A fucked-up bastard of a man.
I don’t know how I pulled myself away from Sloane’s door but walking away from her—choosing to suffer so the two people I love more than anything can be happy together—was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. At least that’s what I thought at the moment, but standing here with Eric right now, I know the pain has only just begun.
“What’s taking so long?” Eric’s panicked eyes meet mine. “You don’t think she’s having second thoughts, do you?”
I shake my head. “About you? Never. I’m sure it just took them a little longer than planned to get ready.”
“Right. You’re probably right.”
“I am. Now fix your face, you look likeyou’rethe one having second thoughts.”
He laughs and turns his back to me. “Screw you.”
“I mean, I’m open, but I’m pretty sure your wife wouldn’t be too happy about sharing you on her wedding day.”
Eric coughs to cover up the shocked laughter shaking his shoulders, and for the first time today, I smile a real smile. I even manage to keep it up when the doors fling open and the bridesmaids walk in, but the moment the bride’s processional starts, it dies on my lips. One by one, the muscles in my body go slack and then turn rigid until I’m nothing but a living, breathing statue with stone features.
The door swings open again and everyone’s eyes land on the angel at the end of the aisle. My heart stutters to a stop. I was prepared to see her in white again—it is her wedding day after all—but nothing I imagined could have done the floral lace bodice hugging her torso or the full tulle skirt swirling around her legs justice. Her father has his arm linked in hers, and she’s already crying. The silent tears slipping down her cheeks make her look infinitely more beautiful as she stares at Eric the way she always does. With love, hope, and possibility dancing in the pools of hazel.
And not a fucking shadow, or single spark of the flame I thought matched mine, in sight.
It’s all the reminder I need to tuck away my feelings and slide on the mask I’ll be counting on to get me through the rest of my life. As soon as it clicks into place, I force myself to look anywhere but at Sloane as she closes in on the altar.
Since Eric’s shoulders are in my direct line of sight, I decide to make them my focal point for the rest of the ceremony, only looking up from them when I have to pull Sloane’s wedding band out of my pocket and hand it to Eric. When he turns around to grab it from me, his smile is the biggest I’ve ever seen, and I allow myself to take comfort in it.
My best friend is happy.
The woman I love is happy.
I can live with a shattered heart if it means theirs get to stay whole.
***
“Pop, I have to go. They’re giving speeches, and I’m pretty sure I’m next.”
It’s a lie. My speech was over an hour ago, and right after I gave it, I abandoned the reception hall for the quiet comfort of the hallway where I don’t have to try to hide the ache in my chest at seeing Eric and Sloane together.
It shouldn’t hurt like this. I’ve watched them together for years now, and they’ve basically been living in the loft for the past few months, but there’s something about the wedding bands flashing on their fingers as they hold hands and kiss at the table that makes it all more devastating.
And ending up on the phone with my dad is only making me more irritable. He never calls me, but it’s fitting that he would come out of the woodwork on the worst day of my life.
“Still don’t know why I didn’t get an invite,” he gripes. “Eric grew up in my house.”
“That’s not how I remember it.”
“Well, we’ve already established we remember things differently.”
Yes, because you keep trying to rewrite history.
“Can you just tell me why you called so I can go?”
He coughs roughly, and the sound grates on my nerves. “Damn, boy. You can’t give your old man five minutes to let you know he’s dying?”
The whole world stops spinning and a wave of emotions I don’t understand washes over me. I wouldn’t say I’m sad, but there’s a definite note of melancholy lacing the feelings swirling around in my gut. Probably stemming from the childish part of me that still loves him even though he’s never done a damn thing to deserve it.
I scrub my hand over my face. “What are you talking about?”
“Lung cancer, Nic.”
