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As soon as we were around the corner and away from prying eyes, he started spitting accusations at me. “How could you not tell me my brother had knocked Charlie up? I fucking proposed to you but you were keeping something this huge a secret from me? In what world is that fucking okay?”
I blinked at him and crossed my arms over my chest. “Excuse me? You wanna maybe rethink your tone? I’m not your brother’s keeper, and by the way, neither are you. Charlie’s my best friend and she asked me to keep a secret.”
“And I was going to be your husband!” he all but shouted.
I sucked in a breath and only managed to eke out a single word. “Was?” followed by a choked out, “Past tense?”
He threw a hand out. “Oh, come on. You really think we’d work? I was basing that on some romantic nonsense thinking my brother had finally—” He shook his head hard, and it was like with every second he was becoming more remote. “But he hasn’t changed, not really, because people don’t. No one ever changes. Shit will always fall apart and I have to be the smart brother who doesn’t let himself get caught up in it. I can’t get distracted or— Or whatever fantasy land we were living in.”
I stepped back. He might as well have punched me in the face. He didn’t want me. That was all he was really saying. He was using a bunch of other words, but I heard what it boiled down to. He didn’t want me.
Fucking fine, that was a familiar enough feeling in my life.
“Fuck you!” I lunged forward and shoved his chest. “Fuck you for pretending to—”
“To what? Have all my shit together?” He held out his hands and I frowned, because that hadn’t been what I was about to say. “I don’t!”
“Oh, that’s more than obvious. It’s clear you’re no more mature than all those little pricks I fucked in high school.”
He caught my arm and looked at me hard. “Careful.”
I just shook my head, giving him a venomous smile back. “Oh wow, look at the big man. You wanna knock me around some now, huh?”
“What? Jesus.” He let go of me and backed away. “Fuck. You don’t know me at all, do you?”
And tears burst from my eyes because I did know him, dammit, and it was the only reason I’d let him in so deep. But none of it mattered. Because now here he was breaking my heart anyway.
I looked up at him through my tears. “Why are we fighting again?” When what I really wanted to ask was, “Why are you doing this to me?” and to beg him to take the last five minutes back.
And I wanted him to laugh at me and say he didn’t know why we were fighting and then pull me into his arms and run his fingers through my hair. I wanted him to say everything would be all right, or we’d figure it out tomorrow after everything cooled down.
But he didn’t say any of those things.
He looked at me, his brown eyes full of sorrow, and said, “I think it’s because we were never meant to be. Two people who drive each other this mad—”
I shook my head, scoffing. “That’s what you said love was. The I-want-to-wring-his-neck-and-also-fuck-his-brains-out-at-the-same-time. Remember? And being the only ones who checked all each other’s boxes?”
Again he held his arms up, looking at a loss for words. “Maybe that was just—”
A woman could only handle so much. “A what?” I asked. “An idiot mistaking lust for love?”
He stood there looking miserable in front of me.
I breathed in. And I breathed out. My guts were twisting inside and embarrassment flamed my cheeks red hot. But right behind that was icy anger.
I looked down at the ground, collected myself, and then marched the few feet I’d put between us to where Jeremiah stood. And, in a single fluid motion, I slapped the bastard hard across the cheek.
“That,” I said into the stinging silence that followed, my face only inches from his, “is because you’re a liar, Jeremiah Walker, and a coward.” I pointed my finger in his face. “Because I know you felt it too. And it was the real fucking thing.”
And then I turned on my booted heel and walked my ass away from him and out of his life.
Or I would have, anyway, if there was any justice in the universe and I wasn’t still obligated to go spend the next few hours at his twin brother’s wedding reception.
Having your heart ripped out, shredded into pieces, and then stomped on—and then having to smile and pretend like everything was wonderful and you were just so happy for your friends, one of whom just happened to look like the man who’d smashed your heart into bits—not my idea of a great day.
But today wasn’t about me, so I grinned and bore it anyway.
At least Jeremiah stayed away from me. But as I busied myself pretending to fuss over catering and helping the servers keep everything restocked—the tables and champagne flutes, I was steadily bleeding out from the inside.
