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The waiters take the first course away and start serving the main course of chicken and vegetables. I scan the room but still don’t see where the bride- and groom-to-be are. A few other people have noticed, too. I can see the worry and anxiety on some of their faces.
I get up from the table and hear a woman say to her husband, “It’s strange that the bride and groom haven’t made it to the rehearsal dinner yet.”
The husband laughs. “They are probably just doing it in a back room somewhere.”
I feel a tightness in my chest as I think about that possibility. It’s never bothered me before when the women I was trying to steal slept with their fiancés. But knowing that is what Sloane could be doing drives me crazy. I don’t want Wes touching her or kissing her or fucking her. I don’t want him anywhere near her. She’s mine.
I start walking back to the chapel where the rehearsals took place, as it was the last place that I saw either of them. The second I enter the chapel, I hear their voices ringing throughout the room. I’m surprised that we couldn’t hear them arguing from the dining room just down the hallway from here.
“No, we aren’t postponing until the weather cooperates so that we can get married outside!” Wes shouts.
“But it’s important to me!” Sloane shouts back.
“Isn’t being married more important than where we get married?” Wes shouts.
“Of course, but this is the one thing I care about. The beach reminds me of my grandmother, which is why I want to get married there instead of in this church.”
I slowly walk up, trying not to be noticed, but they both seem so entranced in their arguing that I don’t think they would notice me, no matter how loud I was being. They start walking, and I keep following. Sloane starts running out of the church, visibly upset and shaking with anger.
“I’m so tired of hearing about your grandmother. We postponed the wedding in the first place because of your grandmother’s death. I don’t think we have to do everything because of your goddamn grandmother.”
Tears well in Sloane’s eyes, and I can’t stand it any longer.
I start to move forward when Sloane says, “I can’t breathe.”
“Sure you can. You just don’t want to admit that you’re wrong, and I’m right.”
But Sloane truly can’t breathe. Her face is turning bright red, and she falls back to the ground. I run forward at the same time that Wes does. Her face has started to swell.
“Sloane, what’s wrong?” I ask.
But she can’t answer me. I can tell she is running out of oxygen fast. I pinch her nose and lower my mouth to hers, breathing a breath into her, but the air barely seems to make a difference.
I feel something sharp hit my neck, followed by a buzzing sound. Bees. She must be allergic. I grab her purse that is lying next to her.
“Call 911, Wes,” I say as I dig through it and find the EpiPen that is inside.
I quickly read through the instructions, but I know I’m running out of time. So, I remove the cap and then jab it into her thigh, like the instructions say.
“Come on, Sloane, breathe. You’re going to be fine. Just relax, and try to breathe.”
She slowly takes a breath and starts to sit up. My heart slows when I see that she is going to make it.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I nod, but saving her did nothing to stop my own anger. If anything, it just made me angrier. I help Sloane to her feet and then over to a bench outside the church where she can wait for the ambulance to come and check her over. And then I turn toward Wes, who is standing next to the bench, and I punch him square in the face. He completely falls back, startled by my punch.
“You don’t deserve a woman like Sloane,” I say, staring at Wes now lying on the floor, still in complete shock.
I turn to face Sloane as the ambulance pulls up. “Don’t marry him. Not because I want you and am desperate to claim you, to fuck you, but because you deserve better than an asshole dick of a man who doesn’t understand how important your grandmother is to you. You don’t have to choose me, but don’t choose him either. You deserve love, not years of unhappiness.”
I grab the six-pack of beer and take it out to the beach. I considered just going home after I punched Wes. I left the rehearsal before Wes came to his senses and decided to start a fight. But I stuck around in the parking lot long enough to see that Sloane didn’t even have to go to the hospital. They checked her over and determined that the EpiPen was enough. That she was going to be okay. She went back into the rehearsal, and I left. I couldn’t bear to stay and watch her prepare to marry him.
My surfboard is in the back of my truck. I consider bringing it down to the beach with me, but I don’t really feel like surfing. Instead, I plop down on the sand with my beer.
I’ll drink for a while, maybe take a dip in the ocean, and then sleep off the alcohol in the back of my truck or here on the beach. I open the first beer, trying to do anything but think about Wes and Sloane. I’ve never punched anyone before. I know that punching someone accomplishes nothing but making the puncher feel a bit better—at least, for a moment. But, now that I have, I want to go back and beat the shit out of Wes for treating Sloane so poorly.
And Sloane…I have no idea what she is going to do. Marry him most likely. I don’t see her canceling the wedding the night before. She’s different than all the other women I’ve seduced. She is stronger and no-nonsense, all business. I’m not even sure that she is marrying Wes because she loves him. There has to be another reason that I am overlooking. Something that makes her feel like she has to go through with it—not because she loves him, bu
