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HENLEY
AGE 24 (TWO YEARS LATER)
“Addy, that was such a beautiful ceremony.”
I nod along with Evelyn, afraid to speak as the limousine bumps along the road.
I readjust my dress over my knees.
“Are you okay, Hen?”
I glance up at Addy too fast. “Of course. Just completely overwhelmed by all the love,” I lie easily. “In a good way,” I add on with a smile.
I ignore the way Evelyn’s stare burns my profile. My peripheral lets me see the way her eyebrows pull together for the briefest of seconds before releasing as a slow, calculating smile crawls onto her face.
Andrew leans down, kissing Addy’s temple, and she reluctantly turns her inquisitive gaze from me to kiss her husband.
I’m sure it was a beautiful ceremony. There were tears of happiness from the bride and groom. Shit, even Evelyn’s eyes looked red-rimmed following their vows.
I’m ashamed to admit that I spent the twenty-five minutes it took Addy to marry Andrew standing stiffly by her side.
I didn’t hear a single word.
I couldn’t see an inch in front of me.
Every morsel of my mind, body, and soul was consumed by the dark-haired boy from my past.
More, the beautiful redhead’s back his palm rested against as I walked down the aisle before Addy.
The moment I stepped into the room, he was the first person I saw.
I couldn’t take in the hundreds of white roses that filled the church.
I couldn’t hear the hauntingly beautiful sound of the organ as it edged me down the white carpet lined toward the altar.
My eyes set on my best friend—if I can still claim that—unwavering.
A flare of possessiveness overtook him when I caught sight of who he was with. He moved his hand to her back, holding it there protectively.
A claim.
A warning.
My heart, which it had no right to do, died a thousand deaths. In a room overflowing with love, I felt consumed by pain and longing.
We’re now defined by our mistakes. No longer allowed to feel excitement at the prospect of seeing one another. Instead, we’re waiting to stumbletogetheragain. The inevitable fall into our recreant and repentant ways. We can fight it. We can push against it, but in truth, we’re addicted to the pain as much as we’re entranced by the so-called love we share.
“Alex seems nice.”
I cough to cover the way I startle at Evelyn’s voice. “Sorry?”
“Alex, that’s his name, right? Your boyfriend.”
Shifting, I edge my hands under my thighs, hiding them away from the way they shake.
“Yeah.” I nod quickly. “Alex.”
“How long have you been dating?”
