Page 74

“Top-tier is stretching it,” Emmett snorts. “Even for the eighties, this is bad.”

“It’s not that bad,” Hunter says sarcastically. “Look, the black guy is making most of the racist jokes.”

I laugh as they continue to talk shit about the movie. I open my mouth to say something, but then my phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket and freeze. It’s Preston. I bite my lip. Some part of me feels like I should answer, should deal with this sooner rather than later… and it’s already later than I should have dealt with it… but before I can pick it up, Emmett reaches over and declines the call for me.

He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t look at me for permission. He just reaches over with one big hand and presses the button, and the ringing stops. I stare at the dark screen for a second, waiting for the guilt to hit, and it doesn’t. What hits instead is relief so strong it makes my eyes sting. Someone just made that decision for me, and I didn’t have to carry it.

I barely have time to breathe a sigh of relief when a text comes through. It’s Preston, again. He’s sent me one of our engagement photos with the caption, “what happened to us?”

I look at the woman in the picture. It’s me, but it’s not me. Her hair is glossy, blown out and pinned in place. Her smile is polished, the kind of smile you practice in the mirror until it looks natural in photos. Her eyes are vacant. She’s wearing a cream sweater that his mother picked out because it would photograph well for the pictures after he proposed at Kerry Park. I remember that day. I remember the photographer telling me to tilt my chin down and Preston squeezing my hand too hard and me thinking, this is the happiest day of my life, right? This is what happy looks like?

I can barely connect that person to whoever I saw in the mirror this morning. The guys lean over to see the text, so I turn my phone to show them.

“I barely recognize myself in that photo,” I admit.

“I like the way you look now,” Hunter says, nuzzling my neck through my wavy, bouncy, slightly frizzy hair.

“You look more like yourself,” Beau adds. “That picture makes you look like someone’s Barbie doll.”

Emmett grunts in agreement.

It warms my heart that they all come to my defense like that, but still, the weight of disappointing Preston and my family is stronger now than it has been lately. I swallow and put the phone away, shaking my head at myself. The woman in that photo would be horrified by the woman sitting on this couch. And the woman on this couch feels sorry for the woman in that photo. I don’t know which one of us is right. Maybe neither. Maybe both.

“Hey, listen,” Hunter says, brushing my hair back over my shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with being true to yourself. The people who love you should want that for you.”

I give him a weak smile and nudge him affectionately.

“I just… I never wanted to disappoint them,” I say, and the weight on my chest gets a little lighter with that confession.

“You can people-please into an early grave,” Beau says, “or you can live your life. I like how you are when you’re living.”

I blink at him with watery eyes and wish he was close enough to kiss. Emmett doesn’t say anything. He just squeezes my thigh and rubs it firmly, his gruff silence speaking volumes. I pull my phone out one more time, just to silence it. I don’t want any more interruptions. I hold the power button down until the screen goes black, and I feel something go quiet inside me too.

We finish the stupid movie and continue with the day, moving around the living room slowly. At one point, I’m stretched out on the couch with my head in Hunter’s lap while he reads, his free hand resting in my hair. At another, we’re all crammed together on the couch again and I’m showing Emmett a photo I edited while Beau looks on. We ebb and flow, doing nothing and doing it together. I doze off at some point with my cheek against Emmett’s shoulder and wake up to find that someone has tucked the blanket around me again.

Eventually dinner time rolls around and I’m told to stay on the couch while the guys handle it. Emmett stokes the fire while Beau and Hunter work in the kitchen. Emmett, when he’s done, comes and sits next to me. He doesn’t touch me, but he’s close enough for me to feel his warmth. He meets my eyes once, then twice, and the second time he smiles at me softly. It’s barely there behind his thick beard, but it’s plenty. I smile back and we sit there for a moment, not speaking, not touching, just being. It’s the most intimate silence I’ve ever shared with anyone.

“Soup’s on,” Hunter calls from the kitchen.

Emmett doesn’t let me get up on my own. He untucks the blanket and lifts me onto my feet like I don’t weigh anything at all, then puts his hand between my shoulders as we walk to the kitchen. It’s a little thing. It means everything.

The guys have made a delicious spread with ham and potatoes and a whole bunch of other sides. My stomach growls as I sit down and I laugh, a little embarrassed.

“We skipped lunch,” Hunter points out. “Of course you’re hungry.”

“We did have two breakfasts, though.” I grin a little wickedly and I’m pleased when Beau’s ears turn that particular shade of red.

“How are you feeling?” Emmett asks in his low grumble.

“Better,” I admit. “The day off helped a lot.”

He nods.

Beau looks at me from across the table, his face stern. “Don’t ever overdo it,” he says. “Not even for us. You take the time you need to recover.”

“I will,” I promise, feeling more cared for than I ever have in my life. We settle into the comfortable rhythm of dinner, dishes, and whiskey by the fire. My drink goes down like honey, warming all of my sore places, soothing all of my anxieties. We sit in comfortable silence, just watching the fire. The flames pop and shift and I lean into whoever is closest, which happens to be Beau. He doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t lean in, either, but he doesn’t pull away, and from Beau, that’s practically a declaration.

Eventually, I yawn one too many times. “I think I need to head to bed,” I tell them.