Page 62 of This

He scoffs, shaking his head again. “Do you even know what that means?”

“Liam,” Keaton warns.

After a second, he glances behind me to her on the couch. “No, she needs to hear this.” Then he’s back to me, and I want to shrink, smaller, invisible. “You had no problems running off after graduation. You left Keaton, Joyce, Patrick, me—everyone who’s been there for you—and you never even blinked. If not for the wedding, how many times would you have visited?” He only pauses a second. “Once?”

I should defend myself, but I can’t. Once might be pushing it if I were given more time away, more chances for excuses. Instead, I pinch my thumb between the nail of the other and my index finger until it dulls his lashing.

“She missed you every fucking day, Bennett, and when the wedding’s over, you’ll abandon her all over again. Leave her here to wonder if she’ll see you again. And what about Dane?”

He lowers his gaze for the first time, and I swallow back the tears that have been stabbing for a chance at air. Real concern paints his face when he looks up, but it’s not for me.

“He’ll follow you. Maybe not at first, but it will happen. He’ll give up everything for you. But we both know, you won’t give up a damn thing for him. You won’t settle down or stop living out of boxes. You’re selfish and blind to how it affects everyone around you.” He pauses before he says, “You’ll break him and then leave him behind. Just like your mother did to you.”

The last one hits like a brick to the face, the regret on his instantaneous.

“Bennett, I—”

“Get out.” Keaton shoots off the couch and runs at him while the blow seeps through me. “Get. The fuck. Out!” She shoves him toward the door, her hands on his chest, driving him backward. “You don’t get to talk to her like that. She’s nothing like that woman. You have no idea who she is!”

Liam lets her push him all the way out with minimal resistance. His panic-ridden face disappears when she slams the door, and Keaton presses her forehead to the wood, her shoulders heaving. I imagine him in the hallway, doing the same with only a few inches between them. Maybe I should be mad at his words, but he was being honest. Hurtful and blunt but more honest with me than I ever am with myself.

“He’s right.” My voice is quiet, weak with truth, but it’s enough that she turns around. I breathe, trying not to choke on what I’ve been avoiding the entire week while the tears freely fall. “I won’t be back for a long time. Maybe I’ll come for Christmas, but…” I trail off.

I don’t need a reflection to remind me that I’m my mother’s daughter. She left to find a missing piece, and I’ve been seeking the same one since then.

The closest thing I have to family stares at me for the longest time, and then she shrugs. “So?”

I open my mouth but close it without a response, confused by her chill.

She notices me struggling and rolls her eyes. “I’ve known you were going to leave since we were kids. But I’ve also known you’ll always be there if I need you. I mean, look at the last year. Anytime I asked, you were here.” She passes me to my phone on the cushion and plugs it into the wall charger. “And if the roles are ever reversed, then I’ll fly to Maine or Spain or wherever you are because you’re my forever-bitch.”

When she faces me again, I throw my arms around her. “I’d never go to Spain,” I say.

“Right. You hate sangria.”

I laugh-sob into her shoulder and squeeze her tighter. “I’m sorry. For Bentley and Dane and ruining your wedding.”

“Honestly”—she pulls back—“I’ve been hoping for a disaster all day. I read something about how if nothing goes wrong for your wedding, it means you’ll have a bad marriage.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I say.

She nods. “Probably, but now, I won’t have to worry about it for the next fifty years.”

The soundest logic I’ve ever heard.

She sighs, her gaze drifting toward the door. “What are we doing about my asshole fiancé?”

“We forgive him.” I swipe my fingers under her eyes while she does the same to me, clearing the tears and smudged makeup. “He’s put up with a lot of crazy so far, and he was bound to snap eventually. And now that I’ve blown the chance for the marriage imploding, he has a lot of years left to endure.”

“I kind of want to make him sweat it out for a while.”

While I respect her methods, I shake my head. “Torture the guy for your first anniversary, Keats.”

I step out of the way, and she marches for the door, a little fast for someone who, a second ago, wanted to make him suffer. But a thump turns us both around. A Liam-sized shadow stands on the balcony. Fucking Masters men. Dane and Liam might be cousins, but they sure as hell think like twins.

After a mushy apology fromLiam, I give him and Keaton space to make up however they so choose. She’s very specific about him leaving before midnight, so I don’t go far. I follow a different path to a man-made lake where water shoots from a fountain in the middle, the streams dancing before they splash onto the otherwise still surface.

The sky reflects in the water. The stars remind me of the Reynolds’ living room, my safe night sky.

---