What Comes After

by Toppen, Melissa

  It’s hard to do. I find myself comparing every single moment to those I shared with Finley. If I close my eyes I can still see her lying beneath me as we spent our first night together as husband and wife. Hear her giggles as we wrestled beneath the sheets. Feel her touch slide against my skin.

  It all feels so real.

  “Your date looked very pretty,” she comments, and it takes me a moment to realize she must be talking about Claire.

  “Yeah,” I murmur.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, who is she to you?”

  “My best friend.” I avoid telling her she’s also my sister-in-law.

  I’m not ready to talk about Finley with her. I’m not ready to talk about Finley with anyone. Not yet. Not when I still feel the pain of her loss like a knife stabbing me in the chest over and over.

  “So you two...” she leaves the question hanging without finishing it.

  “Are not dating,” I confirm, already knowing what she’s asking without her having to say the words.

  Her eyes go down to the wedding band on my hand before moving back up to my face, her expression softening.

  I don’t pretend that her reaction doesn’t confuse me. She’s clearly seen my ring and yet she hasn’t asked me about it even once.

  It suddenly dawns on me that Aaron must have told her, and I don’t know why, but the thought is almost a relief. If she knows the truth then it spares me from having to tell her.

  She opens her mouth like she wants to say something but snaps it closed without uttering a single word.

  I’m thankful for that. Now is not the time or the place to discuss such things. Not when there’s so many people stuffed inside the limo to bear witness.

  Even still, a part of me feels the overwhelming need to tell her. As if telling her will somehow lift the burden. As if it will set me free.

  Whatever the reason, I want to tell her. For the first time since losing Finley, I want to share that loss with someone who never knew her.

  I don’t know why though. I think that’s the part that bothers me the most. The not knowing why I feel this way.

  I barely know this girl. I can’t pinpoint one real thing I know about her. Yet I’m drawn to her. And in some weird way I feel like Finley is behind the scenes, orchestrating the entire thing. Like she’s telling me it’s time. Time to move on. Time to let go. Time to heal.

  And a part of me wants to. A part of me wants it so desperately that I feel like I can’t breathe. But then the other part of me, the larger part, is terrified of what it means once I do.

  Could I love someone again? Would anyone ever compare to the woman I lost? And while I already know the answer to that question, I also can’t deny the tremor of excitement I get every single time I look at Peyton.

  I have caught myself thinking about her several times since that night at Pulsations. Even though our interaction was short, and I was a complete asshole to her, I knew there was something there.

  The limo hits a massive pothole, jarring everyone in the car and sending Peyton into my side. She grips my leg to steady herself, both of our gazes falling to where the contact is being made.

  Okay, Fin. Message received.

  Chapter Nine

  Peyton

  The reception dinner goes by in a blur. One minute we’re walking into the hall, followed by Andrew and Sam who are introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Collins. The next toasts are being made and the cake is cut.

  I’ve been kind of dreading this part of the night all day. The part where I have to stand up in front of a room full of people and dance with Abel. I know there’s going to be fourteen other people on the floor with us, but it does nothing to quell the swirl of nervousness in my stomach.

  I try to tell myself it’s only the dancing in front of people part I’m nervous about, but if I’m being honest with myself it also has to do with who I’ll be dancing with.

  It’s fruitless to pretend like I’m not incredibly attracted to Abel. You’d have to be blind not to be. But I can’t approach Abel the way I would any other guy, because he’s not like any other guy.

  I can’t just say ‘hey, I’m attracted to you’ or even flirt with him the way I would normally do with a guy I’m interested in. Not knowing what I know. Even if he is interested in me, and this chemistry between us actually blossoms into something, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at him and feel fully content. Not when I know I was the second choice.

  Maybe that seems selfish, but I want that for myself. I want to be the one that hangs the moon and the stars. The one a person’s world revolves around, not living in the shadow of his dead wife.

  The problem is, if Abel were to express interest in me, I don’t think I could turn him away, no matter how much I know I should. I’m too drawn to him. I can’t help it. Every time I look at him, I get this weird nervous swirl in my stomach and I feel like my heart has been injected with a shot of adrenaline. There’s this incredible chemistry between us. Almost like the air zings whenever we’re close.

  I’ve never felt that kind of connection with anyone before, let alone a person I barely know. And as much as it confuses me, it excites me just the same.

  I’m not an overly confident person in my everyday life. Where I am comfortable in my own skin, and happy with who I am, I’ll never be one to assume a guy likes me.

  But with Abel, despite everything I know, when he looks at me, I swear he feels it too.

  I take a sip of champagne, my gaze sliding to Abel right as he stands. It takes me a moment to realize that everyone at the wedding party table is standing, except me.

  Scrambling to my feet, I look over at Henna who gives me a confused look.

  “You okay?” she whispers.

  I nod, finishing off the rest of my champagne in one long gulp before turning to follow her and the other bridesmaids to the dance floor.

  I feel Abel next to me before I even turn, like his presence bears this weight that I can physically feel in the air as it settles around me.

  It’s not long before I’m forced to face him, and when I do a familiar quiver runs through my chest.

  Why does he have to be so handsome?

  “So, we meet again.” He smiles down at me, our height difference not as pronounced with my four-inch heels in play.

  “So, we do.” I force myself to relax a little as I slide one hand into his and the other on his shoulder, doing my best to avoid his gaze.

  Seconds pass before At Last by Etta James fills the space and we slowly begin to move. Abel rests his face against the side of my head, and I shudder at his nearness.

  “Leave it to my brother and his wife to pick possibly the most overplayed wedding song in the world for us to dance to,” he whispers into my ear.

  I smile and nod, trying to ignore the way my skin erupts in goosebumps.

  Closing my eyes, I focus on my breathing, on the sound of the music, on making sure my feet move when they’re supposed to. Anything I can to take the focus away from how it feels to be pressed up against Abel. From his hand on my back, his thumb tracing lazy circles against my spine, something I’m not sure he even realizes he’s doing.

  Each second ticks by so slowly, like time has slowed down around us. I was so nervous about dancing in front of everyone, but with Abel it’s like there isn’t a single other person in the room. It’s just me and him and the steady strum of our hearts that seem to be beating in time.

  When the music stops, Abel doesn’t release me right away. It’s like he also drifted off somewhere else and has lost himself to the moment.

  I’m the first to shift, pulling back slightly so that our faces are a few inches apart.

  A flash of sadness washes over his face and I swear it hits me straight in the stomach. It takes a second for me to realize what that means.

  When I closed my eyes all I felt was him, but it wasn’t me he was feeling at all. I can read his emotion in every line of his beautiful face. When he’d pulled back, he wanted to see
her, not me.

  The thought has me taking a full step back. Somehow, I muster the ability to plaster on a smile before thanking him for the dance and making my way back to the table.

  ——

  “Thank you, girls, so much. Seriously.” Sam releases me from her hug and moves to embrace Henna. “This day wouldn’t have been what it was without you.”

  “It was our pleasure,” I tell her. “We’re so happy for you.”

  “I can’t believe I’m actually married,” she sings, releasing Henna.

  “Truthfully, neither can I,” Henna teases. “I thought you two were never going to tie the knot.”

  “They say couples with longer engagements usually have stronger marriages,” I interject.

  “Do they?” Henna cocks a brow at me.

  “I read it in Cosmo,” I tell her matter of fact.

  “Well then I guess it must be true.” She rolls her eyes.

  We all laugh.

  “Well, I guess I should get going.” Sam bounces on the balls of her feet. “Fiji is calling my name.”

  “You two be safe. Text one of us as soon as you land,” I tell her.

  “And take lots of pictures,” Henna adds. “Lord knows I’ll probably never make it somewhere so exotic. I need a way to live vicariously through you.

  “Love you girls.” Sam turns just as Andrew approaches.

  “Love you too,” we say in unison, waving at the happy couple as they make their way into the hallway where their families are waiting to say goodbye.

  “You hanging out with Aaron tonight?” I ask Henna once they’re gone.

  “He’s taking Andrew and Sam to the airport. He said if he gets back early enough, he might swing by.” She gives me a casual shrug.

  “Next thing you know I’m going to have two friends married to Collins’ brothers.”

  “I would be okay with that.” She smiles and I swear it nearly splits her face in two. “Or maybe all three of us will end up with one.”

  “All three?” I question, not hiding my confusion.

  “You and Abel seem to be getting awfully cozy with one another.”

  “What?” I blurt, nearly choking.

  “Oh, don’t act so surprised. You two were staring at each other all night.”

  “We were not,” I argue, already knowing she’s right. At least on my end.

  While I successfully avoided him after our dance together, that didn’t stop me from scanning the room for him every chance I got. I couldn’t help it. Like a moth to a flame, as the saying goes.

  “You so were,” Henna disagrees.

  “He’s very attractive, I’ll give you that. But we’re not getting cozy, as you put it. He’s still wearing his wedding ring for heaven’s sake. Does that strike you as a man who’s even the least bit interested in moving on?”

  “Okay, so maybe not marriage, but what’s the harm in having a little fun, if you know what I mean.” Her eyebrows slide up and down suggestively.

  “How long have you known me?” I give her a knowing look. “I don’t do casual hookups, you know that.”

  “And look how great that’s worked out for you.” She sighs. “I’m just saying, maybe you should try switching things up a little. If nothing else, it could be a fun distraction until the real thing comes along.”

  “I’m not going to randomly start sleeping with someone like it’s some kind of game.”

  “You need to learn to relax. Ever heard the phrase ‘it’s just sex’?” She makes air quotes with her fingers.

  “I’m going to walk away now.” Shaking my head, I turn to leave.

  “Where are you going?” she calls after me.

  “Home,” I say, continuing to walk.

  “You can’t go home without me. You’re my ride,” she objects, her voice getting louder.

  “Well then, I guess you better hurry up,” I call back right as I round the corner, my feet faltering slightly when I see Abel and Claire standing next to the door talking.

  Taking a deep breath, I force myself onward as if seeing him has zero effect on me.

  “Hi, you’re Peyton, right?” Claire steps directly in front of me before I can reach the door. Holding her hand out to me, she smiles. “I’m Claire.”

  “Hi.” I take her hand and give it an awkward shake, releasing it moments later.

  “I’ve been meaning to come introduce myself all night, but kept getting distracted,” she tells me, her gaze sliding to Abel who seems painfully uncomfortable.

  “No problem. It’s been a whirlwind.” I twirl my finger in the air.

  “So, Abel and I were just talking about heading over to Holliday’s and having a drink. Would you want to join us?”

  “Claire,” Abel grumbles, wiping a hand down his face.

  Even if I wanted to say yes, his reaction has me shaking my head without a second thought.

  “Thanks, but I’m pretty tired. I think I’m gonna head home.”

  “Okay, maybe another time then.” She smiles softly, and even though I don’t know a thing about her, I immediately like her.

  I’m a firm believer that if you look hard enough you can tell within the first few seconds what kind of person you’re dealing with. And it’s pretty clear to me that Claire is one of those genuinely nice people. Someone everyone likes. And of course, she’s beautiful too. I have a really hard time believing that people as attractive as the two of them have never had any sort of relationship beyond friendship. Then again, I’m a skeptic when it comes to platonic friendships. In my experience they always start as something more and fizzle out or they turn into something more over time.

  “Seriously, Peyton,” Henna groans loudly as she turns the corner, having removed her heels which are dangling from her hand by the straps. “Oh.” She stops talking when she spots Claire and Abel. “Hi, guys.” She half waves as she closes the distance between us.

  “Well, I guess we should be going.” I direct my attention to Claire, knowing if I give Henna time, she will be signing us up to join them for drinks and then some. “It was nice meeting you, Claire,” I tell her with a friendly smile.

  “It was nice meeting you as well, Peyton.” She side steps to let Henna and I pass.

  As much as I tell myself to keep my eyes forward and not look at Abel, my gaze still slides to him. He’s looking anywhere but at me, and while I know I shouldn’t, I can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

  “Would you slow down?” Henna whines as she tries to keep my pace through the parking lot. “What was going on back there?” She waits until she reaches me to ask.

  “Nothing. Claire was just introducing herself.”

  “Claire.” Henna looks at me like an explanation is in order.

  “Yes, Claire, Abel’s friend.”

  “I knew it!” Henna announces, smacking the top of the car. “He totally has a thing for you.”

  “How does his friend saying hello equate to him having a thing for me?” I look at Henna like she has five heads.

  “Don’t you get it? He’s been talking to her about you. Either that or she’s picked up on the chemistry between you two and was curious to meet you. Either way, my statement still stands true.”

  “I swear, you can find a way to spin anything.” I shake my head, unlocking the car before peeling open the driver’s door and sliding inside.

  “You know I’m right,” she tells me, hopping into the passenger seat.

  “Actually, no, I don’t. Did it ever occur to you that maybe we just ran into each other in the hallway and she thought it was polite to say hello?”

  “You’re such a Debbie Downer.” She pouts, snapping her seatbelt in place.

  “No, I’m a realist.”

  “Well, realistically you’re a Debbie Downer.”

  “I like him, okay? But Hen, he just lost his wife and I am not the person that can follow some epic love story that ended in tragedy. Even if he was interested in me, which I’m not saying he is, I don’t think I could go the
re with him.”

  “It’s been three years, Peyton.”

  “It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. Some wounds don’t heal.”

  “You’re referring to your mom.” She gives me a sympathetic look. “Listen, I know losing her is still anguish for you but, Peyton, this is different. She was your mom. You can’t assume everyone feels the same as you do or handles their grief the same way. For all you know he’s ready to put himself out there and find love again.”

  “Trust me, he’s not,” I tell her bluntly. “Five minutes with that man and you’ll know he’s not.”

  “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to,” she argues. “Maybe he just doesn’t know how to.”

  “I’m not talking about this anymore.” I start the car and quickly shift it in reverse.

  “You know the only reason you’re getting all cranky on me is because you really like him.”

  “I already told you I like him. And I also told you the reasons why it doesn’t matter.”

  “One of these days, Peyton.” She sighs. “One of these days you’re going to get out of your own way and let yourself try to be happy.”

  “I am happy.”

  “Yeah, but you’re also lonely. You may not admit it, but I know you are. I know you, Peyton Rivers. You are a hopeless romantic at heart. And you keep waiting for the right guy to stroll in and sweep you off your feet. You expect it to be effortless and that’s not how relationships work.”

  “I’m not a child, Henna. I know how relationships work.” I can’t help the irritation that comes out in my voice.

  “Then act like it,” she snaps back. “Stop sitting around waiting for Mr. Perfect when Mr. Right could be standing in front of you.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I look in her direction for a brief moment before my gaze goes back to the road. “Why are you pressing this so hard?”

  “Because I see how you look at him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you clam up around a guy the way you do Abel. I guess I figure it has to mean something, and I don’t want to watch it slip through your fingers because you’re scared.”

  “So, what if I am? I have a right to protect my own heart.”