Page 92 of Best Man Speaking

Stripping his T-shirt from my body, I scramble into my crumpled dress, nausea rising with the feel of the fabric rubbing against my naked skin. In the basic and most complex of ways, I feel unclean. When I was younger, I’d have swimming lessons, and afterward, I’d shower and get changed. But all the while, I’d feel uncomfortable—a mix of anxiety as I hurriedly tried to dress without anyone seeing me and feeling unclean as I pulled dry clothes onto my still-damp body, the smell of chlorine still permeating my skin. It’s the same feeling now as I smell him on my skin, as I feel the gusset of my panties still wet with my recent desire between my thighs. But I have to push it down, to ignore it, and keep moving.

Because I also want to rage and scream. Want to leave without a single word.

I do neither.

Instead, I remind myself why I’m here and that it’s time to return to the status quo.

Sell the house, attend the wedding, leave.

I look to the bathroom, and my heart aches, even as my resolve strengthens. And I surrender completely, my fight or flight taking over and every defense mechanism I have clicking back in place. I take a few deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling as I remind myself that I can do this, even as my sweaty palm struggles to get a grip on the handle for the bathroom door. I wipe them on my dress and try again.

“Marcus, I’ve gotta go. Erica’s calling me!” I call once I have it open just a crack. I don’t want to see him. I just need him to hear me.

I don’t wait around for an answer, taking my shoes and purse in hand, not stopping as I pick up my phone and room key. I lookat the bed briefly, the rumpled sheets and the perfection that I found there, and I only ache more.

Leaving my bra to whatever fate has in store for it, I close the hotel room door behind me.

And then I run.

With my heart in my throat, I make it to the elevator, but instead of heading back to the room I’m sharing with Erica, I head down to the lobby. Alone in the mirror-lined box, every stupid decision I’ve made reflects back at me under both harsh and critical lighting, so I squeeze my eyes closed. I squeeze them tight, but the lack of vision only seems to push out the release of sound as a sob escapes my lips. I hate it. Hate the desperation of it. Somehow, I manage to not let tears fall yet. But I try and fail to stop myself from thinking about the last time I’d felt this way, the morning after Marcus and I’d had sex for the first time. The irony in last night being the first time we’d actually slept together isn’t lost on me.

I shouldn’t have trusted us, shouldn’t have trusted him.

I give myself until the first floor to pull it together, to get my shoes on and my hair up. But I flat out refuse to look at my reflection again. To think last night, I’d been concerned about the staff’s opinion of me heading to a hotel room for sex. Having anyone see me like this is so much fucking worse. The fact that no one’s joined me in the elevator so far is a blessing I didn’t count on. And with that in mind, I pull my shoulders back, and as the elevator doors open, I step out into the hotel’s lobby.

I walk tall, confident, and in an absolute daze. In a secluded corner, I take a seat on an uncomfortable-looking armchair before making a new plan and booking myself on a stupidly expensive flight. Somehow, I make my way to the ground-floor restrooms, taking note of a coffee shop where I’ll pick up a latte for Erica before I head up to our room.

And it’s only once I’m safely alone inside a cubicle, the door locked, that I let myself break, and the tears finally come.

I just want to go home.

The crack in my heart splinters a little further because I’m still no closer to figuring out where that is. But at least I now know for certain where it’s not.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Marcus

By the time I’m out of the shower, Hallie’s long gone. The bed we slept in looks like a small tornado tore through it, my navy T-shirt the only splash of color in mounds of white. The temptation to slide in under the covers is pretty damn strong, but with Hallie back with Erica, there’s no reason for me to stay. I’m better off making sure Julian and the guys are up, thoroughly caffeinated, and ready for brunch. A brunch where I’ll get to see Hallie. Where I’m hoping I’ll find the chair next to her with a bag on it, saved just for me.

The short countdown to seeing her again this morning and the knowledge that by this evening, we’ll be back at home, where we can have a proper conversation, are what’s getting me through. What’s getting me past the two bullshit texts I’d received from Johnathan Cairns basically ignoring the fact that I won’t be setting up a conversation between him and his daughter.

The man’s relentless. I should’ve told him to fuck off weeks ago, but I’d hoped to be able to tell Hallie about it, to bring herin on it. To explain to her the amazing work I already do and could do even more of with the money he was offering, to put the choice in her hands. But she hadn’t wanted to hear about him, and I hadn’t wanted to risk my time with her. A stupid move on my part, but the more time I spent with Hallie, the more it’d all felt like emotional manipulation.

Except only now as we arrive for brunch, only ten minutes late, the mass of messy blond waves I’m looking for isn’t at the table. I look around the outdoor area where we’re seated, full of the young and hungover, and then send a glance into the restaurant, but she doesn’t seem to be anywhere.

“Morning, sunshine.” I greet Erica with a kiss before taking the seat across from her. Spirits are high at the table, menus out, Bloody Marys and mimosas already dripping with condensation. “Where’s my favorite partner in crime this morning?”

“Your favorite partner in crime? Oh, how the mighty asshole has fallen,” Erica croons, sounding way too smug. She’s looking fresh with her black hair tied up in a sleek ponytail, her bright white T-shirt casting a glare toward my sleep-deprived eyes.

“You’re not anywhere near as hungover as I’d like you to be, Erica,” I reply as I sit back in my chair, crossing my arms as I wait for an actual answer. This close to making things right, to hopefully getting the girl, I can take whatever she wants to throw at me this morning.

“Thanks, I’m feeling pretty refreshed, actually,” she says with a flick of said hair. “Now, you on the other hand, you don’t look as pissed off as you normally do. Maybe just lacking in the sleep department?”

“Erica.”

She’s such a shit stirrer.

“What?” she asks with a shrug before leaning in like the co-conspirator she is. “I’m just curious if maybe the reason you’re looking a little sleep deprived is the same reason Hallie showedup this morning looking a little rough in her dress from last night. She said she fell asleep in it, but I’m not so sure.”

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