27. Hunter

Lottie sat at her desk, hunched over her computer and a pad of paper, fervently scribbling down something.

"You shouldn't be here," I said.

She didn't answer.

The tension was thick enough to slice with a knife. Our wedding was scheduled for tomorrow, for fucks sake, and her father was living out his final days in a hospital bed at home in front of an old television. She shouldn't be at work. She should be with him while I took care of the last-minute prep for our sham of a goddamn wedding.

"Lottie," I barked.

"I'm not leaving," she snapped, not bothering to look up from her work. The brick wall was back. My key was gone.

"You really want to be at work the day before our wedding?"

"It's keeping me sane. And I need to work for that forty-nine percent, don't I?"

Her little jab was enough to knock me backward. I'd once again completely forgotten about that part of the deal, forgotten how I needed to fix that. There was a lot that needed fixing between us, to be fair.

"Leave me alone, Harris," she mumbled.

Harris. When had she ever referred to me by my last name? I couldn't think of one single time. All this fucking animosity from her, from abandoning me in the woods and leaving me to my own devices all because I took longer than she deemed necessary to answer her question.

If she'd just given me a moment to process.

"Fine," I spat, wrapping my fingers around the door handle and twisting. "If this is how you want things to go the day before I marry you, be my guest. Just don't expect me to be all smiles tomorrow."

"I don't think either of us will be all smiles tomorrow, Hunter," she said, finally lifting her gaze to meet mine. There wasn't a hint of emotion behind her voice or in her eyes.

————

The entire drive over to the private club was filled with doubts about tomorrow, about my relationship with Lottie, and about every choice I'd made in my life up until now. Part of me wanted to call off the wedding and save her from the torment of having to marry me. But the other part wanted to fix it, wanted to give it a real go, and I was kicking myself for not speaking up when I should have.

My father and brother were already there when I turned into the parking lot. It was a bachelor party of sorts, on a higher-class level than the standard. Instead of strippers there would be whiskey and cigars, and we'd talk about how unfair life was at the top of the ladder.

I wasn't looking forward to it. If anything, I wished I was with Lottie instead. I'd take her anger over this any day.

One drink in and my father had already begun to boast about Mom's boob job.

Two drinks in and Fred found it necessary to give me marriage advice. Never go to bed angry, he said. Sure hadn't heard that one before.

Three drinks in and Wade Colchester showed up, along with his friend, Jackson Big. I'd gotten to know Jackson a bit over the last year or so, and being so close to Wade and his wife, Ray, had meant we were friends by proxy.

Four drinks in and Wade and Jackson started talking about their wives.

"I'm pretty sure Ray wanted to slit my throat the first time I met her," Wade laughed, taking a swig of his third glass of whiskey. I'd heard the story a thousand times before, but my dad and Fred were more than intrigued, so I let him tell it. "She skied straight into me on the slopes at my resort. Screamed at me, made a scene. Then I ended up interviewing her the next day. She got the job."

Fred cackled. "She didn't know who you were?"

"Nope," Wade said, popping the P. "You should have seen the look on her face."

It was less funny when you added in all the little details like how she totaled her car in front of the Harris ranch and had to be taken to the emergency room.

"Jackson?" My dad asked.

He nodded. "I met Mandy in college," he said. "One thing led to another, I got whisked away on business, and she hated my guts for ten years before we found each other again."

"Don't you think it's weird that both of your wives hated you at one point?" Fred laughed.

"I think it would be weirder if they didn't," Dad said, clinking his glass against everyone else's. At least Lottie and I have that going for us.

The door opened on the other side of the bar. I didn't think much of it—to get in one needed to have a membership, earn a certain amount of money, and hold status within the community. But it also meant no press, no outsiders, and no onlookers.

My blood went ice cold when I saw who it was that entered. Tall, thin frame and dark, greasy hair that framed his face in little curls. The barely-there bits of stubble were like patchwork on his cheeks, and I wondered if he'd actually been taking care of himself lately, or if he'd been too hung up on destroying our business to worry about that.

Jared fucking Keelings.

I pushed myself up from my chair, and within a second, the wave of alcohol rushed over me. Fuck. What am I at, five drinks now?

Fred followed my gaze, his brows knitting together, and before I knew it he was on his feet too. "Get the fuck out of here, Keelings," Fred snapped, his body swaying as he pointed to the door.

Jared, almost as tall as me but snaky and spindly like a fucking salamander, laughed. "Am I interrupting?"

"This is a private affair," Dad boomed. He'd always been able to hold his alcohol much better than me, and I was thankful for that by the way he glared stoically at Jared, not a hint of intoxication to him.

"I heard Hunter was getting married tomorrow. I just wanted to give my congratulations," Jared smirked. "Apologies if I'm crashing the party."

His shoes clicked against the polished floor as he stepped up toward me. "You know damn well that's not why you're here," I scoffed. If I hadn't drank so much, if I was half of my usual self, I'd have punched him square in the jaw for daring to show his face. But I had enough cognitive power to know that I'd likely miss and bloody my knuckles the day before I was meant to marry who should have been the love of my life.

What if she is? She'd probably also chew me out for looking less than perfect. Don't fucking think about that right now.

"Aw, Hunter." Jared stuck his lower lip out as he stuffed his fists into his jacket pockets. "Unfortunately I don't swing that way, so I'm not here to talk you out of it. Though the image of you and I riding into the sunset on horseback would be a sight to see."

"Get out," my father snapped, the deepness of his voice bouncing off of every possible surface. It was the tone he'd use on me and Fred as kids, one that always made me shrink into myself. But Jared just stared him down. "I swear to God, Keelings?—"

Jared's hands lifted, his palms facing outward. "I'll go, I'll go. No need to get angry."

Glass shattered somewhere in the back of the bar, and as if it had been thrown at him instead, Jared retreated like a fucking coward out the door, nearly falling into the security guard in the process.