I don’t do weddings. There were too many reminders for me that sometimes forever doesn’t mean what it’s supposed to, and the ache that comes with seeing those reminders is something I’d rather avoid.
And I’d told the truth earlier. I don’t dance. Never have. I never saw the point in swaying around in a crowd, pretending I know what to do with my hands. Give me a bar stool, a drink, and a good vantage point, and I’m set.
A wall at my back.
An exit in sight.
So that’s where I stayed. Back against the bar, whiskey sweating in my hand, and ice melting slowly.
That was, until I saw her.
I shouldn’t have been looking. She was probably ten years younger than me. Cami’s best friend and Hunter’s new family, which meant she was off-limits in every way that mattered.
I blamed the beers. The nostalgia. The memories creeping in from corners I kept sealed. Earlier, I’d stood with Hunter in the side room, traded cheap jokes about dress uniforms and wedding nerves, the same way we used to pass time in the barracks.
Hunter and I met years back when we were both stationed in Afghanistan. I was the oldest in the unit then, the one everyone came to for advice or discipline, or to clean up the mess when things went sideways. That sense of responsibility taught me to keep control, to solve problems, and not to let emotions distract me from what needs to be done. I’d been good at holding the line, still am.
But after a few drinks and too many ghosts brushing at the edge of my thoughts, I found myself staring at Dani like I’d forgotten better judgment.
She was on the dance floor with a guy I didn’t recognize. Tall, maybe a couple of inches shorter than me at six-two. Light suit, easy confidence. The kind that said this wasn’t their first time spinning around a room together.
She laughed again, head tipping back. The colored lights caught in her hair and glossed across the curve of her mouth as his hand settled at her waist.
Lower than necessary, but she didn’t pull away.
My teeth ground together before I took a slow sip of my drink, hoping the whiskey would help me redirect my thoughts, or at least numb them.
I had set my walls up.
I made sure of that when I snapped at her earlier. Sharper than I meant, and I saw it land. But Dani hadn’t backed down. She just watched me, calm and unshaken, like she wasn’t afraid of a little heat.
I felt her like a brand, low in my gut; a fierce, demanding pull, hot and persistent, ignited by nothing except the way she met my gaze and refused to look away.
I couldn’t figure out why this woman was getting under my skin. I didn’t date. Didn’t show interest. Didn’t have room for it because wanting something I can’t have just brings trouble. Yet for some reason, my body reacted before my brain caught up.
“Who is that?” I muttered.
Hunter shrugged, stepping up beside me, tracking my gaze. “Pretty sure that’s Cami’s cousin. The one from up north. Ray, I think?”
Rayleaned in again as she smiled up at him, softly. Clearly comfortable with the way he held her.
Something twisted tight in my chest. Not explosive, not loud—just a visceral, heavy coil, pressing in until I could hardly breathe.
It was different than jealousy. Jealousy implies a claim, right to want what someone else has. I didn’t have that, nor did I want it.
So this wasn’t jealousy. This was something else altogether.
And I didn’t like that either.
I set my glass down harder than I meant to, causing the ice to knock against the crystal. And before I thought it through, I was moving.
Training told me to calculate, to hold, to never let my body go before my mind gave the order. But instinct steamrolled discipline, stripped away years of drills and caution. One beat, I was anchored to the bar; the next, my legs just moved, impulse cracking through structure as I crossed the room.
Through bodies and noise. Past laughing relatives and groomsmen who were already a few drinks too deep. The bass from the speakers pulsed up through the soles of my shoes.
When I made it to where they danced at the middle of the dance floor, I tapped Ray’s shoulder, startling him. “Mind if I cut in?” Although it wasn’t really a question.
He hesitated just long enough for me to clock the flicker of recognition. He knew who I was. Or at least what I might be.
