Page 36 of Axe Backwards
Last night, before his lips had touched mine, I’d been spiraling into a panic. The contact had grounded me. Pulled me out of the shame vortex that consumed me every time my mother and sisters were near.
It wouldn’t happen again. Obviously. We were pretending until after the wedding. Nothing more. We’d stepped up our act since the interrogation yesterday, but that mostly entailed holding hands and hanging out. Which, given this crowd, was not a hardship at all.
In Lovewell, he fit in easily with his outdoorsy, lumberjack vibe.
But he looked dangerously good in a tux. Today, he was working anIvy League banker who climbs mountains on the weekendsvibe. Though I was wearing heels, he still towered over me, and each time he touched me, his rough calluses rasping against my skin, I had to fight the shiver that worked its way through me.
As a server passed by, he snagged two champagne flutes, then tapped his against mine.
“To the happy couple,” I said with an eye roll.
“Oh, yes.” He gagged. “Best wishes.”
We sipped our drinks, chatting and laughing on the outskirts of the dance floor, hoping we could avoid any more scrutiny. We’d made it through the ceremony and dinner. We only had to hold out a little longer, and then we could get out of here.
He hovered close, the stubble on his cheek grazing my earlobe, and a slight zing zipped through me. Nothing major, just a tiny electrical current running under my skin.
It was strange and yet not unwelcome.
“May I have this dance?”
My parents had spared no expense, and the twelve-piece band was fantastic.
I peered up at him, those piercing blue eyes doing a number on me. They were always arresting, but with champagne in my system, the effect was more powerful. My feet hurt, but there was no way I’d say no.
Because a tiny part of me, so tiny I’d never admit it out loud, enjoyed pretending to be Noah’s girlfriend. He was an incredible friend, but being on the receiving end of his attentiveness and all the small but meaningful gestures he would, presumably, bestow upon a woman he was seeing? If I wasn’t careful, I could get far too comfortable with this. For the first time, I saw him as a romantic, sexy guy, not just an exhausted single dad.
He took my glass, and as the band played “My Best Friend” by Tim McGraw, he led me onto the dance floor.
“You look beautiful,” he said as I wrapped my arms around his neck.
I leaned back so I could see his face. “Thanks. You look pretty good too.”
With a shrug, he angled in close again. “This old thing?”
At his proximity, I shivered in anticipation. His lips near my skin lit me up from the inside out. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was because I was wearing a very expensive and very revealing gown, but my body was on high alert.
“This dress.” He ran his fingers down the deep V in the back. “Is so sexy.”
I swallowed. Those electric currents? They were zapping the shit out of me now.
“You sure you’re okay? You looked shaken up after photos.”
My mother had pulled me aside to remind me of what a disappointment I was. But with his fingertips grazing my bare skin, I barely remembered what she said.
“My mother,” I said, her words coming back to me. “She said it was such a shame I couldn’t, in her words, ‘hold on’ to Graham.”
He scoffed. “No way.”
My stomach roiled, at odds with the gentle way we moved on the dance floor. “Yes. And then she told me that it was for the best because my failure—again, her words—was Alex’s triumph.”
He laughed. Full-on laughed.
“Fuck. That is the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever heard. Who talks like that, especially to their own daughter? Is your mother a real human, or is she a cartoon villain?”
Before I knew what was happening, I was laughing too. He was right. The entire thing was preposterous. My mother was vile. This was a happy day. She had no reason to cut me down. Yet she took every opportunity she got.
And I’d allowed it. Why wouldn’t I? It was all I knew. Day after day, year after year, she’d treated me this way.
