If you ask me, she’s making a big mistake. I see how Coop still looks at her. He loves her wildness, fierceness, and inability to shrink herself to make others happy. Unlike Marcus, who’s constantly berating her about every little thing. I’ve seen the changes in my sister over the last half a year, and I hate it.
When I finally reach Wren’s bedroom door, I rap my knuckles against it before pushing it open. I haven’t seen Wren for the last hour and a half, so it’s a safe bet she’s hiding out in her room. We always used to hide together during these big parties when we were kids.
Thinking about how things used to be before Marcus came along makes my heart pang uncomfortably, but that’s forgotten when I get a glimpse of Wren’s vibrant red hair.
When I step fully into the room, Wren looks worried until she realizes it’s just me. She blows out a breath, and her green eyes shine with relief.
My stomach clenches at the genuine fear that was on her face, but I don’t know what to do about it.
“What are you doing here, Lulu?” Wren’s voice sounds so defeated. Even the nickname she’s called me for as long as I can remember sounds hollow and empty.
“Looking for you. You’re missing out on your own rehearsal dinner. You’d think the happy bride would be enjoying hosting all the lovely people she invited to her wedding.”
We both know the guest list is filled with our parents’ and Marcus’s guests, not hers. She didn’t invite a single friend she made from college, high school, softball, or anywhere else. There’s no one here who actually cares about her, other than Charlie, Coop, their parents, and me.
“I’m tired. I already told Marcus I needed to rest before tomorrow. He plans for it to be a long night,” she tells me through gritted teeth.
It takes me a moment to get what Marcus plans for their night in my inebriated state. When I do, I shudder in revulsion at the thought of Wren getting it on with anyone but especially Marcus.
I cross my arms and level her with a challenging glare. “You don’t seem to be resting. You look like you’re moping instead.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Was there a reason you came up here? Or was it just to needle me?”
“You shouldn’t marry Marcus,” I blurt. “You should call this whole thing off and run away, like you always said you wanted to.”
Wren’s the dreamer of the two of us. She was champing at the bit to get out of this horrible house as soon as she could. I know she only stayed around as long as she did for my sake, and I can’t help hating myself a little for it.
“I can’t,” she whispers brokenly.
“Because you love him so much you can’t think of a life without him, right?”
I’m silently begging her to agree with me and tell me how much she loves Marcus. I hate the thought of her marrying a man she doesn’t even like, much less love. My big sister deserves more than that.
Wren presses her lips together but doesn’t say anything. She drops her gaze and fidgets with the necklaces spread out on her dressing table.
“You’re making a mistake, Wren. You belong with Coop. You’ve got to realize that.” My voice is pleading.
I can’t stand seeing my sister with a soggy Cheez-It of a human being like Marcus. Not when she was always so vibrant and full of life and laughter before meeting him.
Something I said makes Wren snap out of whatever funk she’s in. Her gaze as she stares me down is filled with stubbornness and determination, reminding me of the old Wren. “It’s not a mistake. Marrying Marcus could never be a mistake. Now get your lazy butt over here, you cheese-faced tomato tree, and help me figure out what jewelry to wear tomorrow. I still haven’t picked it out.”
I huff at her and try to hide my smile at seeing her normal sass. Walking over to the cream upholstered bench she’s perched on, I sit next to her. She wraps her arm around me and hugs me close as we talk and laugh for a while.
Then Wren suddenly snaps around to pin me with a hollow look, her face gaunt and skeletal. “Why didn’t you stop me? Why weren’t you strong enough to save me?”
“What?” I whisper in confusion as the room distorts around me.
Instead of being in Wren’s childhood bedroom, I’m kneeling next to her bed in the suite she moved into after she married Marcus. Her room is devoid of any of her personality, but I don’t pay it any attention.
My focus is all on Wren’s prone form laid out so neatly on the bed, like she was too afraid to make a mess even with this. I drop to my knees, uncaring about the pain shooting up my legs from the impact against the hardwood.
I shake Wren’s broken and bruised body as I desperately try to get her to wake up. My chest is heaving with sobs as I scream, over and over again,“Wren!”
I bolt upright with my heart trying to pound out of my chest. I’m covered in cold, clammy sweat, and I’m shaking so hard I can barely see straight.
Groaning as my stomach roils in protest, I shakily climb out of bed and hobble as fast as my unsteady legs will take me to the toilet. As soon as my knees kiss the cold tile, I’m heaving my guts up. I retch over and over until I empty the entire contents of my stomach.
When I’m sure I’m not going to puke anymore, I rest my head on the cool toilet seat and try to gather the energy to stand.
