Guilt.
Real guilt.
His shoulders sag a fraction. “Ellie…”
I blink hard. “Don’t.”
“I knew he was an asshole,” Wade says, voice rougher now. “I knew. And I still left.”
I swallow, throat burning. “You didn’t know it would get this bad.”
“I should’ve,” he says immediately, like he can’t stand hearing himself make excuses. “I told myself you were fine. I told myself you had your shop and your friends and you didn’t need me hovering.”
“Like a brother?” I challenge softly.
Wade’s jaw clenches. “Like a brother.”
Wyatt’s presence at my side stays steady, but he doesn’t speak. He lets Wade have this. For once, he’s not trying to control the room. He’s just there—solid, watching, making sure I don’t crumble.
Wade looks at Wyatt and mutters, begrudging, “You did good.”
Wyatt’s mouth tilts. “I know.”
Wade snorts despite himself, then turns back to me. “I’m sorry.”
The words hit me harder than the fight did.
My throat tightens. “Wade…”
“I’m sorry I left you alone to deal with him,” Wade says, voice cracking just slightly on the last word. “I should’ve been here.”
I don’t let myself hesitate. I step into him and wrap my arms around his chest, because he’s my brother and he’s frustrating and he loves me like a mountain—quiet, constant, too heavy sometimes, but always there when it counts.
Wade hugs me back hard, like he’s trying to make up for two weeks in one squeeze.
Wyatt clears his throat behind me. “Easy. She’s pregnant.”
I jerk back, eyes flashing. “I’m not?—”
Wade’s head snaps toward Wyatt. “Don’t fuck with me.”
Wyatt’s grin turns wicked. “Oh, I’m going to.”
Wade’s face goes dead serious like he’s hearing a threat. “Don’t.”
I laugh—an actual laugh this time—even as I swipe at my eyes so neither of them can see.
Wade looks down at my ring again, the anger finally fading into stunned acceptance. “So… courthouse wedding.”
I exhale. “Courthouse wedding.”
Wade shakes his head like he’s trying to reboot. Then he looks at Wyatt, and his voice goes softer. “There’s no better brother-in-law I could ask for than my best friend.”
Wyatt’s expression flickers—something warm, quickly buried. “Yeah?”
Wade points at him. “And obviously you’ve got good taste. You chose me as a best friend all these years.”
I snort. Wyatt actually laughs, low and real.
