It wasn’t a quick process. My father told me it would have happened way sooner, but she refused to sign any papers or proceed with the legal precedents regarding their marriage agreement, but a year and a half after the tape scandal, they were officially divorced.
No one reacted the way I thought they would to the news. It was just another day for everyone in Greenwood. Although I’m sure my mother’s friends gave her shit for losing her alpha husband. Bad company breeds delusional expectations. To my mother and her pretentious inner circle, it was a travesty. To everyone else, it was long overdue.
As far as I was concerned, it was a damn miracle. They could finally go on with their lives and find someone that made them happy. But moving on has never been my mother’s specialty.
So now, we’re here, in the mountains of Aspen, where Brent and Nolan work during the slope season, and I have a plethora of guests waiting for me to walk down the aisle. My father and his new girlfriend are here, my old teammates, Axl’s friends. Hisfather even hugged me this morning, crying, grateful there was a new member of the family.
But my mother isn’t here, and my stomach is roiling from the pain of it.
“Stacey?” I hear Whitney’s voice, her fist pounding on the door. “You’re five minutes late. Is everything okay?”
“We’re coming in,” Hannah says.
I never knew I could have female friendships as sincere as the ones I have with Hannah and Whitney. In fact, we’re such a unit I couldn’t even decide between them when it was time to choose a maid of honor. So, they both have MOH badges on their chests, proudly splitting the responsibilities for my special day. My chest pinches when I see them come through the door, and they run right to my side the second they see the hurt on my face.
“What’s wrong?” Hannah asks, her eyes bulging with concern.
“Fuck,” Whitney mutters before reaching into her bag. She produces a little mini-fan, turning it on and facing it in my direction. “You’re burning up. Are you sick?”
“No,” I quickly say, shaking my head but letting out a sigh of relief at the cold air hitting my face. “I’m just freaking out. I need Axl.”
Hannah nods, and they both stand. “We can get him.”
“But make him close his eyes,” I say quickly. “He can’t see me. It’s bad luck.”
They both nod in agreement before exiting the dressing room. I suddenly wish the fireplace were empty. The flames roar at me tauntingly, making the heat feel that much more exhausting. I keep the mini fan on me, focusing on the cool breeze over my heated skin before loud thumps echo down the hallway.
“Stacey?”
Axl’s voice comes a second before the door opens. I panic and yell, “Close your eyes!”
We both do. I can tell he’s still there from his heavy breathing, but there’s only black behind my eyes.
“Where are you?” he asks.
“On the floor,” I say. “Follow my voice.”
There are a few footsteps, then he grunts as he runs into something. I hold my arms out, feeling for him seconds before his hand collides with mine in the air. I help him get to the floor with me. “Let’s sit back to back,” he says, and I nod in agreement even though he can’t see me. When we finally get settled, resting on each other’s body, I let out a deep sigh of relief.
“Your scent is nearly burning, Stace. What’s wrong?” he asks. “They said you were having a panic attack.”
“I was,” I admit begrudgingly. “I was just thinking about everything and how my mother isn’t here, and it suddenly got really hot and I couldn’t breathe, and then I thought about how my mother would think I’m afailure?—”
“Stacey.” His voice cuts through the panic, my name firm in his mouth. I stop, taking a deep breath again to prevent another spiral. “That’s it. Good girl, breathe for me.”
I inhale and exhale a few more times, breathing like my therapist has taught me. Panic attacks aren’t common for me, but they’re not nonexistent. I’ve discovered growing up in a town as horrible as Greenwood can cause a bit of stress, and I’ve needed some help reworking that. Axl, who has been studying psychology and clinical therapy, knew it would help me, and now the tools I’ve learned are keeping me grounded.
When I get my breathing even, Axl asks, “Are you okay? Better?”
I murmur a“yeah”and relax against him.
“Okay.” He sighs. “I know your mother not being here sucks?—”
“No, it’s more than that,” I whisper, trying desperately to focus on our entwined fingers rather than the nausea in my throat. “I… I think I’m pregnant.”
His hand freezes against mine, his back tensing the second the words leave my mouth. “Really?”
I gulp. “I can’t see you. Are you mad? Please don’t be mad.”
