Page 29 of Holding Penalty

Seeing the man I’m about to say I Do to, letting the look in his eyes remind me of why I said yes when he knelt down and held out the ring that’s now on my finger, that’ll take away the last-minute doubts.

I sneak through the hallways of the chapel, to where his dressing room is. I’m about to knock when the sound of his laughter stops me.

“Yeah, I can’t believe she bought it, either,” I hear him say from behind the door.

My breath catches. I press my ear to the line of the door, becoming utterly silent and still to hear more.

I hear him chuckle lightly, followed by a big burst of laughter. There’s a triumphant ring to it that sounds cruel and sharp in my ear.

“I know! I thought I was screwed when she saw that text in the limo. My buddy Craig was a lifesaver, showing me that app that lets you make fake text exchanges.”

Craig, one of his groomsmen.

I wait for my heart to drop. I wait for my eyes to get misty. I wait for a sob to croak in my throat. I wait for the red-hot feeling of betrayal to burn through my veins.

None of it happens.

Instead, it feels like something loosens inside me. Like a tight fist that’s been clenched in my chest lets go.

It feels like so much that I’ve been holding onto—the memories of the good times with Crew, the hopes I used to have for our future, the feelings he used to inspire in me, the reasons I’ve been reminding myself of why I’m about to marry him—all fall out of that grasp and scatter to the wind.

I should throw this door open, march into that room, and slap him across his face. But I can’t summon the energy to do it. He’s not worth it. Not to me, not anymore.

Now that I’m finally confronted with irrefutable proof of Crew’s infidelity, it’s shockingly easy to admit to myself that I’m here for all the wrong reasons.

The inheritance, the fact that we have a chapel full of guests, not wanting to start over on the dating scene—none of those are reasons to stay with someone who’d cheat on you.

Now that I’m staring that truth in the face, I can admit to myself that Crew and I aren’t even right for each other. It’s been clear for ages, but I strained myself not to see it, not to acknowledge it.

I could kick myself for being so complacent that I let myself get this close to a big mistake.

But there’s no use crying over spilled milk. And since a nice glass of milk has so much more value than a cheating finance bro fiancé with a subpar dick, there’s definitely no use crying over that.

After grabbing my purse, I make my way to the side exit of the chapel, passing no one in the halls. I push my way into the parking lot. It’s full of cars, but everyone’s inside, sitting in the chapel waiting for a wedding that isn’t going to happen.

Other than myself, there’s only one person out here. He’s in an old pickup truck across the lot.

I walk across the hot asphalt in my white wedding dress and heels. I open his door, hop on the bench seat, and slam it shut behind me.

Nash is looking at me with his eyes wide. An excited feeling hooks in my chest as our gazes catch. The passenger seat of Nash Miller’s truck feels strangely comforting and inviting, and I’m not sure how much I want to examine that feeling.

Nash’s lips part like he’s about to say something, but I can see that words fail him.

So, I pick up the slack.

“Well, are you gonna drive this truck, or should I?”

A grin tilts at the edge of Nash’s mouth, and his stubble-covered face looks entirely too good right now. “Where to?” he asks.

“Anywhere but here.”

His grin notches higher. He nods his head. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, his voice a low, velvety purr that pairs perfectly with the rumble of the truck’s engine as he turns the ignition.

Nash pulls out of the parking space, maneuvers through the lot, and then turns onto the highway, driving me away from my wedding.

13

NASH