“Hecalled it off?” Who was this guy and what the fuck was wrong with him? I had the overwhelming urge to push him into oncoming traffic and then shake his hand for sending Shay back into my life with his stupidity.
“While I was in my wedding dress.” The smile turned into a hard, bitter laugh. “A few hours before the wedding.”
“You were—” Too many things from the past few months fell into place all at once. I understood now. I understood everything. All the comments about being empty and hollow—dead inside. Backing off when I tried to rush her into marrying me. That night at the dive bar when she broke down about no one ever choosing her. Holding me at a distance.Everything. “Fuck, Shay.” I crossed the room, my arms open to her. “Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was trying to forget.” She pressed her face to my chest. “And it’s humiliating.”
“No, it’s not.” I held her tight and ran my hand over her hair. “I’m so sorry he did that to you.” When she linked her hands at the small of my back, I asked, “Does he contact you often?”
“No. This is the first time.”
Inside my head I heard an endless loop ofshe married you. This didn’t mean anything. It didn’t have to mean anything. “Since July?” I asked. “The first time he’s contacted you sinceJuly? And he thinks eleven at night on a Friday is the time to check in?”
She bumped her head against my chest. “I told him never to speak to me again, so…”
“There it is. That’s my girl.” I hated this guy. I fucking hated him. Later, I’d organize that hate into sections and categories, but right now he was a fucking fuckhead fucker and I wished nothing but misery upon him. “Do you want me to delete the message? Block his number?”
The amount of time it took her to form an answer should’ve been my first hint that this wasn’t going to end the way I hoped.
“I need to find out what he wants,” she said, pulling out of my hold.
She married you. She married you.
“Okay.” I motioned toward her phone. “Go for it. Give ’em hell.”
As she texted, I couldn’t stop myself from building a mental image of this trash pile of a human who’d leave Shay on the day of their wedding. This fucker. He’d be a professional guy. Finance or business or something cushy like that. Big personality. Loud, probably, but in thatlife of the partykind of way. Expensive watch for the sake of an expensive watch. Prided himself on reading only corporate titan circle jerk memoirs and the kind of level-up nonfiction designed for businessmen who chose not to remember their anniversary. And above all else, he’d be dense enough to throw away the most incredible creature in the world.
Thinking about him was awful. It was like running my hand along a barbed-wire fence.
She married you.
“He says it’s important that we talk in person as soon as possible,” Shay said, frowning at her phone. “He’ll meet me anywhere I want. It’s funny. He’s not usually that amenable.”
I fisted my hands on my hips. Thisfuckingfucker. “Does he know that you’re here? In Friendship?”
She shook her head. “Only my friends know that and they all hate him.”
“Have I mentioned how much I love your friends? I do. They’re brilliant.”
Shay laughed, waving off my words. “Don’t worry. They love you too.” She set her phone on the desk and then looked up at me, the bed between us. Her phone continued buzzing. Ihatedthis guy. “I know it’s probably a bad idea but—”
“Fuck,” I muttered to myself.
“—I need to do this.” She held her palms open, shrugged. “I just—I need an explanation.”
She married you.
“And you think he’ll give you one?”
She stared down at the duvet. She looked sad and vulnerable, and I wanted to do everything I could to fix that. “I’m not sure but I think I have to try.”
“If you’re determined to do this, I’m going with you.”
“Noah, you don’t have to—”
“I’m going with you,” I repeated. “There’s a market in Boston in two weeks. It’s the last of that event for the season. It’s usually a big one and I haven’t been in a year or two. We’ll meet him there and then you and I will have a jam sales rematch. This time you’re getting a true challenge. Something like spiced cranberry orange or apricot pear jasmine.” I glanced at the ceiling as I mentally paged through my calendar. “There’s also a vendor up there who has been trying to meet with me for months but it’s never worked for my schedule. We’ll let him buy us lunch after the market. Maybe then I can get him off my back and out of my inbox.”
“You really don’t have to—”
