“That’s my futurewifeyou’re talking about,” I say as grab him by the back of the neck and shove him back into the table he’s already destroyed, this time into a platter of deviled eggs. I’m not typically one for violence, but when he insulted Hope, my combat training kicked in automatically.
“Marshall, that’s enough,” Caden says, grabbing my arm as I lunge for the guy.
It takes Caden, Axel, and Nathan—the local police chief—to successfully hold me back from landing another punch.
One of Nathan’s officers escorts Drunk Idiot from the auditorium, and the rage inside me starts to subside. I take in the mess around me. “Shit, sorry about that.”
“We get it,” Caden says. “If someone insulted Ruby like that, I’d have done the same thing.”
“Or Audrey,” Nathan says, pulling out his handcuffs and giving me an apologetic look.
My heart plummets into my toes. “You’re going to arrest me?”
“You damaged city property. I don’t really have a choice. Plus, I think you need to cool off tonight,” Nathan says.
“In a jail cell?” Shit. This is bad. This is really bad. Hope hasn’t even shown up yet. Or has she? Did she witness this disaster? I scan the hallway, but there’s no trace of her. As Nathan puts the cuffs on, I let out defeated sigh. Well, this wasnotthe way I thought this night would go. I was supposed to kiss Hope at midnight, right before I laid it all out on the line. Right before I told her I loved her.
Fuck.
What if she overheard the conversation?
What if she thinks she was just a conquest?
“Can you arrest me tomorrow?” I ask Nathan, already knowing the answer.
“I think things will be better if you cool it for a night,” Caden agrees.
“But Hope?—”
“I’ll find Ruby,” Caden promises before Nathan puts me in the back of a squad car and drives me to the station.
11
HOPE
Marshall doesn’t call.
He doesn’t text.
The only person who tried to reach me on New Year’s Eve after I left the party was some spam number. I deleted the voicemail becausenoI do not owe the IRS money that I need to pay over the phone, thank you very much. Or whatever latest scam they’re running. I didn’t bother listening to the message.
“You look like death,” Hillary says from my stove. Is she…cooking?
Maybe I bumped my head while we were hanging decorations yesterday. Like I fell off a ladder and hit my noggin on the hard floor. This might all be some twisted reality I just need to wake up from. Because, to my knowledge, my sister hasn’t cooked a day in her adult life.
“If you’re going to hit me with theI told you sobit, you can save it. I’m not in the mood.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her tone is surprisingly sad.
“Why would I tell you anything? You pick apart everything in my life. You make me feel like I’m some loser who’ll never find love or do anything worthwhile.”
“Shit, I do do that, don’t I?”
I reach a hand to my forehead, certain I’ve got a goose egg up there somewhere. No way I’m living in reality right now. I have to be in a coma dream.
“Vincent left me,” Hillary says, her shoulders dropping.
“What?”
