“Why’d you come anyway, Saylor? Why’d you show up? To rub my face in the fact that you’re dating the big Hollywood star?”
And if I didn’t know that bugged him, the disdain in his voice says it all. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that, Mitch? Why’d you invite me? Because I know you say it was Sarah who did, but a little part deep down within you wanted me to show up here to see exactly what I could have had. So you could rub my nose in it?”
I don’t answer his question at all, but I don’t care because it feels good to say some of what I think out loud. Words I’ve wanted to ask since I opened the envelope with the invitation.
He doesn’t answer my question, either. And I’m okay with that and with the awkward silence that settles around us as we both figure our next step in dismantling a fence that will never stand again.
“It’s always been him, hasn’t it?” Yes. It has. I don’t utter the words, just keep my eyes fixated on my fingers running up and down the stem of my wine glass when he continues speaking. “He’s been the one you wanted even after he hurt you and walked away. I was the one who picked up the pieces after your parents died. Not him. But what? The whole time we were together, you were waiting for him, weren’t you? Wanting him. Thinking I could take his place. And then obviously by the looks of the two of you, he came back and the wait was over. Dump me. Pick him. He wins . . .”
I don’t think I ever looked at our relationship that way, or thought of Hayes in that regard. My subconscious was more consumed by the sting of hurt and weight of resentment Hayes left behind. And besides, by the time Mitch came into the picture it had been almost four years since he’d left. And yet hearing Mitch’s words makes me realize that he just might be right when I never thought in a million years I was doing any of those things.
“It was the ghost of Hayes that ruined our relationship, Saylor. Just like Sarah wants me to confront you so that your ghost doesn’t ruin my marriage. I thought what she was saying was just bullshit. Nervous bride crap. And yet, seeing you here with him . . . I know she’s right.”
Did he just admit that he still loves me?
Shit. Shit. Double shit.
I blow out an audible breath. His disdainful but honest words hit a little too close to home. I nod softly. Let him know I’ve heard him. I refuse to agree with him audibly because then I feel like he’ll have control of this situation between us that feels so out of control as it is.
“What do you need from me to clear the ghosts, Mitch?” I try to sound reasonable. Attempt to give him what he needs so he can live happily ever after with Sarah and stay one hundred percent out of my life from here on out.
He clears his throat then looks me directly in the eyes. “I need to know if we ever had a chance or if we were doomed from the start because you were just waiting for Hayes to come back.”
“Does it matter?” I shrug, hating the look in his eyes. The one that makes me wonder how deep his feelings still run for me when they should be one hundred percent consumed by the woman he just gave more than his last name to. And knowing that even when I tell him the truth, he’s not going to believe it.
“Yes.”
“It was never about Hayes, Mitch. I left because while I loved you, I don’t think I could have continued loving you with the bitter resentment I continually felt toward you. You loved me but only the me you wanted me to be: sophisticated, non-working, non-baking, non-driven unless it was only to make you happy. You can’t start a marriage loving only the end result of who you hope to turn your spouse into. You start a marriage by loving that person completely for who they are and with the knowledge you’re going to grow and shift and change with each other. You never thought of me that way. You and your mom wanted me to be someone other than who I am to fit you and your circle’s standards. It became more and more clear the closer we came to getting married. The subtle comments about how my job wasn’t suitable for the Layton name. The hints left on hangers in my closet in the tune of thousands of dollars worth of clothes to show me how you wanted me to dress and look. The plans you fabricated, and the subsequent tantrums you pitched when you knew I had a big order to fill, so I’d feel like I was letting you down. So no, Mitch, my leaving you had nothing to do with Hayes and rather everything to do with me. My wants out of life, and everything that I am. Yes, I loved you, Mitch, at one time. But I think that love turned into bitterness and resentment.”
His eyes are wide, body so tense that I can already see he disagrees with me. Know that he’s ready to argue with me and I’m just done. With him and with this wedding. “Loved? As in past tense?”
I stare at him and realize he’s not hearing me. He doesn’t actually want to hear me. I shouldn’t be surprised because it was the same when we were together.
And I know what I need to do. Know that it’s not the truth but I need to be the bad guy here. Hurt him now to ensure Sarah has the best shot in a marriage with this emotionally stunted man who she loves.
“Yes. Loved. And I fell out of love with you a long time ago, Mitch.” I shake my head, twist my lips, and my fingers twirl around a lock of hair. I give the best acting job I can give. Try to use the upset I feel over purposely lying to him to drive the emotion in my next words. “I lied. I’m sorry. Hayes came back a few months before our wedding. I accidentally ran into him and what I felt for him, Mitch, was so very different, so much more powerful, than what I’d felt for you. And so . . . I tried to get over it. Over him. Attempted to push him from my mind and focus on you and our wedding but I couldn’t. The things you hated about me, he loved. The things you were trying to change in me, he praised. And I realized that even if Hayes and I never worked out, I couldn’t marry someone who didn’t appreciate those things about me.”
There’s hurt in his eyes. Wounded pride. And despite lying to him about the time frame, I realize everything else I’ve said is true.
“So it’s all true then.” He says the question as a statement, as if he doesn’t want me to respond. His voice is resigned. Disbelieving.
“What’s true?”
He shakes his head and chuckles beneath his breath like I should know what he’s referring to.
“Let me ask you something.” His voice lowers and eyes narrow. “What happens when you wake up one morning and Hayes is gone? Because he will leave, Saylor. He’s left you once before. It’s not like you don’t know about him and his girlfriend, right? How he cheated and walked away. So what makes you think you’re so special that he’s going to stick around this time? Because sorry to break it to you, but you’re not. You’re nothing in comparison to that spotlight he lives his life in. The one he obviously needs because he picked it over you before and as sure as hell, he’ll do it again. He’s Hollywood and you’re just . . . you. If you were devastated before, how do you think you’re going to feel when he does it now, knowing everything you gave up for him?”
My throat burns from the emotion his words are conjuring up. They dig deep down into the recesses of my mind where I’ve been trying to play dumb and ignore the what happens next aspect of this weekend. But with Mitch in front of me and his words ringing in my ears, I can’t avoid the fear they bring to me since the ghost of the previous devastation is still a shadow in my heart.
While I may feel unsettled, I know I sure as hell don’t want him to see the emotions I’m most likely wearing on my sleeve either.
“Excuse me, I need to use the restroom,” I say as I stand and clear my throat. “Best of luck to you and Sarah.”
I stride confidently from the room.
And I was wrong before. This—this walk—is my best acting job.
Because it’s Saylor Rodgers.
I remind myself again because I’m done playing the nice guy. Done standing here with a cheesy smile plastered to my face, taking picture after picture for the same people who’ve had no problem muttering shitty things under their breath all night long about the woman I love.
Another picture.
Love?
/> Flash burning my eyes. Smile a bit wider.
Seriously, Whitley? Love?
A shake of a hand.
Love.
A thank you for a compliment. Another autograph.
It’s always been her in some way. Hasn’t it?
Another photograph. Another hug I don’t want to give.
Yes. Love.
Smile for Saylor’s sake. To make them leave her the fuck alone.
Love. Hmpf. Who would have thought?
A forced smile. An apologetic excuse that I need to get back to my date.
Now what are you going to do about it?
A narrow escape from another hug by a woman smothered in strong perfume and a dodge of a lipstick smudge on my cheek.
Of course when I get into the main hall of the reception, Saylor’s nowhere to be found. My mind’s reeling from my realization and yet it shouldn’t be. How did I not realize I still loved her the moment I saw her in her cupcake shop with blue flecks of frosting in her hair and that feistiness front and center?
She’s not at the bar. Not at the table. Shit. I shouldn’t have left her alone. Shouldn’t have assumed she’d be fine despite her reassurances.
I see one of the others from our table. “Hey, do you know where Saylor went?”
“I saw her head outside a few minutes ago. Right before it started thundering.”
“Thank you,” I murmur and head that direction. The thunder rumbles the minute I head out onto the patio to look for her. It’s dark now and the air smells like rain.
“She still loves me, you know.” Mitch’s voice comes out of the shadows behind me.
I pause. I truly hate the fucking clinch of my gut at his words but reject the idea immediately. There’s no way she loves him. And yet didn’t I ask myself if she still did before coming here? My mind flashes back to earlier. To his name she mumbled in her sleep the other night and to the look on her face when she saw him across the reception room earlier. Did I read her expression wrong? Was the disgust I thought I saw in it really something else?
Fuck him and his lies that are trying to make me doubt her.
“You always were a bullshitter, Layton.” I turn around, take in the cigarette in one hand and the glass of brandy in the other.
And this is what a happily married man does at his own wedding? Drinks and smokes . . . alone?
I take a step toward him as I concentrate on how to play him and not let him know he’s got to me with his statement.
“She left. Couldn’t handle everything.”
He takes a drag on his cigarette and I immediately know he said or did something to upset her. Every part of me wants to go find her, make sure she’s okay, but I know she’s tough. Besides, there’s something I’ve wanted to do ever since Ryder told me over six years ago that Saylor was dating him. Let him know just what I think of him.
“Is it stressful being in the same room with the one woman you’re supposed to love but don’t wholeheartedly, and the one you still love who doesn’t love you back? Is that why you’ve resorted to a smoke? A little nervous, are you, Mitchy-boy?”
I lean my hip against the rail beside me, refusing to back down when he steps closer. The pansy never intimidated me in high school, and this bullshit show right now from him sure as shit doesn’t either.
“Fuck you.” His voice is low. Angered. Full of spite.
“No thanks. I hear you’re a selfish lay.” A twist of my lips. A raise of my eyebrows.
“I bet that’s all she is to you, too.”
I don’t take the bait although I’d love to step into him, cock a fist back and let it fly. Put him in his place for the prick he was way back when and the bigger one he is today. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Layton?” My voice is aloof. My chuckle condescending. My eyes reflecting his own words, fuck you, back to him.
The flash of hurt in his eyes is brief but obvious and tells me what I already know. He still loves her. There’s a quick pang in my gut as jealousy fires within because he doesn’t deserve the privilege of loving her.
“You won’t stay. You’ll break her heart again just like you’re doing to whatshername.”
Whatshername? Saylor’s comment from the other night ghosts through my mind. The truth I let her believe regarding Jenna and the rumors that are nowhere near true. How she’s believed in me enough to let it go even though I never answered. And I’m sure a part of it is because it’s been so easy to shut the outside world out while we’ve been here.
“I think you forget that you don’t get to have a say in what Saylor does or doesn’t do. What Saylor and I as a couple do or don’t do . . . that’s no longer any of your goddamn business. You gave up that right the moment you let her walk away without a fight. You sure as hell couldn’t satisfy your fiancée, let’s hope you can your new wife. But by the looks of things, you’re spending more time worrying about your ex on your wedding night than you are your wife. Your future’s not looking too bright.”
And with that, I unclench my fists and stop wasting my breath on someone who doesn’t deserve it.
I need to go find Saylor. It’s become an urgency. And I hate that Mitch’s first comment is stuck in my craw. Hate that for a man who’s always sure of everything, I suddenly feel insecure when it comes to Saylor. And insecurity kills all that is beautiful.
And Saylor is my beautiful.
I use what I know to calm the unease over why she bailed from the reception. Remind myself that over the past few days I’ve tasted her kiss, felt her body react, and seen the unspoken depth in her eyes reflecting how she feels about me.
There’s no way she still loves Mitch.
I hurry out of the reception area, hating the question I need to ask but knowing I have to. Just like she needs to ask me about what happened between Jenna and me and I need to tell her. Clear the air so we can both move forward with our pasts exposed.
I walk the grounds in a panic. Try to figure out where she might have gone and why she hasn’t returned. The thunder rumbles overhead giving an ominous warning of what’s to come.
The villa. That has to be the safe bet, but when I walk by a clearing that looks out to the ocean beyond—she’s there. Her hands are braced on a railing in front of her while her dress flutters around her legs from the wind that’s picking up.
And I swear to fucking God my chest constricts. I’d like to think it’s because of my earlier revelation—that I do love her and have loved her for all these years—but seeing her magnifies that realization. Confirms it then unravels it from the tightly bound ball I’d kept it in.
But the other part of me wonders if that pang in my chest is from fear. What if she’s out here because she talked to Mitch and realizes that six years is a long time to throw away with someone? And that even though he’s married, maybe she still loves him like he loves her.
That’s bullshit. I’ve known her longer. I’ve loved her harder. I’ve treated her better.
But you walked out, Whitley. You didn’t fight for her either.
Lightning flashes off the coast.
“You love him still, don’t you?” I don’t mean for it to be the first words out of my mouth and yet I have to ask. Have to hear her say differently to get rid of the uncertainty.
The same uncertainty I made her live with day in and day out over whether I was coming back for her. Because I didn’t call. Didn’t respond. Made her wonder if I cared.
Her body startles at my question before she slowly turns and faces me, expression guarded in the darkness.
But you walked out.
“What?” Her voice is surprised. Or is that irritation?
The thunder growls around us.
“Do you still love him, Saylor?”
The first drop of rain lands on my cheek.
You walked out.
“No. I don’t love him, Hayes.”
Don’t twirl your hair, Saylor. Don’t show me you’re lying. I watch her hands. Wait for them to move. To give her tell.
Rain echoes around us. Drops on plants. On sidewalks. On dirt. It’s subtle but there.
It’s washing off the dirt.
Her hands don’t move.
“You don’t?”
It’s stripping away the past.
She laughs. Shakes her head. “You’re being ridiculous, you know that?” There’s a spark of temper. A flash of disbelief.
It’s cleansing. A fresh start.
“Then what is it, Saylor?” I take a step toward her, need to know what’s going on. “Why are you so upset?”
Thunder vibrates the rain and air. Electrifies it.
Our eyes hold. My lips open and close to push her for the answer, but I hold it back. Take another step closer and put my hand on her cheek. I feel the rain on her skin, smell it all around us.
“Because I don’t want this to end.”
“What to end?”
Thunder and lightning within seconds of each other. A perfect description of what I feel right now as I wait. Of how she makes me feel inside.
“This.” Quiet. Self-assured. Lashes fluttering from the drops of rain as she looks up to meet my eyes.
And I’m sucker-punched. The lightning and thunder collide.
“This?”
My thumb brushes over her lips as the rain falls harder.
“You. Me. This weekend.” Each word is slow. Intentional. Fearful I’ll disagree. She steps away from me, paces a few feet while shaking her head and then turns around to face me.
“Saylor.” Thunder roars the same time I speak and drowns out my voice.
“Goddammit. I love you.” Every emotion within me—hope, love, fear, acceptance, humility, want, need—surges and swells at her words. She throws her arms out, dress soaked and sticking to her body. “I’ve always loved you, Hayes Whitley. When I was ten years old with skinned knees and braces. And when I was fourteen, sitting in the tree house jealous of all the high school girls bragging about your kissing skills. Then we did kiss and I hated them all for knowing that, but you, you could do no wrong in my eyes. And even after you walked away . . . I still loved you.” Her voice breaks. The emotion in her tone raw and real and tugging on every part of me she hasn’t touched yet when I was sure as shit she’d touched everywhere over our lifetime.