Crushed (Collided Book 2)

by Portia Moore

  We’ll get through this. He’ll understand.

  “I love you, too.”

  “Let’s go watch my sister get hitched!”

  The wedding is being held in a chapel on the resort grounds. It’s astonishingly beautiful—all light wooden exposed rafters and flooring, whitewashed pews and a decorative altar, massive windows letting in wide swaths of light that make the chapel glow. It’s decorated in greenery, daisies and peonies, huge bunches of them adorning the pews and doorway and surrounding the altar, and there’s a long blue runner down the aisle. As the music starts, I see Philip take his place at the altar, and the ushers start to help the family to their seats. Alex slips his fingers in between mine, smiling over at me, and I lean my head against his shoulder. “That’s going to be us soon,” he whispers and squeezes my hand.

  “I can’t wait to marry you.” The words slip from my lips so easily. Just enjoy the ceremony, I tell myself. Nothing can be fixed tonight. Just let it go, for a few hours.

  And then the music changes, a few minutes after everyone has taken their seats, and we stand up in unison, turning towards the doors of the chapel as they open wide. The bridesmaids walk down the aisle arm in arm with the groomsmen, gorgeous in sky blue silk dresses, and I try to ignore the knot in my stomach as Holly passes by us, her eyes fixing on mine for a moment. I cringe when I see the triumphant gleam in them, and the way she smirks as she walks past. She looks over at Alex, her eyes skimming over him, and when she looks at me all I see is envy. She wants him back, I know. But no matter what happens, I know she’ll never have him.

  I manage to push it out of my head when I see Tiffany, lit up by the glow of the late afternoon sun. Her wedding dress is all lace, with a V-neckline and long sleeves, edged in eyelash lace, and it falls in an A-line down past her shoes with a short train. It has soft sparkles scattered through the lace that catch the light, and she’s wearing a full veil, covering her face and streaming down past her skirt, spreading out behind her. As she comes closer I can see pearls scattered across the lace of her dress, and underneath the veil I can see that she’s smiling almost giddily, her eyes fixed on her groom as she and Jackson walk down the aisle.

  He’s every inch the proud father, his arm linked securely through hers as they approach the altar, and then he puts her hand in Philip’s, lifting the edge of her veil to kiss her cheek before stepping back to join Cassandra in the pew. But as he passes me and Alex, I see him look at his son and then quickly away, guilt clear in his eyes. When I look up, I see Alex’s gaze fixed on his father, confused.

  Is he even trying to hide how he’s feeling about all of this? He’s doing a terrible job!

  I see Cassandra glance at her husband, her own face full of some emotion that I can’t quite decipher—longing? Hope? Love? As Tiffany and Philip say their vows, I feel Alex’s thumb tracing the back of my hand as we listen to the promises they make to each other. I think about the possibility of our wedding in the future, about me standing up there dressed in silk and lace to make promises to him. I think of how happy Alex and I have been, of his face when he asked me to marry him, of the way I felt in bed with him, and I wish all over again that there was some way to never have to tell him.

  It all happened before him.

  I’ve repeated that over and over, to everyone who has tried to bring it into the light. And yet, it’s going to come out anyway.

  I slide my free hand over my stomach briefly, thinking of the baby that I’ll one day hold in my arms, that Alex and I will love and raise together. No matter what, we can’t escape that. And if we’re not together…

  I can’t think about it, or I’ll be a sobbing mess. My eyes are misting already, but I can pass that off as happiness for Tiffany. But not the choking, crushing sobs that I can feel waiting to be let out, that I’ve been stifling for what feels like forever now. I can’t lose him. Somehow, this has to work.

  Love has to be enough.

  I watch as Philip picks up Tiffany’s veil as the minister says he can kiss the bride, and the way he pulls her into his arms, dipping her to kiss her passionately as everyone claps, the joy of it all suffusing the entire chapel and everyone inside.

  Alex wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me close as we stand for the bride and groom to exit, their faces glowing as they make their way back down the aisle. But as Holly passes and catches my eye once more, I feel cold fear wash over me. Something is wrong.

  I just have to get through tonight, I tell myself, and then I’ll never have to see her again.

  I hold Alex’s hand tightly as we leave the chapel, hoping beyond hope that it’s the truth. That we can somehow all move on with our lives.

  We mingle as the bride and groom and bridal party take pictures, aimlessly talking to family friends and moving from person to person, nibbling at the passed appetizers. I get a sparkling water from the bartender, hoping that Alex will assume that it’s some sort of vodka drink, and he’s too busy mingling to really notice, his own manhattan in hand. His earlier concern over Jackson seems to have faded, and he’s enjoying socializing with people that he doesn’t see often, distant family and friends who don’t live in the city.

  I stay by his side, since I know almost no one here, and look around the room from time to time, keeping an eye out for Holly. I really wish his parents could have made it but John got a stomach flu last minute.

  I’m relieved when I don’t see Holly throughout all of the cocktail hour—ostensibly because she’s outside taking pictures—and before I know it we’re being guided to the banquet room where the reception is being held.

  Every part of the wedding has been executed flawlessly, and is gorgeous beyond belief. The banquet room is all blue and cream tablecloths and gold Chiavari chairs, the dance floor just beyond the tables, the floral arrangements done in wide swaths of greenery and peonies, small vases of daisies and peonies at each table. Alex and I sit with Jackson and Cassandra, not far from the sweetheart table where Philip and Tiffany are seated, their bridal party on either side of them.

  “The wedding was perfect,” Alex says to Jackson. “Mom really did a hell of a job helping Tiffany plan it.”

  “Oh, I didn’t do much,” Cassandra says, blushing slightly. “We hired a wedding planner.”

  Jackson just makes a noise in the back of his throat, and looks away.

  “Something’s going on with my dad,” Alex mutters to me as we turn away, Jackson having started a conversation with an uncle who is passing by.

  “I’m sure it’s just the wedding stress,” I tell him again. “And maybe thinking about the bill for that open bar.”

  Alex laughs. “We need to go take advantage of that.”

  The waiter offers red or white wine, and to avoid Alex’s questions, I tell him a glass of red. I’ve had plenty of friends tell me that a half a glass or so of wine from time to time is okay. My plan is to just sip at it, and avoid having to turn down a second glass.

  The first course is a salad—greens with shaved parmesan and mango slices and vinaigrette with curls of prosciutto on top. I take a bite gingerly, praying that my stomach won’t be a bitch.

  So far so good. I carefully chew each bite and take small sips of my wine, keeping an eye on Jackson. I’m starting to be more worried about him blurting something out than Holly. I can tell this is getting to him.

  I catch Cassandra looking at me warmly with a coy smile. She knows about the pregnancy. She’s got to. Alex might still be aloof, but Cassandra has children, and I can tell that she at least suspects. I look away quickly, hoping that she won’t say anything.

  The entrée is the hardest to get through. We made our selections months ago when the RSVPs went out, and I was looking forward to this part of dinner the most—filet and scallops with blue cheese and garlic mashed potatoes, along with mushrooms in a red wine sauce. The smell normally would be intoxicating, but instead all I can smell is the thick, overpowering scent of steaming mushrooms and blue cheese and garlic, and for a moment I
feel my stomach turn over. I reach for my glass of sparkling water, taking a few sips as I close my eyes, and open them again to see Alex looking at me worriedly.

  “Are you okay?” he whispers.

  “Just tired, I think,” I whisper back. “That bug I caught really did a number on me.”

  I really need to come up with a better excuse.

  This time when Cassandra catches my eye, I’m positive that she knows.

  To my relief, I manage to not only make it through the main course, but also enjoy it somewhat. Still, I’m glad when the plate is whisked away and our attention is directed to the dance floor for Tiffany and Philip’s first dance.

  As the strains of “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” start to fill the room, I feel Alex’s fingers slip through mine again, and he smiles at me, his eyes locking with mine. For a minute it all falls away—everyone else in the room, my almost obsessive attentiveness to my nausea levels, my nervousness over what I plan to tell him later tonight, the knowledge of what lies ahead of us. It’s just him and I for a second, and I hold on to that, letting the feeling sweep over me.

  The DJ asks the married couples to join them on the dance floor, and Jackson and Cassandra get up, leaving Alex and I alone at the table. I lean my head against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne as we watch the couples make their way around the dance floor.

  Then the father and daughter and mother and son dances start. Jackson twirls Tiffany around the floor to “What a Wonderful World,” and I see the two of them giggling together, Tiffany almost tripping over her bustle once. I haven’t been to many weddings, but I would be hard-pressed to think of a single one more full of joy and love than this one. I watch as Alex and Cassandra, and Philip and his mother all make their way around the floor.

  When the song ends, the couples start to make their way back to their tables, and Jackson and Cassandra take their seats, Jackson faintly breathless. “It’s been a while since I’ve danced,” he says, laughing, and I see Cassandra glance at him. Some of his anxiety seems to have lifted, and I hope that carries through the rest of the night.

  “Maybe we should go on our own sometime,” she murmurs, and I see him cast a sharp, interested glance at her.

  “Maybe we should,” he returns in the same quiet voice, his eyes meeting hers. I hope with everything in me they can work things out.

  There’s a tapping of a fork against a glass, and I see Holly stand up at the table, smiling out at the crowd. “Everyone, everyone? I have something special to show you all tonight, something that will really make the night memorable. Are you all ready?”

  There’s a general buzz of agreement, and I see Tiffany turn to smile at her friend. I’m sure it’s some montage of Tiffany and Philip, photos and/or videos of them together when they were dating. After all, Holly is the maid of honor, so she’s supposed to give a speech. A projector screen drops from the ceiling, and Holly turns towards it, that same smirking smile on her face. Sure enough there’s a montage of pictures of Tiffany and Philip playing against the backdrop of an Ed Sheeran song. It’s actually high production and moving. Even Alex looks touched as we all watch the images. Then the screen turns black for a moment, and for a split second I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

  It’s a slightly grainy video, footage from a security camera in an elevator. There’s two people in the elevator, a man and a woman, and the woman is pressed up against the wall, her legs wrapped around the man’s waist as he supports her, her dress up around her waist, his pants open. As Holly turns the volume up, their gasps and moans echo through the reception hall. My entire body stiffens, and I have to force myself to breath.

  This can’t possibly be happening.

  Tiffany’s face is horrified, and she turns towards Holly, whispering something urgently. Holly just shakes her head as if she’s unsure of what’s happening.

  “Holly!” I hear her hiss, louder. “Holly! What the hell is this?”

  No one can see the woman’s face. But I know who it is, because I know who the man is, even before we hear the woman moan aloud: “Oh god, Jackson.”

  I feel Alex stiffen next to me, his body going rigid as he watches the video in frozen horror. The man turns his face towards the camera, and it’s so clearly Jackson’s face in the video. I want to throw up. There’s still no clear angle of the woman, but Jackson and Alex both know exactly who it is.

  Jackson, because he was in the video.

  Alex, because he heard that same voice moan his name a few hours earlier.

  It’s me.

  Tears cloud my vision and I feel myself trembling.

  I remember it clearly, the night Jackson and I had sex in his hotel elevator. How we were so fucking arrogant and in an orgasmic haze as we bowed to the camera afterwards.

  How. How did she get this? Then I remember…her friend, the one who worked at the fucking hotel and thought she knew me. I wipe my eyes and glance across the table and see Jackson in stunned disbelief, Cassandra’s face turning from shock to horror to fury. She stands up, pushing her seat away from the table, and with a ringing slap, strikes him across the face.

  It echoes through the room, to the backdrop of the passionate moans on the video.

  “Turn it off!” Tiffany yells, standing up. “Holly, turn it off!” she cries, grabbing for the remote, but it’s far too late for any of that. Cassandra is gone, headed for the door, and beside me I feel Alex push his chair away from the table. I can feel the anger and hurt radiating off of him in waves.

  I look up at him, but he doesn’t look at me. He can’t. I try to open my mouth to speak but no words come out.

  I go to touch him but he rips his arm away from me like I set him on fire

  And without a word or a backward glance, he follows Cassandra out of the reception hall.

  All I can do is sit here, Jackson’s miserable face in front of me as everything crumbles around us.

  My stomach turns over, nausea rising up to choke me. There it is, the truth, playing for all to see. And every hope that this would all be okay is crushed underneath it.

  The next installment Committed releases February 2020. Preorder here.

  To sign up for new release alerts text 797979. Want to discuss my books with other readers! Sign up for my reader group on Facebook for sneak peeks, new release info and book chat! Here.

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  Let’s Connect

  To sign up for new release alerts text 797979. Want to discuss my books with other readers?! Sign up for my reader group on Facebook for sneak peeks, new release info and book chat! Here.

  Follow me on IG @Portiamoorewrites or email me at portiacmoore@gmail.com.

  Also by Portia Moore

  If I Break Series

  #1Before Him

  #2 If I Break

  #3Before I Break

  #4Almost Broken

  #5 Beautifully Broken

  #6 Shattered Pieces

  Time Duet

  #1 What Happens After

  #2 The Trouble With Before

  Stand Alones

  He Lived Next Door *A Clean Romance

  Her Series

  #Her

  #2 Mine

  #3 Them