Page 12 of The Note
Chapter Three
~Tyler~
I was shaking a little bit,which was weird. The note in my hand was trembling like there was a gale-force wind blowing through the tent, and I was finding it a little bit hard to focus on Alex and Marissa. I could see Brenda, though, all wide-eyed with terror as she slapped at my father’s sleeve.
Silly Brenda. What the heck did she think I was going to do? Declare my undying love for her future son-in-law? Challenge Marissa to a duel? I snorted.
I most definitely was not standing here to declare my undying love for Alex. In fact, I was coming to realize that I’d never actually been in love with him in the first place. And he’d sure as fuck never been in love withme.
Wasn’tthata kick in the head?
I’d been lied to.
I’d lied to myself.
And it had all started with this stupid note.
“I have things to say,” I said into the microphone, brandishing the paper in my hand and ignoring the way the chick with the Cupid-dress was desperately trying to get the thing back. “I want to know whatalwaysmeans.”
I had questions, and I was going to get some goddamn answers.
“Tyler!”
I swiveled my head at the sound of my name in that familiar voice and focused on the man walking toward me.
“Gus?”
Oh, thank God.
Some of my panicked confusion eased just at the sight of him, all tall and broad and competent, with those patient, patient eyes I hadn’t seen up-close in fuckingforever. It was like I’d been parched for something I hadn’t even known I was thirsting for.
Which was dumb, obviously. I talked to Gus all the damn time. Last week, we’d talked about isolationist politics. Earlier this week, he’d challenged me to useCon-drag-ulationsin my everyday life and see if anyone caught on.
Spoiler: I had.
Also-Spoiler: My boss, Renee, had totally caught on and hadnotbeen amused.
But it didn’t matter, because I’d won Gus’s challenge.
Gus grabbed the mic from my hand and clapped me on the shoulder simultaneously. He forced out a laugh. “Tyler, man, yousworeyou weren’t gonna read your poem until the wedding!”
“I… what?”
Gus flicked my forehead with his fingernail, the way he used to when I was being completely thick-headed about something. “Go with it,” he whispered.
Then, into the microphone, he said, “Oh, Tyler, don’t be modest.”
Gus somehow managed to shake my shoulder reproachfully, pull me against his side, and grin broadly at the rest of the guests, all at the same time.
He took the note from my hand, folded it without looking at it, and slipped it back in my jacket pocket.
“Tyler’s been working on this poem calledI Want to Know What Always Means,” Gus admitted to the guests sheepishly.
Brenda and my father exchanged a look, and my father shrugged as if to say, “Do we really expect anything different from Tyler?” Gus’s mom looked like she was trying not to laugh.
I’d always liked Mrs. Fletcher.
“The poem was kind of a surprise for the bride and groom. Wasn’t it, Tyler?” He shook my shoulder again, jarring me back to reality and making the room spin.
