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Words get caught in my throat as I start to panic, thinking about telling everyone that we got married while we were drunk in Vegas.
“What if we don’t work out?” I whisper, refusing to make eye contact with him.
“Why the fuck wouldn’t we work out?”
“We don’t know each other anymore, Ringer!” I push away from the table and start to pace again. “We haven’t known each other since I wasn’t even old enough to have a driver's license! Fuck, Ringer, I barely had my period for six months when you got arrested!”
I can’t believe I just said that out loud, but fuck it. I’m out of my mind right now. My emotions are taking me through the wringer. Quite literally.
Strong arms engulf my waist before I’m pulled into a hard chest. He takes my face in his large hands and tilts my head up to his.
“Relax, babe.” His beard tickles my nose as he kisses my forehead. “Everything is going to be okay.”
I take a deep breath, and it doesn’t escape me that I instantly relax with his touch. Just like when he put his hand on my arm, his touch soothes something in my soul.
Ringer holds me in his arms as I continue to slow my breathing until I can no longer hear my heartbeat throbbing in my ears.
“Do you promise?” I ask, causing Ringer to gently release me.
“Promise what?”
“That everything will be okay?”
Ringer smiles before placing a gentle kiss against my lips. “I fucking swear it.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
I nod my head. “Yeah.”
“So you aren't going to divorce me?” he asks with a smirk.
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms playfully. “Not yet, but you better play your cards right, big guy.”
* * *
It takes longer than usual to get packed up and ready to head back home. Forget the fact that I just found out that I’m married to my lifelong crush, and I got so drunk I don’t evenremembergetting married. I’m paying the price for that every few minutes when I have to stop packing so I can sprint to the bathroom and vomit.
This is the hangover to trump all hangovers. When else have I been able to say I woke up married? Never, that’s when. Before this, the worst thing I’d ever done while getting blacked-out drunk was streak down Main Street with Pebbles, which was years ago. To this day, I still hate myself for allowing my dad to find me like that. Pebbles could have cared less since they all saw her naked on a regular basis. Me? Not so much.
I fight off a wave of nausea as Ringer pumps gas by the highway. Putting my oversized sunglasses on, I lean my head back on the headrest and groan.
I’m pulled from my stupor when Ringer opens his door and hands me a small bag from the convenience store.
I pull out a ginger ale and a pack of mint gum. Holding up the gum, I look at him in question.
“Mint helps with nausea. Trust me,” he says while directing the van out of the parking lot.
He rolls the windows down as I pop a piece of gum in my mouth and take a small sip of the ginger soda. I try not to think about the fact that ginger is the main ingredient in my favorite cocktail and choke down the bubbly liquid. The fresh, hot air coming in through the windows contrasts the icy air conditioning blowing from the dash.
Leaning my head back against the headrest again, I let my eyes drop down to my lap. The colossal diamond still sits on my finger, sparkling as the rays from the sunlight beaming in through the windshield hit it.
I close my eyes, listening to Ringer’s soft voice as he sings along to the classics as they play over the radio, lulling me into a deep slumber as he drives us home.
“What in the absolute fuck,” Ringer grumbles as I blink my eyes open sometime later.
I sit up straighter in my seat, looking out the windshield, noting the cars at a standstill all around us.
