Page 27 of Stay With Me

“Charlie…” she gasps.

Though I try to mask it, I fail, and the near growl in my voice reveals my anger at whoever made her cry. “Tell me who hurt you, sunshine.”

“N-nobody,” she attempts to lie to me.

“From the way Trina is ripping into who I assume are your parents on the phone, I’m guessing it’s them.”

She chokes back a sob. Without thinking, I stand and lift her, sliding onto the couch and pulling her to me. I hold her against my chest. I know I shouldn’t—she’s not mine—but I’m unable to fight the urge to shelter her right now as if she were. I lie to even myself as I tell myself it’s only because she’s my friend.

“Tell me what they did,” I urge her. I stroke her hair as she cries.

“They’re… they’re not coming. They were supposed to, and my dad was gonna walk me down the aisle. But they don’t approve and they’re not coming. And they didn’t even tell me. I had to call them to find out.”

I take a few deep breaths. Emily and Trina grew up with some of the most emotionally absent parents kids could have. But, this is a new low, even for them.

I used to think that my father’s special brand of “tough love,” as he liked to call it, was the worst parenting offered. But Emily and Trina’s parents made me realize that, while some parents abuse with words and fists, like my dad, others abuse through neglect and manipulation. It’s all abuse, just dressed up differently.

“I’m sorry, Em.” It’s all I can say. I’m a man of few words, but right now it’s the only appropriate thing to say.

I hold her for a few more minutes when an idea strikes me.

As I lift her away from my chest, I tilt her chin up until her eyes meet mine. Her gorgeous blue orbs pierce my soul when I see the pain in them. She’s so fucking beautiful, even when she’s been crying. I push the thought from my mind, as I remind myself again that she isn’t mine, and she’s about to marry her high school sweetheart.

I clear my throat. Suddenly, my lower abdomen quivers with nerves.

“I know it’s not the same, but if you’ll have me, it would be my honor to walk you down the aisle.”

Emily’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open. She stares at me. “You’d do that for me?” she whispers. “You hate being the center of attention, Charlie. And I know you probably don’t approve of me marrying Teddy. I’ve barely seen you since I got engaged?—”

“Hey.” I stop her. “I don’t dislike Teddy, Em. I’m just pretty sure no one will ever deserve you, in my eyes. As far as whether I’ll walk you down the aisle, of course I will. And no one will pay attention to me, anyway. They’ll all be staring at you and how beautiful you look.” I smile at her, hoping to lessen some of her sadness.

What I don’t tell her is that I’d do just about anything for her. Including push aside the niggling pain in my heart that I get whenever I think about her marrying Teddy. It’s been there ever since she got engaged. I’d never admit it to another soul, not even Trina. I have nothing against Teddy, personally. It’s clear she loves him. And I’m telling myself that the unease is simply protectiveness for my best friend’s little sister, not regret that I didn’t fight for a chance with her after that Thanksgiving a few years ago. Because I couldn’t possibly let it be more…

She smiles so sweetly at me I nearly melt.

“If you truly mean it, I’d love for you to walk me down the aisle.”

And that’s how, a few minutes later, I find myself standing at the back of a church, about to walk Emily down the aisle to give her away to another man.

PARTII

NOW

CHAPTER12

EMILY

“My husband is dead. I’ve only been married three months and he’s dead.” I whisper to the woman in the mirror, the woman who can’t possibly be me. The one with dark circles under her eyes and a flat affect. She and I can’t be the same person. Because, if we are, that means I’m really a widow at twenty-seven years old. It means my husband, who just three months earlier promised to love and cherish me, broke those promises and ruined us. For the second time in our relationship…

I love him and I fucking hate him, too.

And, if I’m being honest, I’m pretty sure I’m responsible for his death. Not for telling him I wanted a divorce the night I found out about his affair and he lost his battle with mental illness and overdosed on prescription drugs and alcohol—by then, I think it was already too late. But it’s my fault for ever taking him back in the first place, after he cheated on me the initial time five years ago. When I was just his friend, his girlfriend. Not yet his wife.

It plays on repeat in my head, that day over three and a half years ago. After we had somehow found our way back to friendship in the aftermath of his first betrayal, I gave in and agreed to give him a second chance to be more. Agreed to trust him again with my heart. If I had never done that, had insisted we only stay friends, then we wouldn’t have loved each other for these last few years, and we wouldn’t have gotten engaged, then married.

And he could have fucked half of Elladine and not had to feel like his life was over when I found out.

“So, it’s at least partially my fault,” I whisper to the woman in my mirror. And I can’t stand to keep looking at her, so I slink to the ground, pull my knees to my chest, and cry on my bedroom floor.

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