WITH TWO CUPS OF COFFEE and a bag of Jolly Ranchers, I cross the airport, heading into the departure lounge. The symphony of rolling suitcases, conversations, and announcements thunders loud enough that I can’t hear my thoughts.
Loud enough to muffle the quiet doubts prickling my mind. I want B by my side, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not worried about my brothers’ reaction.
It took a few days to convince Blair she should come. A few long days of chats, sex, declarations, and promises. Maybe the best few days in my life thus far.
It was so freeing to hold her every night, wake up beside her, and come home to find her cooking.
Mundane. Normal. Boring. Fucking amazing.
We spent every minute after I came home from work together. Just the two of us every evening. Well, apart from Monday when I called Ana, asking her to come over, after I read her letter.
My step falters when I turn right toward the cozy couch Blair and I occupied minutes ago and find a different couple there, the guy holding a tumbler of whiskey, the girl scrolling through her socials.
A quick scan of the area tells me Blair’s not here. Maybe she went to the restroom, and the seat poachers swooped in.
“Are you Cody?” the guy in my seat asks.
“Yeah. Why?”
He retrieves a napkin from the pocket of his flannel shirt. “Blair left this for you.”
Dread shudders through me, throwing my hands into a shaking fit that nearly sends Blair’s mochaccino toppling off my black coffee. Quick reflexes save the day as I park everything on the nearest table, before taking the napkin from the man’s outstretched hand.
Even without looking, I know she bailed, but I unfold the napkin anyway, my heart pounding a drum solo. The airport logo is ingrained in the bottom left corner, and scrawled in the middle:
Cody,
Please don’t chase me. I can’t go through with this. We’re not meant to be. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and I don’t want to be the worst that happens to you. I should’ve never let this get so far. I’m sorry.
B.
My stomach drops as I read her words once, twice, and then again, each striking a more devastating blow. I fight the growing sense of panic… unsuccessfully. It’s overwhelming, singing in my ears, whooshing through my bloodstream. The sweat from my hands soaks the napkin, smudging the ink as it crumples, and I feel like I’m suffocating.
She’s breaking up with me? Through a fucking napkin?
The airport buzz becomes a dull throb, drowned out by my heart thundering in my chest.
A knot twists in my gut, nausea threatening to spill over.
Fuck, this is… love is cruel. I’ve experienced my fair share of pain but this is the worst kind. My hands shake so hard that Blair’s words blur together. My head is a cacophony of thoughts, all colliding and ricocheting, refusing to settle.
This must be how Vivienne feels whenever she’s off her meds. I remember how she visualized it one evening over beer—a huge intersection with traffic zooming in from all directions at different speeds, no traffic lights to control the mayhem.
I’m stuck in that traffic jam, thoughts honking and veering, no safe way across.
“We’re done,” I say under my breath, using Vee’s technique of speaking her thoughts aloud.
I should’ve chosen a different thought because, out loud, this one guts me like a fish.
Feeling the burning, curious gaze of the couple on the couch, I peel my eyes off the napkin. The woman stopped staring at her phone to watch me with accusing eyes.
“How long ago did she leave?” I ask.
“Not long, maybe ten minutes,” the man offers.
“She was shaken up,” the woman adds, in a judgmental screech. “She looked scared.”
Yeah, well, dumping your boyfriend via a note on a fucking napkin forty minutes before flying to his brother’s wedding will do that to a girl.
Ten minutes is long enough to leave the building and hail a cab. Instead of chasing her like she told me not to, I grab my phone, dialing her number.
No luck. I should’ve figured she’d switch it off. The voicemail message twists my stomach further.
With a new sense of determination, I stride toward the exit, ignoring our flight being announced. Screw the flight. I need to find Blair. I need to—
God, I can’t fucking breathe. It feels like she pushed an eleven-inch blade into my heart. If this is what Conor felt when Vee tried to leave him, then I owe him an apology for belittling how much this hurts.
I halt halfway across the building, gouging my fingers into the back of my neck. Blair played this smart. She knew I won’t skip Logan’s wedding. She knows I can’t chase after her.
By Monday, when I get back, she’ll probably have moved out from across the hall, long fucking gone.
My insides shake, the hurt morphing into seething anger because that’s easier to deal with. After everything we’ve been through, the bullshit we’ve had to work through to put our happiness first, she turns around and spits in my face.
Good, keep going. It’s working. Anger is easy.
Easier for sure. I reread her stupid note, focusing on certain lines that fuel my anger.
I should’ve never let this get so far.
No. It’s me who should’ve never let this get so far. So out of control. I shouldn’t have trusted a girl who dealt hate, abuse, and pain like playing cards her whole life. I shouldn’t have trusted she could do a one-eighty and stick in the new lane.
I make myself hate her again until the agonizing pain shredding my heart ebbs enough that I can pull down a breath without worrying my lungs will collapse.
The relief doesn’t last long, though, because I know I’m lying to myself.
Another announcement rings from the speakers. Passengers flying to San Francisco should make their way to the gate.
Awesome.
Not only has she dumped my ass, but she’s left me dateless for Logan’s wedding. I whip out my phone, blinded by my corkscrewing emotions. With stiff fingers, I dial the number and press the phone to my ear.
“How quickly can you get to the airport?”
***
I’m calmer once the plane takes off. Only a bit, though. The pain is there, throbbing like a raw wound. My chest feels hollow. I’m pretty sure Blair ripped my heart out and took it with her.
During the flight, I have time to decode her note, hunting for the reason she chose to leave today.
It doesn’t take long before a disturbing idea pops into my head… something triggered her decision.
It makes sense because she was perfectly happy this morning. All pretty smiles, kisses, and a few breathless orgasms. After worrying for days, she was finally looking forward to the wedding, though obsessing over my brothers’ reaction.
It was cute how nervous she was, rethinking her dress choice twenty times over, keen to make a good impression.
This morning, she woke up happy, saying she’d follow my lead, and believed what I told her: they’ll accept this faster than you think.
I’m not naïve enough to have thought they wouldn’t react. I expected explosive emotions, yelling, probably a right hook from Nico, but I know my family. I know my brothers.
We’ve been through enough over the years. There are seven of us, so life’s never boring, but regardless of what happens, we stick together when it matters. Always loyal, trusting the process, and giving each other the benefit of the doubt.
I knew they’d come around once they realized how much Blair meant to me—how much she still means to me. It would have taken a while, but it would happen.
I pep-talked myself all week to the point where I was actually buzzed about seeing their faces when I’d arrive with Blair on my arm.
That’s why I didn’t tell them who I’m bringing.
Was bringing…
There is nothing you can do that would make us turn our backs on you.
Nico’s words casually popped into my head ten times a day, making the prospect of showing off my girl less daunting.
They won’t turn on me.
Wouldn’t turn on me if B was still mine.
I’d been expecting surprised looks, annoyance laced with confusion and angry curiosity. They’d find the first opportunity for us all to sit alone. With two bottles of vodka and enough answers, they’d stop growling. And then… they’d either forgive and accept or take time out to mull it over.
What’s most bizarre is that Mia’s reaction worried me least. Again, I had time to imagine every possible scenario, but not one I could conjure ended with anything other than her smile. She loves me. Probably more than my brothers do.
She wants to see me happy. I know she does, so I also know she’d talk through the past with Blair.
Circling back to the point, despite Blair’s initial worries, she was genuinely excited about the wedding and meeting my family. We had sex right before we left for the airport. She told me she loves me more than once today, and nothing else she’s said or done triggered my suspicions.
Nothing hinted something might be wrong.
She’s a good actress, but I don’t think she was playing me. Something happened while I was getting coffee. Whether a realization hit her or something else entirely, her decision was abrupt.
Too fucking abrupt, and now I regret not running after her. I should have. If I’d caught her outside the airport, maybe she’d be the one sitting beside me.
But I wasn’t thinking straight. It didn’t even cross my mind to catch a later flight, or even drive to the venue.
I wish I could skip tonight’s rehearsal dinner and follow Blair to demand an explanation. Help her deal with whatever’s happening.
I can’t because Conor will drop on one knee after dinner, and thanks to catching a later flight, I’m not sure we’ll make it before he asks Vivienne the question.
It was only when my stand-in date turned up, after I waited over an hour and a half at the airport, that she suggested we catch the next flight and I realized it was an option. By then, it was too late to go after Blair. I’d be risking not making the rehearsal dinner at all.
We’re already set to miss most of it as we’re running three hours behind.
Selfishly, I hope Colt tells Conor I’m running late, and he’ll hold off until I get there because I don’t want to miss the moment. Four of my brothers are already engaged or married. I haven’t witnessed any of them pop the question. I doubt I’ll get to see Colt propose, so this is my only chance to share this with one of my brothers.
***
The flight really did me good.
I organized my thoughts and decided that I won’t let Blair go no matter what. Not without an explanation. Even if she says she doesn’t love me and, by some chance, it’s true, I want to understand what drove her away.
I hurry outside, spurred on by the ticking clock and a spike of adrenaline. We’re so fucking late, and it’s an hour’s drive to Yountville Estate.
I load mine and Blair’s luggage into the trunk first, then help my date with hers. Holding the door open for her, I shake the stiffness off my limbs, ignoring the guilt prickling my skin. I organized a replacement plus one without considering why Blair left.
Now, it feels like I’m cheating on her.
Too little too late for a change of heart now, I guess.
With a bit of luck that seems to elude me today, I’ll rent another room. If not I’ll crash on the floor, or with Rose and her new boyfriend. A little supervision won’t hurt her.
The drive to the venue is painfully quiet, my mind spinning, fixated on where Blair is right now, why her phone is switched off, and whether she’s safe.
But the incessant whirlwind is forced aside by a race against the clock when we arrive at the hotel. Once the receptionist checks us in—informing me that they’re fully booked—we rush upstairs to change.
Throwing my suit jacket on, I remember the day Blair helped me pick my outfits for the wedding. Looking back, that was when I started falling in love with her. It took all I had not to grip her waist, pull her to me, and kiss her in that small changing room.
The yellow skater dress Blair wanted to wear tonight hangs from the closet door along with the deep blue one she chose for tomorrow. I took them out of her suitcase, so they won’t crease, in case, by some miracle, she changes her mind and shows up.
Not even ten minutes after arriving, we’re downstairs, and—thank God—we made it in time.
Conor’s rising from his chair, and Mia’s halfway across the room, heading toward a piano.
As we stop in the ballroom doorway, all eyes turn to us. My brothers’ faces a mix of confusion, annoyance, and surprise… more or less what I expected if Blair was on my arm.
But it’s not my girl.
It’s Ana.
