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3
LAYLA
“Ihave to step outside,” I told the consultant. “Don’t worry, I won’t take off with the dress. But charge one of them if I do.”
Without waiting for her stunned reply, I pushed out the door of the bridal shop. Sure, my girls said I needed to talk to Zac. They wanted me to get the full story before I assumed the worst of him. But right now, I was just mad.
“That dress is amazing,” he said, eyes wide as he looked me over.
I ignored the blush that warmed my cheeks at his appraisal and held out my hands. “What are you doing out here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“What, so you stalk me?”
He chuckled. “Apparently, yeah. So who’s getting married?”
“Aria.”
“Oh yeah? To who?”
I fought the urge to correct his use ofwhoinstead ofwhom. Just because I was an English teacher didn’t mean I needed to be a jerk. Even to Zac. “She’s marrying Will.”
“Will?” He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “No way. Paul’s best friend, Will?”
“Yep.”
When we’d been together, Zac had become friends with all of my people. Paul and Will only when they were home on leave, but Aria, Lyndi, and Shelby had been around him all the time. He’d been welcomed into the fold, but after he left me, they’d dutifully taken my side. Not that he’d given any of them a chance not to. He’d cut off contact with all of them, not just me.
“Wow. I guess I’ve missed a lot.” He reached up and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the fabric of his fitted tee stretching tighter against his broad chest with the movement.
Man, I missed his chest. His chest and shoulders were my favorite parts of him. Whenever I’d had a rough day at work—high school students are a tough crowd—he’d pull me close and hold me, my head tucked under his chin and cheek pressed against his chest. His strong arms would close around me, and I’d feel like nothing could touch me when I was in his protective embrace.
But then, he’d left. Taking with him that feeling of being safe and loved. And I hadn’t been able to replicate it since.
“What did you want to talk about?” I asked, banishing all thoughts of his stupid chest and the even stupider muscles I knew were hiding behind the thin fabric of his shirt.
“Um, well, I think you might have gotten the wrong idea about Grayson back there, and I wanted to clear it up.”
“How so? He’s your son, right?”
“Yes, but the woman we were with is my sister. Not his mom.”
I stared at him, taking in this new information. She was hissister? I knew he had one, and I vaguely remembered seeing pictures of her. Now that I thought about it, yeah, I guessed that was her. And no wonder she and Grayson resembled each other. The Millers have some strong genes.
Closing my eyes briefly, I nodded. “Got it. What was her name again? Sorry.”
“Jordan. We call her Jo. Or Auntie Jo, in Grayson’s case.”
“Right. Um, I see. So, whoishis mom, then?” I wasn’t even sure I wanted to know the answer to this question, especially after the way he swallowed hard and looked down, pausing before answering.
“Her name was Candice.”
I pursed my lips, something tightening in my chest at his phrasing. “Was?”
“Yeah. She died three years ago. That’s when I found out about Grayson. I didn’t know, Layla. When we were together, I mean. I didn’t know I had a son until Candice passed away, and her parents tracked me down.”
All at once, pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. I let out a shaky breath and put my hands on my stomach, almost like it would calm the violent rolling and clenching.
