Page 3 of Slapshot Bride

She’s gripping the water bottle like it’s the only thing tethering her to the car, and her knuckles have gone past white into something almost blue. Her shoulders are doing that thing where they’re trying very hard to look relaxed and failing.

The joke in my throat dies.

“Hey,” I say. She tries to fake a smile, but it comes out strained.

“You okay?”

“Define okay.”

“On a scale of one to ten?”

She thinks about it. I take a left I hadn’t planned to take, which puts us heading away from downtown, away from wherever she ran from, toward the canyon roads where there’s less traffic and fewer red lights and nobody can see into the car.

“A three,” she says finally. “Maybe a two. I’m reserving the right to revise downward.”

“What happened?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I’m driving you. I most definitely want to know.” I keep my eyes on the road, but fail because they’re back on her. I force them away, so I can keep us alive while I wait for an answer.

“My fiancé,” she says, “is a piece of shit.”

“Okay.”

“That’s the abridged version.”

“Want to give me the unabridged?”

“Not really.” She exhales, and for the first time since she got in, her shoulders slump. “I just want to get away.”

I nod.

We drive. The canyon opens up around us, dry hills and that specific LA afternoon light that makes everything look like a movie nobody’s filming. She fiddles with the hem of her veil, and I quietly watch her from my peripheral vision.

“He’s been cheating on me,” she finally says in resignation, like she’s dealt with the truth and is ready for the world to hear it. “For... I don’t actually know how long. That’s the fun part. I found out twenty-three minutes ago. I was in the bridal suite. He was in a hallway. With my second cousin. Who is also named Riley, which is going to make Thanksgiving very confusing.”

“Wait, your name is Riley.”

“Brooks. Hi. Meet Riley Brooks. I would shake your hand, but I’d like to keep both of mine on this water bottle.” She draws my attention to her trembling hands once more. This time, they’re not shaking so much, but it’s still there. “What’s yours?”

“Easton.”

“Easton what?”

“Just Easton, for now.”

She tilts her head. “Mysterious.” Her eyes switch to mine, and they light up. “Wait… that has a nice ring to it. Easton Mysterious!” She dramatically spreads her hands in front of her face to demonstrate.

Then she takes me in for another second. “Or Hulk? Would you prefer that? Easton Mysterious Hulk?” she throws her head back in laughter. The sound is contagious, and I join her. She’s bubbly and carefree. If she wasn’t in her wedding attire, I swear I could forget she’s escaping.

I take another turn. We’re properly in the hills now. The road narrows. I don’t know where I’m taking her, which is a problem I’ll solve in roughly three minutes when we run out of road.

“So, Riley Brooks. You found out twenty-three minutes ago.”

“Twenty-four now.”

“And you…what? Walked out?”