me on because you want me to fuck you against that desk or because you want to torture me?”
I shiver at the memory, and Julian shifts his hips and grinds his erection against my back, no doubt thinking my reaction was for him. “Julian, I can’t,” I whisper. “My mind’s a mess right now.”
“Just relax. This is exactly what we need.” He cups me between my legs, and I jerk forward out of his grasp.
“Stop.” I spin around to see him backing away from me, hands in his hair. “I’m sorry,” I blurt, but I instantly want to take the words back. I don’t need to apologize just because I’m not interested in sex right now. Swallowing, I offer an apology I won’t resent later. “I’m sorry about how I handled that, but I’m not in the mood. It’s been a long day, and I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
He sinks onto the couch, rests his elbows on his knees, and looks up at me with narrowed eyes. “Is that really it? A long day, or you’re thinking about him?”
“What if I am?” I press my hand against my stomach, where I’m pretty sure the nerves and stress of the last twenty-four hours have burned a hole. “What if I’m sick to my stomach because I married someone and can’t even remember it? What if my fear and embarrassment over my future—our future—has made sex the last thing on my mind?”
“Am I supposed to keep my hands off you until this divorce or annulment or whatever goes through?”
“I never said that.”
“But you don’t want me to touch you now? Just because you got drunk and stupid?”
“Don’t talk to me like that.” My voice is low, but clear enough that I know he can hear every word. “I spent the first seventeen years of my life listening to my father berate me and knock me down with his words. I’m not about to let you or anyone else do it now.”
He stands up and stares at me. “I just found out my fiancée is already married. You think you’re the only one dealing with fear and embarrassment? I’ve been played before, Brinley. This feels . . . way too familiar.”
My heart sinks. Julian’s last serious relationship ended when the woman ran off with her ex-boyfriend and a bunch of Julian’s money. “Julian, I’m sorry, but this is different.”
“I’ve been here. I’ve been your friend, your lover. I’ve helped you out when money was tight.”
I want to remind him I never asked for that help. I want to remind him I pushed back when he insisted Cami and I move into this condo. I can’t afford even a small unit in this building on my salary, let alone this one, with three bedrooms and every offered upgrade. But he insisted I move in and pay just a fraction of the rent. “We’re getting married. Let me take care of you.”
But the truth is that I’ve been so caught up in my own whirlwind of emotions that I haven’t given much thought to Julian’s feelings, and that’s unacceptable, so I don’t say any of that.
“I’ve been here, and I’ve been mad about you all this time,” he says, quieter now.
“I know.” I draw in a long breath. “But be fair, J. I’ve been honest about my feelings and my reservations from the beginning.”
“I know.” He swallows. “And maybe that’s why it hurts so much to know you married him after a few hours in Vegas. And you’re second-guessing us after he shows up out of the blue. I’ve been here, and I’ve promised you I’ll always be here. What’s he promising you?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I shrug. “I’m going to fix this.”
“Then why haven’t you called your lawyer?”
I bow my head, embarrassment and shame heating my cheeks. “I don’t know.” I look up. “Wait—how did you know I hadn’t?”
His lips twist into a sneer. “Just a hunch.” He grabs his keys off the counter and shoves them into his pocket. “I set the timer for the lasagna. Just pull it out when it’s done. Let it cool before you put it in the fridge or . . . Fuck, throw it all away if that’s what you’re into tonight.”
I feel helpless. We’ve never fought before—nothing more than minor disagreements—and I don’t know how to handle this side of him. Is this how he’ll act any time things are tough? “You’re being cruel.”
He shrugs. “I’m human, Brin. And you’re fucking hurting me right now.”
He walks away, and the walls shake as he slams the door behind him.
Marston
“Marston!” Smith calls from behind the bar the moment he spots me. “Get your ass over here, you rich prick.”
Grinning, I make my way toward him. When I was here last night looking for Brinley, her cousin wasn’t around. Probably for the best, since I was in no mood to catch up, but tonight, nothing sounds better than a drink with my old friends, and when I called Smithy, he promised to make it happen.
Grant Smith, or Smithy to anyone who knows him, looks pretty much the same as he did in high school. He’s thicker in the shoulders and chest and has a little more facial hair, but I’d recognize him anywhere. His light brown hair’s a little longer, just past his chin now, giving him a hipster-stoner vibe.
It’s so easy for me to remember the bad shit about Orchid Valley. For years, my strongest associations with this place, aside from Brinley, were the shame and embarrassment that came with being Aunt Lori’s pity case, and I’ve forgotten about the good parts. I made some great friends during my time here, and I’m an ass for not doing my part to keep up with them.
I tap the knuckles he holds out for me. “Smith, nice place.”
“Thank you. Nothing compared to all your fancy-ass resorts, but I like it. Fuck, man, I can hardly keep up with running this place. I don’t know how you do it.”
I grunt. “I don’t run them. I run the company that gives those resorts advice.”
“Is there a difference?”
I laugh. I can’t imagine Smithy would be as impressed with my job if h
e realized that at the root of it all, I’m just a geek with a spreadsheet. “Countless differences, but the biggest is I pay other people to do all the real work.”
“Hell yeah.” He bobs his head. “Teach me how to do that before you go, okay?”
“Sure thing.” I nod to the plentiful selection of taps. “What’s good and local?”
“I assume your drinking is more refined than it was in high school?”
“A little.” I grin because his happiness has always been contagious. “Remember when we got that case of Busch Light and drank it by the river?”
“Those were the days. No Busch Light on tap right now, though. I have a local wheat that’s pretty good, nice and light, kind of like a Blue Moon with a bit of vanilla on the back end.”
“Sounds perfect. Thanks.” I lean against the bar rather than sit, and scan the room. Smithy has a couple of tables for pool—a favorite pastime of mine—a few pinball machines, bookshelves stacked with old board games, and even a Skee-Ball machine by the back hallway. The place isn’t packed, but it’s got a nice crowd for a Tuesday night, and the posters on the wall advertise Thursday night trivia. All in all, Smithy’s is everything we would’ve wanted if we’d been allowed to go to bars when we were seniors.
It’s funny. I always imagined that coming back to Orchid Valley would feel like a high-school reunion and that I’d be constantly surrounded by all the judgmental assholes I escaped when I turned eighteen, but I don’t know most of the people here. I stayed away for years for all the wrong reasons. I should’ve come back sooner—should’ve come back for Brinley even before she found me in Vegas.
“Kace is already waiting in the back,” Smithy says when he comes back with my beer. He hands it to me and tilts his head in that direction before grabbing another two beers—I assume for himself and Kace.
As I weave my way around tables toward the other side of the bar, Kace Matthews spots us and pushes out of his seat, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Mars!” Kace gives me a fist bump before pulling me into a one-armed hug. “Been too fucking long, man.”
“It really has,” I say, taking a seat across from him. “Thanks for meeting up tonight.”
“Thanks for inviting me,” he says. “But I can only stay for one beer, and then I have to head out.”
“No problem.” I shake my head as I look around the bar. “Nothing in this town is like I remember it.”
“Let me guess. You remembered it as a prison full of entitled punks?” Smithy says, plopping into the seat beside me.
“Possibly,” I admit with a grin. “But I never held that against you.”
Kace smirks. “Burn.” He chuckles. “What brings you back?”
I hesitate. Obviously, I’m not going to throw Brinley under the bus by telling everyone in her hometown that while she might be engaged to Julian, she’s married to me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be honest about who I’m here for. Even if I leave out some details. “Honestly, Brinley.”
“I fucking knew it,” Smithy says, smacking a hand on the table. “Damn. Marston and Brinley. You two were epic together.”
I grunt. “I have no idea what that means.”
“Romeo and Juliet, man. Pyramus and Thisbe. Guinevere and Lancelot.”
“So we’re bound to die tragically if we follow our hearts?” I deadpan.
“Right? Epic,” he says, nodding, as if this is something to aspire to. Smithy’s always been half genius, half airhead. It’s comforting to know some things don’t change, though if I had to guess, I’d bet my old friend has upped his daily cannabis consumption since high school.
“You probably know this already,” Kace says, taking his beer from Smithy, “but you’re a few months too late. She’s marrying Julian Hallison.”
“They’re not married yet.” I watch him over the rim of my glass as I take a sip of my beer.
Kace shakes his head. “Does she know why you’re here?”
“She knows.” These guys were my best friends at Orchid Valley High School. Smithy’s a distant Knox cousin, meaning he had a connection to the family without the luxury of the Knox Bourbon money. Because he was always close to Brinley, he knew about our relationship when only a couple of other people did. I worked with Kace and we were friends, but he didn’t find out about it until later—when everything imploded and Brinley begged me to walk away from Orchid Valley and leave her behind. “What do you know about this guy she’s engaged to?”
“Julian is a real-estate guy,” Kace says. “Commercial investment stuff, mostly. You’ve probably seen the Hallison Way signs around town. That’s his company. They buy, sell, remodel, and rent properties in Orchid Valley.”
Smithy rubs his thumb against his index and middle fingers. So Julian has money. Luckily, that doesn’t intimidate me anymore. “He’s been chasing Brinley since he first moved to town, but she’d never been more than just an occasional hookup, no matter how much he tried to impress her. Then, six months ago, suddenly everything changed and they weren’t just a couple—they were looking at engagement rings and talking wedding plans.” He puts his fists on either side of his head, opening them dramatically to indicate his head exploding.
I look at Kace for confirmation, and he shrugs. “Smithy’s got a better handle on the gossip around here than I do, but I never got the impression that my sister was a fan of the change in their relationship.”
“Your sister?” I ask.
“Abbi Matthews. She’s the chef at The Orchid’s restaurant and one of Brinley’s best friends.”
I nod. “I met her last night.”
Smithy grins. “Right. I hear you cornered Brinley in the hall, and she ran out.”
I turn to him, brows raised, because seriously, we were alone in that hallway.
Smithy points to the tables by the front window. “Those spots have a great view of the bathroom hallway and people around here like to talk. There’s not much that happens in my bar that I don’t know about.”
Kace snickers and shakes his head. “Let me get this straight. You show up all macho rich guy after not seeing her for a decade, corner her in the hallway, and tell her you’re here for her, and she runs away from your cocky ass like you’re some sort of creeper.” He chuckles again and sighs. “Jesus, that’s good.”
“Thanks for the support, Kace,” I say.
He stills his beer halfway to his lips and shakes his head. “What? Did you really expect her to wait for you all this time? That’s not how these things work.”
Smithy leans forward. “Yeah. How’d you even know if there’d still be a spark there? What if she’d gotten ugly or developed some sort of unidentifiable stinky cheese smell?”
Kace and I both blink at him. “That’s oddly specific,” Kace says, brow arched.
“Happened to a girl I knew once.” Smithy shakes his head sadly. “She was a tiger in the sack, but that smell was always right there beneath the surface.”
“How . . . unfortunate,” Kace says.
Smithy shrugs. “She got married recently. I can only assume her new husband has sinus troubles. Either that or he also smells like Limburger.” He sighs. “Anyway, obviously Brinley doesn’t stink and is still the stuff of wet dreams, so—”
“Dude, she’s your cousin,” Kace says.
Smithy turns up his palms. “By marriage and whatever. You can’t tell me you don’t think Abbi is fuckably hot.”
Kace chokes on his beer, then returns it to the table with a clunk. “What the hell, asshole. She’s my sister.”
Smithy rolls his eyes. “Objectively speaking.”
Kace turns to me with a pained expression that seems to say, “Can you believe this idiot?” but I can only laugh.
“I think what Kace is trying to say, Smithy, is that for most of us, there are certain women in our lives we can intellectually see as beautiful, but our brains don’t connect them with sex.”
Smithy makes a face. “Huh.”
“And if you ever refer to my sister as
fuckably hot again,” Kace says, nodding in Smithy’s direction, “I’ll punch you so hard in the nuts, you’ll feel ’em when you brush your teeth the next day.”
“Noted,” Smithy says, but his grin reveals he’s not really worried. He turns his attention back to me. “What I’m saying, man, is that’s a lot of faith to come back for Brinley out of nowhere.”
“It wasn’t out of nowhere.” I look at Kace, wondering how much his sister tells him. Of course, I don’t know how much Brinley told Abbi about the last time we met. “I ran into Brinley in Vegas in September. We spent—” I almost say “spent the night together” but catch myself. I don’t want to start Smithy down that path. “We spent some time together.”
Kace frowns. “Right, Abbi said something about Savvy and Brinley going to Vegas for Brinley’s twenty-seventh birthday.”
“And one week later, she had Hallison’s ring on her finger,” Smithy says. He must see the shock on my face, because he cringes. “Sorry. That probably sucks for you to think about. Like, how much did you fuck up that night together if she came back here and hitched her horse to the guy she’d been passing on for years?”
Kace calmly lifts a hand and covers Smithy’s mouth. “Excuse him. We’ve looked into it, but there’s no known cure for this mouth.”
Did she get engaged because of what happened in Vegas? Or did she come to Vegas because she was trying to make a decision about the engagement? And if it’s that, then why the fuck did she come home and say yes?
I don’t believe it’s all just a coincidence. Brinley doesn’t make decisions impulsively—save for one Vegas wedding she can’t even fucking remember.
I push my beer away, my stomach suddenly too sour for even a sip.
Smithy peels Kace’s hand away from his mouth. “At first, we thought maybe she was pregnant, but then they started talking a May wedding and she never got a bump, so clearly not.” Smithy shrugs, then his eyes go comically wide. “What if she got knocked up with your kid?”
