Page 3 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Biker

“How long have you known?"

Lyra's silence was an answer.

"How long, Lyra?"

“Two weeks."

Two weeks. She'd called me twelve times in the past two weeks. We'd discussed flower arrangements, bridesmaid drama, and whether the DJ should play the Cupid Shuffle. She'd sent me photos of cake samples and asked my opinion on votive candles versus tea lights.

In all that time, she hadn't mentioned that my ex-boyfriend would be standing next to me for the entire weekend.

"I was going to tell you."

"When? After I showed up?"

"I didn't know how."

"You could have started with ‘Hey, Hannah, James is the best man.'" My voice rose an octave and I forced it back down. Lyra's neighbors didn't need a show. "That would've been a good place to start.”

"I was afraid you wouldn't come."

Her honesty hurt worse than the lie. "You thought I'd bail on you."

"I thought you'd want to protect yourself."

"So you made sure I didn't have the option?"

Lyra's face crumpled. "I'm sorry. I handled this really bad.”

I wanted to yell. I wanted to throw something soft and unsatisfying, like one of the decorative pillows currently mocking me from the couch. Instead, I calculated how fast I could fake a communicable disease and drive back to Dallas.

"If you need to leave, I'll understand," Lyra said, her voice quiet.

That was even worse. Because she would understand. She'd cry, and she'd scramble to promote another bridesmaid to maid of honor, and she'd get married without me. And I'd spend the rest of my life knowing I'd let James Keller steal something else from me.

"I'm staying."

Lyra's exhale could've powered a windmill.

"But I'm still angry with you."

"I know."

"And I need space right now."

"Okay."

I gathered my things with movements that felt too controlled, like I was carefully picking my way through a minefield instead of leaving my best friend's house. Lyra followed me to the door but didn't try to hug me goodbye.

"Do you have a plus-one?" she asked. "It might help."

"I didn't invite anyone. I figured I'd be too busy with maid-of-honor stuff."

"What about Everett?"

"My brother has his own life. He can't drop everything because James decided to show up."

Lyra didn't argue, but the suggestion wedged itself into my brain like a splinter. Maybe my older brother didn’t have plans this weekend.