I CAN DO this, I can do this, I can do this.
I walked into the chapel with Max at my side, and my heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest as I looked at all the attendees already seated. A woman with a fiddle was playing “Safe and Sound,” and as we sat down on a pew toward the back, I couldn’t believe someone would choose to have a song from The Hunger Games played at their wedding.
I wasn’t a big believer in curses or fate, but it still seemed like bad mojo.
Holy shit, I was the bad mojo incarnate, wasn’t I?
“Deep breath,” Max whispered, and his deep voice made a shiver crawl up my spine. “This is no big deal. You’re just saving a life, Steinbeck.”
I turned my head—God, he had great eyes—and quietly said, “Thank you.”
I could see TJ, who looked like a really nice guy, sweating at the front of the church as he stood there with his cowboy-hatted groomsmen behind him. They looked like something from a Garth Brooks video, and if I weren’t so close to anxiety-induced puking I’d want to laugh at their outfits.
Jeans, black chambray shirts, and black hats, juxtaposed behind TJ, who was wearing black jeans, a white chambray shirt, and the requisite white cowboy hat. Real heavy-handed with the good guy versus bad guy theme, but who was I to judge when I’d thought fur muffs—because Christmas—were a cool accessory for bridesmaids at my own botched wedding.
The fiddler ditched the melancholy song and switched to what sounded like “It’s Your Love” by Faith Hill and Tim McGraw as the church doors opened and the bridesmaids started down the aisle.
I seriously wondered if I were going to vomit.
Satin camouflage sundresses, cowboy boots, and bejeweled denim jackets were something I’d never seen at a wedding before, but the daisy bouquets the bridesmaids carried were lovely. I felt tiny beads of sweat form on my nose, and I wondered if it was hot in there or if it was me.
Of fucking course it was me!
My breathing was shallow as the last bridesmaid passed by, leaving the bride visible as she waited. She was wearing a short white dress with cowboy boots and a white cowboy hat that had a veil attachment.
Wow, they were definitely all about “theme” here.
The fiddler switched to—dear God—“No One Else on Earth” by Wynonna Judd, and the bride began walking (well, kind of strutting) down the aisle. She was pretty, but I was also scared of the stubborn jut of her chin and the way the crowd started making whistle sounds. These were her people, so what was going to happen when someone—me—ruined her wedding?
Shit, shit, shit.
I was seriously contemplating doing nothing, just sitting there and watching two strangers get married, when I saw it. She glanced to her left when she reached the third pew from the front, and the cowboy on the end gave her a wink and a very sexual smirk.
Holy shit, that had to be Ronnie.
And her smile literally grew bigger, as if they were sharing a fantastical secret joke.
Those bastards.
They were doubling down on their grossness in a church while she was getting married to someone else?
Forget it—the bitch had it coming.
Good, I thought. That’s good. The anger was way better than the nerves, so I thought back to my own relationship in hopes of building more rage.
I’d actually thought we were a good match, Stuart and I. I truly believed that we were best friends and great roommates and could have a wonderful life together, being perfect partners. Maybe not true love, but more than what I’d needed for a happily-ever-after.
The first time he cheated he’d blamed booze, and I’d forgiven him. Everyone had the capacity to cheat, and booze amplified that—not that it made it okay. It was disappointing and horrible, but I got past it because I knew we’d be a great match. After the cheating I knew I didn’t love him (that’s when I really started thinking about the Big Lie), but I liked him a lot and had a whole backpack of warm feelings for Stuart that were worth the risk.
But the second time . . . the second time had punched me in the face.
His phone buzzed while he was showering, and if I hadn’t been sitting in the dark, I doubt I’d have seen the text that said, You better wear my boxers to the wedding, babe.
That was . . . weird, so I’d crawled over to his side of the bed and opened his messages. I legitimately thought there would be a simple explanation. It hadn’t even entered my consciousness that I might find text messages between Stuart and a woman who used the word love, had naked photo exchanges, and also mocked me for a myriad of things that were wrong with me.
Bossy Bitch had apparently been their nickname for me.
The music stopped and the pastor started speaking. Everything he said sounded just as flat and ridiculous as the words my pastor had uttered at my wedding. Join together these two in love blahblahblah. My breath caught in my throat as I waited for the passage.
“If any—”
“I do!” I yelled.
“Too early,” Max muttered from my right.
“Miss?” the pastor said, his eyebrows crinkled together. “I’m sorry . . . ?”
“You said if anyone here knows any reason—well, I do,” I said, heat flooding my cheeks. “These two should absolutely not get married.”
A loud murmur rolled through the crowd, and I trained my eyes on the preacher’s face. I didn’t dare look at the bride or her black-hatted backups. “Callie has been having an affair with Ronnie for years, and everyone but TJ knows it. He deserves better.”
I heard multiple gasps, and the bride said, “What the hell? She’s a liar!”
“Nope,” I said, my stomach knotting as the woman seated in front of me whipped around and pinned me with a lethal glare.
“Are you done, liar?” the bride yelled at me, her eyes scary mean. “I don’t even know who the hell—”
“Is it true?” TJ interrupted. Thank you, TJ.
“No, it’s not true,” Callie said, looking downright pissed as she waved a hand in my direction. “I’ve never seen that knockoff Barbie chick in my life.”
“Still true, though,” I said, getting pissed in my own right. Knockoff Barbie? What the hell. “You don’t know me, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t cheat.”
“Listen, Skipper—”
“Callie,” TJ interrupted, sounding a little angry, too. “Did you or did you not continue with Ronnie? Answer me.”
For the first time, she looked caught. Callie opened her mouth but just made a few stammering noises and said no multiple times.
Max nudged my side and I turned, ready to make our breakaway.
“I did not, TJ,” the bride said. “I would never.”
“Then show him your phone or the Ring doorbell footage of when Ronnie came over every day.” I channeled the calm facade Max had brought to my wedding. “If you’re innocent, hand it over.”
“How dare you—”
“Give me your phone, Cal,” TJ said in a booming voice, and that was our cue to leave. I stepped out of our row, with Max beside me, and we headed for the back of the church as Callie and TJ argued.
My job was done.
And it’d gone perfectly.
“Holy shit, I did it,” I whispered, looking over at Max, feeling like a damn superhero. I saved TJ, saved the world from another bout of heartbroken lovesickness. I was like the Marie Curie of lovelornitis or something.
“You did it,” he replied with a smile, but then he looked behind me and his face changed. “Soph!”
I started to turn around, but there wasn’t time before a body hit mine from behind, a palm over my face as someone yelled, “You bitch!”
I was pretty sure it was the bride.
On my back like I was her fucking pony.
Shocked, I stumbled a little before pure rage shot through me.
Oh, hell no.
I was good at conflict avoidance—it was a big part of my job, in fact—but I’d be damned if I’d let some Miranda Lambert wannabe take me down in front of hundreds of people like she had the upper hand.
Oh, hell no.
