Page 25 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
I straighten up. “You’re doing a hell of a job.”
She gives me a tired smile. “I feel like I’m drowning in chiffon.”
“Then let’s throw you a life raft.”
I take a breath and step closer, nudging her gently with my shoulder. “Come on. We’ll find someone who can fix this. Might take a little driving around, some charm, maybe a few favors I haven’t cashed in yet—but we’re going to save this dress.”
She studies me for a second. There’s something in her eyes—uncertainty, maybe even guilt—but it softens into trust.
“Well,” she murmurs, brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek, “let’s go save the day.”
She tugs her coat tighter, but there’s a tremble in her hands she can’t quite hide. I reach out—just a light touch to her elbow.
“Hey,” I say softly. “We’ve got this.”
Her eyes lift to mine. Something flickers—doubt, gratitude, maybe something more.
She nods once, and it feels like trust. And something tightens in my chest.
I grin and gesture toward the door. “After you.”
She grabs her keys, and I gently pick up the dress, holding it in my arms so that the stain doesn’t touch any other part of it.
I see the way her lip trembles at the sight but she puts on a brave face and continues moving forward.
I make a silent promise to myself: Whatever it takes, I’m going to fix this—for her.
***
We end up in my truck, the dress carefully spread out across the back seat like it might shatter if I even blinked too hard. I double-checked the seat cushions twice before laying it down. I don’t want the truck’s leather to somehow finish what the red wine started.
Maya’s in the passenger seat, chewing on her bottom lip and scrolling through her phone with intense focus. Her fingers move fast, the screen catching glints of sunlight that streak in through the windshield.
“There’s one place that might be able to do it same-day,” she says, squinting down at the listing. “They’re on the edge of town. Think we can make it before they close?”
She gives me the address and I plug it into the GPS. “We’ve got twenty-five minutes. Buckle up.”
She does, and I pull out fast, the tires chirping slightly against the asphalt as we head out. Neither of us says much at first. The air between us is thick with unspoken worry—and something else that hums beneath it.
The city blurs past the windows, and as the buildings start to thin and the noise dies down, I can see her shoulders ease a little. It seems like getting out of the hot, heavy mess of it all is giving her room to breathe again.
“You didn’t have to drop everything,” she says at length, voice quiet.
“I kinda did,” I reply, glancing at her. “You sounded desperate. Plus, wine on a wedding dress? That’s some high-stakes drama.”
She gives a soft laugh. “You have no idea.”
Then she says it.
“Nick never would’ve come. Not like this.”
I keep my eyes on the road, but my jaw tightens. “Yeah?”
“He’d say it wasn’t his problem. Or that I overreact to everything. That I’m always ‘making things harder than they need to be.’” Her voice goes a little brittle.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, knuckles whitening. “That’s a load of crap.”
She huffs a bitter laugh, more breath than sound. “Well, he didn’t think so. I think he liked the idea of me more than the actual me. You know? The version that looked good on his arm. Fun at parties. Quiet when he needed me to be.”
