Griffin
Hey, baby, I am so sorry, but I’m running late. This is going to sound like a crazy excuse, but I swear it’s not. I’m stuck in an elevator with the head of marketing for Breakaway. The power cut out, and the elevator stopped moving. I’m going to do whatever I can to get to you, but don’t wait for me, okay? I’m so sorry I’m not there already, but you’re going to kill this pitch. I believe in you, sunshine. You don’t need me. You’ve got this. I love you.
It’s not looking like I’m going to make the meeting. I’m sorry, baby. I’m also kicking myself because my battery is almost dead, but the woman in the elevator with me—the head of marketing—is severely claustrophobic, and she left her phone in her office. She was only supposed to be walking me out. I’m using my flashlight app so she doesn’t have a full-blown panic attack. If you can’t reach me after you get out of your meeting, that’s why.
Now I’m sobbing again, but this time it’s not because of what Griffin has done; it’s because of what I’ve done. Scared to hear it, I press play on the voicemail and hold the phone to my ear. When Griffin’s panicked voice hits me, I stifle my sob with my hand.
“Baby, hey. I’m so fucking sorry I missed your pitch. I tried to call and text you, but I didn’t have any phone service. It was the craziest thing, sunshine. I got trapped in an elevator for almost an hour.
“I’m at the hotel and all your stuff is gone. Where are you? Please call me back. I’m so so sorry, baby. I swear I dideverything I could to get to you. Did the meeting go well, I hope? Please call me back. I love you.”
He didn’t ditch me. He was literally trapped in an elevator. And that blonde woman in the photo? I’d bet a million bucks she was the marketing exec who was having a panic attack. Becauseof coursemy husband would do everything he could to help her. He’s good like that. So genuinely good. And I immediately believed the worst.
It hits me then.
My brother is worried about Griffin not being good enough for me, but the fact of the matter is that I’m not good enough for Griffin. Not even close.
And that’s the realization that finally, truly breaks me.
forty-four
GRIFFIN
It’slate by the time I get to Maddox’s place, and even though pounding on the door at one a.m. is probably a dick move that will have someone calling the cops on me, I don’t care. I need to see my wife.
After the fourth knock, my best friend wrenches the door open, a hockey stick in his hand, ready to use it as a weapon. Some of the tension in his shoulders eases when he sees me, but that only lasts for a moment. Then he’s using his stick and his palm to push me out into the hallway.
The way he’s looking at me, I know our friendship might be over, and I fucking hate it, but I can’t focus on that now. Not when my wife is just through that door and upset with me. She’s the only thing that matters.
“I need to talk to her. Let me in.”
“Like hell.” He shoves me again. “How the fuck could you do this? You lied to me for months. Looked me right in the eye and acted like you weren’t fucking my sister, you piece of shit.”
I growl and shove him back. “Don’t. It’s not like that, and it never was. She’s my wife, Madds. I fucking love her.”
“You love her.” His chuckle is low and sardonic. “You love her, but you tried to force her into staying married to you, asked her to lie to her family and friends, and then you fucking ditch her when you promised to be there for her?”
“I didn’t ask her to lie to you! Yeah, okay, I talked her into staying married—that part is true—but I didn’t want to keep this a secret. I wanted to tell everyone. She’s the one who wanted to keep it a secret, and because I love her, I agreed. Doesn’t mean I liked it. And I didn’t ditch her. I was stuck in a goddamn elevator with a panicking woman from Breakaway. It was a freak thing, and there was nothing I could have done about it. I would never, ever intentionally ditch your sister. Ever.”
Running a hand through my hair, which is probably a greasy mess by now because I can’t seem to stop tugging on it, I glower at my best friend. “I get that you’re pissed at me, man, I do, but this isn’t about you and me. This is about my wife, and I need to talk to her.” And with that, I push past my best friend, and before he can grab me, I shove the door to his place open and call my wife’s name.
“Mira! Mira, I need to talk to you.” I know she’s in the guest bedroom, so that’s where I’m headed when I’m yanked backward. Maddox grabs me by the collar of my shirt and swings me around, slamming me into the wall.
I push him, ready to fight to get to her, if that’s what it takes. “Let me go, man. I need to talk to her. I need to explain.”
“Tough shit, asshole. She cried herself to sleep hours ago. Now, get the fuck out before I break your goddamn jaw.”
“Do what you have to,” I say, pushing him again. “But I’m going to do what I have to do.”
“What’s going on?” Isla squints at us as she comes rushing down the hall and into the living room where I’m tussling with her fiancé. Her eyes widen when she sees us. “Griffin?”
“Isla.” If anyone will be on my side, it’s the redhead standing before me. Maddox walked away from her and almost ruined everything. She knows how important it is to talk things out when shit hits the fan in your relationship. She knows how stupid it is to let a misunderstanding fester until it breaks the most important thing in your life.
“I need to talk to Mira. Please. I have to explain. You, of all people, should understand that.” My voice cracks as desperation rides me hard, making my insides buzz and vibrate.
Isla opens her mouth to respond when the soft sound of shuffling footsteps makes my heart seize. And when my wife stumbles into the room, her eyes red and puffy, hair a tangled mess, I can’t help it. I crack. A strangled sound claws its way out of my throat, drawing her eyes to me.
“Fuck, sunshine, I was so worried.”
