Weddings are supposed to be happy days. They are supposed to be filled with smiles and love and tears of joy.
Weddings are not supposed to be filled with infinite sadness and enough tears to fill a damn decorative mason jar.
But here I am, sitting in my car, crying my eyes out because my little sister is marrying the love of her life this weekend and I just signed my divorce papers earlier this week.
I can’t force myself to get out and face it all.
Don’t get me wrong, I am beyond thrilled for my little sister. Harper has always been a cynic when it comes to love, so the fact that she’s about to walk down the aisle and exchange vows is monumental. It’s an even bigger deal because she’s marrying NHL superstar Collin Wright, but that’s a whole different conversation.
Watching her get a perfect life she never really wanted when I was the little girl who planned her wedding at five years old and thought I had found my happily ever after? Yeah, it stings.
Not nearly as much as finding out your husband had a mistress and they’d been sleeping together before you got married, but it still stings.
I swipe at the tears running down my cheeks, frustrated by them—my tears and my ex-husband and his mistress. As embarrassing as it was when Harper came home to tell my mother and me she was engaged, I cried then too. In front of her. Like straight up just burst into tears like an awful big sister.
After that whole mess, there is no way I can walk inside looking like this.
Another tear slips down my cheek, and I swipe at it. I am not about to ruin my sister’s big weekend with my silly tears.
An old beat-up truck blasting music so loudly it’s rattling my windows comes careening into the parking lot, whipping into the space next to mine as if it belongs here. I know for a fact it does not.
My brows slam together in frustration because the jerk doesn’t even bother turning the music down. Doesn’t he know two people who are madly in love are inside about to rehearse a ceremony so tomorrow they can start a new life together?
Ugh.
A set of fresh tears streaks down my cheeks at the thought. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push away the thoughts of what I’ve lost, then wipe at my face again, which I’m sure is a mess. I pull down the sun visor to check the tiny mirror inside and—yep, I’m a mess. Streaks of black run down my cheeks and a mess of makeup sits under each eye. All because my favorite mascara wasn’t available in waterproof because of course it wasn’t.
It’s not a big surprise though. Nothing has gone right since I was blindsided by my cheating ex-husband.
My car was backed into, and the driver took off…in a parking lot that had no cameras.
I was detained for shoplifting because the cashier didn’t want to believe me that the candy bar wrapper in the cart wasn’t mine and I was feeling petty enough to argue.
Oh, and that haircut I treated myself with? Butchered, leaving me with a short bob, which I did not want.
It’s been a challenging couple of months, to say the least.
The only positive is that this divorce hasn’t been dragged out any longer than necessary. Thad granted me the divorce when he realized I had copies of his text messages. You’d think, being a lawyer, he would have done a better job of covering his tracks, but nope. He left everything out, right there for me to see. A part of me wonders if he did it on purpose. The way he acted in the months leading up to our wedding—like how he wasn’t invested in the planning and was picking fights—should have been a red flag, but I was too caught up in the years I’d put into our relationship and what I wanted for my future to see it for what it was.
Lies.
All big lies.
I should have listened to my best friend, Emilia, when she said Thad was a douchebag who wasn’t to be trusted. Sure, she said it when she was drunk, but there’s truth to our intoxicated ramblings, right?
“His name is Thad, Hollis. That should tell you everything you need to know about the douchebag.”
In hindsight, she was right.
I wish she were here now. She always makes me laugh. But I have to suffer through tonight alone.
Tomorrow, though…tomorrow we drink. And then drink some more. I already know I’m going to need it.
With a sigh, I reach across my BMW—a hush gift from Thad since he didn’t want his transgressions getting back to his buddies at the firm—to pop open the glove box.
And…nothing.
Not a damn thing.
“The one time I don’t have ten billion Starbucks napkins shoved in there…”
I slam it closed, then lean my head back against the seat, trying not to cry yet again. I don’t need an even bigger mess to clean up.
“Ugh. Get ahold of yourself, Hollis. You’re acting ridiculous. It’s just a napkin. That’s it. It’s a napkin.”
Tears sting my eyes again because it’s not just a napkin—it’s a wedding too, a wedding I am certainly going to bawl my way through, and not exactly for all the right reasons.
I squeeze my eyes shut to block out all the negative thoughts that are hurtling their way through my mind and take a deep breath.
Then another.
And one—
“OH MY GOD!”
I glare over at the old truck next to me, that damn music still rattling my windows. With the dents and scratches and the bumper hanging on by what looks to be a thread of duct tape, I don’t understand how the truck itself hasn’t rattled apart with how loud the music is.
The windows are tinted, but not so dark that I can’t see inside. The driver is leaned back in the seat without a care in the world, a pair of dark sunglasses covering his eyes, looking like he’s not moving anytime soon.
Is this asshole serious?
It’s annoying. He’s annoying.
I bet Harper and Collin must be inside right now wondering what the hell that loud, obnoxious noise is. I’ll be damned if this asshole is going to ruin my little sister’s rehearsal.
I shove my car door open, march to the driver’s side of the asshole’s truck, and smack my palm against the window.
He doesn’t move.
What the…
I smack the window again.
No reaction. Not even a flinch.
Is this idiot sleeping?
I smack the window a third time and…nothing.
I huff, rolling my eyes skyward. Then, because I am off my rocker completely, I knock one last time—only there is no window, and I connect with the stranger’s face, knocking his sunglasses askew.
I…I just hit a person!
“Oh shit!” I squeak out, retracting my hand and slapping it over my mouth.
I just got a divorce, my life is in shambles, I just hit a person, and now I’m probably going to jail for assault. Can my life get any worse right now?
The guy—who looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place him—works his jaw back and forth from the unexpected hit. He brings his large hand up, his long fingers caressing the spot where my palm connected with his face. His chest rises and then falls with a heavy sigh.
I hold my breath as he slowly—like at a glacial-pace slow—pulls his aviator sunglasses down and pierces me with the most dazzling green eyes I have ever seen. They’re so unique and beautiful that I audibly gasp.
Luckily, preventing even further embarrassment, my hand is still firmly over my mouth, so I doubt he hears it.
His gorgeous eyes that are the color of pine narrow, and even that’s not enough to get me to stop staring into them. They are so different than anything I’ve ever seen before. It’s not the color that makes them so unique. It’s the pain and secrets that are hiding within the swirls that make them stand out. This guy has been through things that have hardened him.
A sympathetic frown pulls at my lips because I can understand. I’ve been through things that have hardened me too.
“Are you fucking serious?”
And just like that, my sympathy is gone.
His tone is sharp and dark. And yeah, okay, he might have a reason to be pissed since I did just technically hit him, but still—he’s the asshole who came barreling into the parking lot when there’s a damn wedding rehearsal inside. Rude on its own, but especially rude since he doesn’t even belong here.
“I’m dead serious. Your shitty taste in music is loud and disruptive and you have no business being here.”
It’s not shitty taste in music. I love the song. Everyone loves the song that’s playing. It’s a crime to not love Queen, but I’m not about to admit that to the jerk.
He lifts a dark brow. “That so?”
“That’s so. This is a private event.”
“Private event, huh?”
“Yes, and—”
He scoffs…then hits the button to roll his window back up, effectively cutting me off.
My jaw slackens as I stare at the truck, watching him disappear again.
Who the hell does this guy think he is?
I’m about to bang on the damn thing again, but I don’t have the chance. The loud rumble of his vehicle abruptly dies, and he pushes the door open. I jump back so I don’t get whacked with it, though I guess it would be fair if I did get hit.
He slides out of the truck and towers over me. He’s so tall I literally have to tip my head back to look up at him. He reaches up and turns the baseball cap on his head backward, and I’m annoyed with myself for finding the action even remotely attractive, especially since this guy is a total tool.
Even though he’s wearing those damn aviator sunglasses again, I can feel his heated stare. I glare right back, crossing my arms over my chest, refusing to back down. I try not to think about how ridiculous I likely look right about now. I stand at least six inches shorter than him even though I’m wearing heels and am all dolled up in a tea-length dress for the rehearsal.
“This is a private event. What part of private are you not comprehending?”
I point back at the sign that clearly says the parking lot is closed, but he doesn’t seem to care.
No.
His lips twitch.
He’s amused, and that pisses me off even more.
He leans back against his dirty old truck and crosses his arms over his chest like he’s settling in and not planning to leave when he’s clearly not supposed to be here. “I guess all of it. Can you explain what the word private means?”
I scoff. “It means you’re not invited. You don’t belong here.”
He nods. “And how exactly do you know I don’t belong here? For all I know, it’s you who doesn’t belong here.”
I wave a hand down my outfit. “My attire says otherwise.”
“I see, and why is your attire so important?”
“Ha!” I point a finger at him. “If you belonged here, that wouldn’t even be a question. You’d know exactly why I’m dressed like—”
“Like you have a stick up your ass?”
For the second time since I met this man, I audibly gasp at his words.
A stick up my ass?
Thad used to get upset whenever I wore something too low-cut to one of the many client dinners we had to attend. I learned fast that I didn’t want to rock that boat and should cover up.
I never thought my wardrobe screamed stick up my ass though.
I narrow my eyes at him, choosing to ignore his jab. “You need to leave before I call security.”
I have no clue if this place has security, but he doesn’t know I don’t know.
He laughs, and it’s a low, deep sound. “Go ahead. Call them.”
I don’t like the confidence in his words. He sounds way too sure that there is nobody I can call.
“I will.”
“Good. I’ll wait.”
He sinks back against the truck even more, watching me.
Waiting.
And waiting.
“Well?” he asks, arching a brow. “Are you going to call?”
“I don’t have my phone.”
“That’s okay. You can use mine.”
He reaches into his back pocket and produces the latest iPhone, holds it my way. I stare down at it with surprise, the device the sheer opposite of what he’s driving. He doesn’t look like he should have the latest anything, not when his truck is literally being held together with—holy crap, are those zip ties around the mirror?
“Go ahead. Call.” He shakes his phone at me. When I don’t reach for the device, a slow grin pulls at his lips. “Oh, I see. You were never going to call. You were just trying to scare me off, huh?”
“No. I’ll call.”
He wiggles the phone again, and I don’t take it.
He lets out another low laugh, then slips the phone into his back pocket. His arms go back over his chest, and his stupid lips are pulled into a stupid grin. “Listen, darlin’, I—”
“I am not your darlin’. I’m not your anything.” I stalk toward him, lips curled at the unwanted nickname, and I don’t stop until I’m just a few feet away, my finger pointed firmly at him. He doesn’t look the least bit scared. In fact, he looks amused that he’s riled me up, and it pisses me off even more. “You’re trespassing at a private event, and I’m—”
He holds a hand up, stopping me. “Let me get this straight. You hit me, and you’re mad at me?”
“I didn’t hit you on purpose! And the only reason I hit you at all is that I was trying to get you to turn down your damn music because this is a private event and you’re—”
“Let me guess…I’m trespassing?” He shakes his head, then pushes off the truck, leaning down until we’re eye level. Our noses are nearly touching at this point, and I should be totally freaked out because this guy is a stranger. But I’m not. I’m too angry to be freaked out.
I also shouldn’t be noticing that his bottom lip is bigger than his top or how soft his lips look.
But I do.
Just for a second.
Then, he opens those lips, and all thoughts of anything other than anger fly out the window.
“Well, I have news for you, darlin’: I’m not trespassing. I—”
The doors of the venue swing open, pulling our attention.
“Oh my gosh! You’re here!” My little sister claps her hands, bouncing on her heels excitedly, the biggest smile on her face. I can’t help but grin back at her. Collin stands just behind her, hands in his pockets, watching her with a smile on his face as she zips down the stairs toward me.
Harper pulls me into a hug, and I squeeze her back, melting into her warmth. For a moment, I almost forget about everything that’s just happened and the jerk standing a few feet away from me.
She pulls back, looking me over. “You look…”
“Like a mess? I know.” I wipe at the mascara that’s pooled under my eyes. “Sorry. It’s kind of been an emotional morning.”
A sympathetic smile pulls at her lips, and I hate it. I don’t want her sympathy.
Especially not this weekend.
I wave a hand. “Enough about that. I’m so happy for you, Harper.”
Her sad smile turns radiant just like that.
“Thank you. I’m so happy for me too. And I’m so happy you two have already met,” she says, nodding toward the guy standing behind us.
“Glad you found it,” Collin says, clapping him on the shoulder and bringing me back to reality.
“Almost didn’t.” The guy smirks when he says it, and it’s like they’re in on some secret the rest of us don’t know.
“Why is it good we’ve met?” I ask, looking around at the three of them, not understanding how they all know one another.
“This is Collin’s teammate who you’ll be walking down the aisle with, duh. Now come on,” she says, looping her arm in mine and dragging me toward the building. “You guys are late and we have some practicing to do.”
This is my partner for the weekend?
This guy? The one I just punched in the face?
He’s a pro-hockey player?
I glance back at him, watching as he slowly ambles up the stairs behind us, that smug grin he can’t seem to wipe off firmly in place.
Fuck my life.
