Page 24 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
“I need a favor,” she continues. “Like… a pretty big one.”
I frown, moving toward my car. “Tell me.”
“One of the bridesmaids spilled red wine on Danielle’s wedding dress.”
I stop dead in the middle of the parking lot.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I wish I was joking,” she says, and her voice cracks slightly. “We were doing the final fitting at her place. Someone thought it’d be cute to bring a bottle of red for a ‘cheers’ moment. You can probably guess how that went. It’s bad, Liam. The dress—it’s silk. And Danielle’s locked herself in the bathroom crying, the bridesmaid’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and the dry cleaner we normally use? Closed today.”
I blink at the sky. “Because of course it is.”
“I don’t know what to do,” she says, her voice getting softer. “And I’m trying to hold it together, but I can’t fix this on my own. I’m panicking and need someone in a calmer state of mind to be here with me.”
That last sentence hits me square in the chest. Maya, who always pulls the strings in silence, is now pulling me in. And I don’t mind it. I don’t hesitate.
“Send me the address,” I say, reaching my car and yanking the door open. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”
A shaky breath of relief comes through the line. “Thank you.”
I can picture her now—shouldering the chaos alone, keeping everyone else from falling apart. But who’s looking out for her?
Now she won’t have to do it alone. Not while I’m around for her.
***
Danielle’s house is pure chaos when I pull up. The front door is wide open, music playing faintly inside—some cheery acoustic playlist that feels wildly inappropriate for the level of tension thickening the air.
There’s a small crowd of bridesmaids huddled in the kitchen like they’re waiting on a verdict. One of them is pacing with a wine glass still in hand while another clutches a wad of paper towels and looks like she might throw up.
Then I see her.
Maya spots me and hurries toward me, barefoot, hair pinned back in a messy twist that’s unraveling at the edges. There’s a faint smear of concealer under one eye, like she tried to cover up tears and ran out of time. Her arms are crossed tight over her chest, and her shoulders sag in visible relief when our eyes meet.
“Thank God,” she breathes.
I nod toward the chaos. “This what bridesmaid boot camp looks like?”
She huffs out a half-laugh, barely there. “More likeLaw and Order: Bridesmaids.”
“Where’s the victim?”
“This way.” She turns, and I follow her down the hallway.
We step into the dining room, and there it is—laid out like it’s ready for an autopsy. The wedding dress. Ivory silk, layers of delicate lace and hand-stitched beading… and right across the bodice, a deep, angry splash of red. It really does look like a crime scene. Or a cruel Rorschach test, soaked in merlot.
I let out a low whistle. “Yikes.”
“Right?” Maya exhales hard and scrubs a hand over her face, stress radiating off her in waves.
I lean over, inspecting the damage like I have a clue what I’m doing. I don’t, but I can fake concern like a pro. “Even I know that’s not good, and I once thought taffeta was a kind of cheese.”
That gets a real laugh out of her, brief but bright, and it lifts something tight in my chest.
I glance up at her. “You okay?”
She hesitates before answering. “No, but I will be, now that you’re here. You’re sense of humor is just what I needed to make this seem less apocalyptic.” She gestures vaguely toward the hallway. “Danielle’s in the bathroom. Hyperventilating. And Jules—the bridesmaid who spilled it—is basically catatonic. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just trying not to make it worse.”
