He was going to marry the love of his life.
I stood from my chair quickly, nearly toppling it over. Liam looked to me, alarmed.
We’d always planned on Morris being the best man at mine and Harper’s wedding.
We’d always planned on Harper being the best man at his.
But Harper was dead.
The crack inside me splintered open. Inky black sludge poured out, so thick and viscous it felt like I would suffocate on it.
Liam whistled. “Ballsy move, doing it in front of everyone like that. What if she said no?”
“She never would have said no,” I said numbly.
Liam eyed me, taking in my shallow breathing, noticing the half-moon indentations my nails had left in my palms. He pressed his lips together.
“You’re not happy for them,” he said in an almost accusing voice.
“No. I am. It’s just—”
Harper was never going to stand at Morris’s wedding. Morris was never going to stand at ours.
Morris was getting the chance Harper and I never got.
Because Harper was dead.
I rubbed at my nail polish with my thumb, feeling every thin, harsh chip.
“I need to take off,” I said. “I’m going to go home and change. This dress is chaffing me.”
Liam frowned at me.
“I’ll see you at rehearsals tomorrow.” I tried to keep my tone even, but the words came out numbly.
I didn’t wait for Liam’s response. I turned on my heel and ran out.
I ran as I always did whenever the past caught up to me.
I ran as if I could outrun my feelings.
