Page 93 of Stick Fight

Me:Please. We need to talk.

Maybe she thinks I reallydidmarry Avery. Maybe she thinks she’s better off running. But no.

We’re good together. Solid. Even my brother saw it, and that means something.

Then my mind goes back to the fortune teller at Gina’s party.

That I wouldn’t be the one to run, she would.

I’m the guy who always runs, until Gabby, but now she’s running. The prediction was real.

Which means…

It’s time for me to chase. I’m not giving up. Not now. Not ever. I’m fighting for the woman I love.

After a quick shower, I tear through packing my bag and haul ass downstairs. I blitz through the hotel, checking the restaurants, the rooftop, even the ballrooms, but last night's wedding decor is already ripped apart, replaced by pastel centerpieces for the next couple.

No Gabby.

Panic gnaws at my chest. I jam my thumb against Rip’s number and call.

He picks up, voice scratchy with sleep. “Hey.”

“Sorry, man,” I say, checking the time. Way too early. “Still no word from Gabby. I’m trying to track down Maeve. Any chance you can check if she’s still at the hotel?” I hate asking.

But Rip’s family owns this place, and he can get answers I can’t.

“Yeah, bud. Give me a few minutes, okay?”

“You’re a lifesaver,” I mutter, throat tight.

I hang up and head toward the lobby, just in time to spot Avery walking into the café. I follow her in, heart hammering.

“Mind if I join you?” I ask, my voice rougher than I mean it to be.

She gives me a small, wobbly smile. “Sure.”

I slide into the seat across from her. Her eyes, rimmed red from last night’s chaos, study me carefully.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“No,” I breathe out. “I fucked up, Avery.”

She winces, guilt flashing across her face. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I went along with the whole fake marriage thing. I should’ve said no.”

I shake my head, burying my face in my hands. “It’s not your fault. I was wrecked. I wasn’t thinking. I think…I thought we were really getting married,” I admit, voice low and raw.

Avery gives a soft, sad laugh. “You don’t want to be married to me, Roman.” She lays her hand over mine, a gesture of friendship, not romance.

“Sorry, but no,” I say, giving her a faint grin. “Besides, I think my brother might have something to say about that.”

A flush blooms across her cheeks, and I’m glad, genuinely glad, those two found each other.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “I like you, Roman. As a friend. I’m sorry this all happened.”

“So am I.”

But sorry isn’t enough. Not anymore. It’s time to fix this. Time to find Gabby.

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