Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

MACY

M y mind keeps wandering to the look on Spencer's face, and I forget I'm brushing my teeth.

Did I brush the back left side yet? Better do it again just to be sure.

He was mad. He was so mad when Wood closed the door on him after saying we'd try to keep it down.

Wood was implying we were going to have sex, right? Yes, of course that was the implication, Macy.

I wasn't trying to make Spencer mad and or jealous by bringing Wood here. I just didn't want to be the sad girl who just got dumped.

But did it feel good being on the arm of the hottest guy here tonight? Yes. And did it feel good watching Spencer's jaw drop? Also yes.

Oh gosh darn it, I'm supposed to be brushing.

Leaving the bathroom, hair up, Garfield shirt on, teeth thoroughly brushed, I find Wood knelt on the floor again, laying out an extra blanket. It's déjà vu from last night.

"You don't have to do that."

He looks up at me. "Huh?"

"Sleep on the floor. You don't have to do that. We can share the bed."

It's no big deal. Yet my heart is suddenly pounding.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." I swallow. "We're adults. It's not a big deal. I'm not going to let you sleep on the floor all week."

And now my face is hot. I turn away, not wanting to make any more eye contact as I step past him to get into the other side of the bed.

"I—" He stands and runs his hand through his hair. "Okay."

He's wearing a thin white T-shirt and red athletic shorts that hang loosely off his hips and stop staring at his crotch, Macy! Sweet baby Jesus.

I avert my eyes and sink under the covers. Laying my head on the pillow, I force my eyes closed as the sound of Wood sliding between the sheets clouds all thought. It's deafening.

Then the mattress dips under his weight. I can smell his cologne or bodywash or hair product or whatever the heck it is that makes him smell so good. I can feel his body heat. Hear him breathing. Hear the rustling of the sheets.

My pulse is racing, and it doesn't make any sense. Probably because Spencer is the only person I've shared a bed with in the last six years—or, ever, actually.

That's probably why. Definitely.

"Are you okay?" he whispers in the dark.

Can he hear my heart pounding? "Yes? I mean, why wouldn't I be?" Oh my goodness what if he can?

"Just—what Spencer said to you was pretty fucked up. Sorry, I shouldn't have left you to get cornered by him. It won't happen again."

Oh, right. That. That makes way more sense. "I'm okay."

"Good," he sighs.

And for some reason I want to reach out to him. I liked his arm around me tonight. The way he would squeeze my hip, right when I needed some reassurance. I liked it way more than I should.

"Wood, thank you for this. For coming here with me."

Nothing.

His breathing is soft and slow. Rhythmic.

Oh, to be a man who can shut off his brain and fall asleep in seconds. No, I'm awake another hour, reliving every conversation from the evening. Every stare. Every sideways glance. At me. At Wood. Every syllable Spencer practically spat in my face.

If Wood hadn't come when he did… I don't know. I wipe the tears away from my cheeks and turn over. Determined to stop thinking and go to sleep. Determined that these will be the last tears I ever shed over Spencer freaking Hayes.

When I do sleep, I dream of warm hands on my hips. Legs entangled in mine. Sweet breath on my neck.

Still in a dreamy fog, I roll over, away from the hazy morning sun, and reach for the other side of the bed. I startle myself awake realizing who I'm sharing a bed with—but Wood's not here. The bed is empty, his side cold, as if he hasn't been there for hours.

Fudge! Did I oversleep?

I glance at the little bedside clock, but it's only barely past eight. I have plenty of time before the dress fitting.

The latch on the doorknob clicks, and Wood walks in the room quietly in the same white shirt he wore to bed and gray sweatpants, a slim black laptop under his arm.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" he whispers.

I shake my head, narrowing in on the computer. "Where were you?"

"Oh this." He lifts his laptop and shrugs, giving me a lopsided smile.

Crouching, he gets a case out of his bag and puts it away. "Working. Monday morning meetings are sort of non-negotiable. Most of my clients are on the east coast, so they start around five and go to seven or eight. But I'm done for the day and mostly for the week now. Didn't want to wake you so I found a room downstairs. Walter brought me tea."

"I didn't—I mean, what do you do for work?" This is the first I'm hearing of a job. Clients? Wood has clients ?

He shrugs again. "I designed some security software just before I graduated college, and several big companies were interested in using it. And, yeah, my dad does have connections at many of those companies, I'm well aware. After about a year, I got an offer from a competitor wanting to buy the rights to it. Honestly, I'm not super into the corporate thing and the price was right, so I sold it. It was enough for me to invest and buy my apartment in Seattle."

He stands, stretching, a sliver of tanned and toned stomach peeking out from under his shirt, before he sits at the end of the bed.

"I do some freelance security consulting for a few companies now. I charge a high fee, and they pay it. It's more than enough to live off of, and I usually only work five to ten hours a week unless something bigger is happening, like a merger or something. I'm pretty happy with it. Why, did you think I just lived off a trust fund or something?"

"No," I say, too quickly.

He smiles, waiting.

"Sorta," I admit.

Wood laughs, and why does he even laugh handsomely? It's weird. And unfair.

"Well, I don't," he says. "Okay—I do have a trust fund, but I can't access it until I'm thirty-five, I think. And I figure by then, I'll have a wife and maybe even kids and I'll want to use that for college funds and buying that dream house out in the suburbs, you know?"

"You think about getting married and having kids?"

"Of course. Don't a lot of people?"

He doesn't even have a girlfriend, and he's thinking about a wife. Meanwhile, Spencer thought I was rushing after six years together if I even brought up the M word.

That little hollow pit in my stomach I've been nursing since the breakup starts to bleed again.

"Some men don't," I say quietly.

Wood isn't smiling anymore. A look passes between us. His eyes are a bright blue in the direct morning light, and they're looking right through me. But not past me—it's like he's looking inside, precisely at that bleeding wound.

He knows. Maybe everyone does.

After a second he quirks up his lopsided grin again. "Maybe it's because I'm an only child," he says. "I've always wanted kids—two, three, five—as many as my wife wants, honestly, but at least two."

"Why did your parents only have one? Do you know?"

He smiles with lots of teeth. "Guess they knew to stop when they created perfection—me."

"Ah, right." I nod and smile along.

He sits up and scoots in a little closer. "That's what I tell people sometimes, but do you want to know the truth?"

I lean in.

"My mom wanted more kids, badly. She almost died having me, and the doctors told her she shouldn't try to carry any more. She probably would have disobeyed but my dad wouldn't have it. He loves her too much. They tried IVF with a surrogate, but after three failed attempts, they decided it wasn't meant to be and moved on the best they could."

"Good thing they already achieved perfection, then," I say, trying to lighten the mood.

"What about you? I never really hear you talk about your family. I think you've mentioned an older brother?"

"Yeah, I have an older brother and sister. They're twelve and fourteen years older than me. I was the ‘oopsie' baby. They're both married with kids—he lives in Colorado and she's in Arizona. My parents are divorced and both retired and remarried to new people. They seem happy. My mom's in Arizona and my dad's in Florida living out retired life. And I came here for school and stayed here because of my job and friends and?—"

I don't want to finish that sentence.

"And Spencer?" Wood says quietly.

"Yeah." And Spencer. I look down at my hands twisted in my lap. I hate how silly that makes me sound.

Wood reaches over and gives my shoulder a squeeze. "I would have done the same," he whispers. His hand is warm as it lingers there. Big and strong and I instantly don't feel as alone, and I wouldn't mind one of those hugs he seems to give to everyone right about now.

But he gets up from the bed instead and grabs a fresh towel, then heads into the bathroom.

I flop back on my pillow, willing the sun to stop rising so I don't have to go back out there and face any of those people again. Then my stomach growls.

Right. I've got to check and inject and eat and blah blah blah, I'm a slave to my body's basic functions because it can't do it on its own and I'll die otherwise. It's cool.

I fling myself out of bed, ignoring a bit of light-headedness, and grab a banana from the fruit basket. The basket looks fuller than it did yesterday. Hm.

My insulin and stuff is in the bathroom, which is currently occupied by a naked and showering Wood. So I shuffle over to the dresser to get some clothes, mouth stuffed with half a banana, the other half in my hand.

On the dresser, next to the framed itinerary, is now a framed menu for the day—what's available for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert, even a list at the bottom of snack options.

When did that get here? Guess they left it when they brought in extra linens and things during dinner last night?

I'm feeling better after scarfing down that banana…and then Wood walks out in just a towel wrapped around his hips. Blond hair wet, skin all tan and smooth over ripple-y ab muscles and that v-shaped cut over his hip bones that points down directly to his?—

"Mace. Macy! Hello!" Bex waves a hand in front of my face, and I snap out of it.

No, I was not still thinking about Wood in that towel. I wasn't. I was totally thinking about how the chiffon ruffles on my bridesmaid dress really… accentuate my figure and that this shade of peach totally doesn't clash with my red hair. At all.

"Oh. Hi. Sorry." I look at her in the mirror over my shoulder.

"You okay?"

"Yep." I wish people would stop asking me that. I'm completely, one hundred percent fine.

"So—" Bex smiles big. "What do you think?"

I turn around. She's in her gown, and I quickly step off the platform surrounded by mirrors so she can step up to be admired.

Livvy and Margot immediately hop up in their matching peach dresses and gush over how beautiful she is as I step back. She is beautiful. And the dress is gorgeous. She'd sent me a picture, but this is the first time I've seen her in it. Livvy and Margot look beautiful, too. The peach complements their complexions.

Especially Margot. Her skin looks tanner, her blonde hair glowing, her blue eyes brighter. She and Wood would look good together. They'd make more sense. I don't know why that thought popped into my head or why it bothers me so much.

"You look breathtaking, Bex," I say.

She beams. Truly, she's glowing in the white, ethereal lace. I told myself I wouldn't cry anymore unless they were happy tears. I wouldn't get upset that I'm not the one in a white dress. But I wipe a single tear from my cheek, not sure if it's for her or for me.

The wedding coordinator, a woman who looks like she could snap me in half, comes in with her headset and clipboard, two smaller women with headsets trailing behind. She silently assesses the room and writes something down, whispers something to Jake's mother, then leaves.

The seamstress gets to work, kneeling and pinning the hem of Bex's dress to the perfect length.

"It is lovely, Rebecca," Bex's mom says as she walks around the platform in her buttoned up cardigan, her little gold cross necklace resting over her heart. She looks Bex up and down, her mouth downturned just at the corners. "I do wish, though, that you had chosen something that didn't show quite so much skin. Maybe a little sleeve. You know, to cover that." Mrs. Bishop gestures toward the tattoo on Bex's shoulder. "What do you think?" She gets the attention of the seamstress. "Is there time to add a little something to it? A little lace cap sleeve or something?"

"No, Mother, I like my dress like it is," Bex says through gritted teeth.

"Of course you do, dear." Mrs. Bishop waves her hand. "You always did whatever you wanted to, anyway. I'm going to go have a rest before lunch."

She leaves along with Margot and Livvy to change out of their dresses while the seamstress starts marking where the dress needs to be taken in around the waist.

"You've lost weight," the seamstress says matter-of-factly with a click of her tongue.

Bex grimaces. "Pre-wedding jitters. Sorry."

The woman goes back to her task, shaking her head.

"How is it going with your mom here?" I whisper to Bex.

Bex rolls her eyes. "Wonderfully. Can't you tell?"

I top her mimosa glass with some more champagne and hand it to her.

"Oh my fucking god, thank you." She takes a big gulp. "You know Beverly. She's hardly talked to me since I moved out because she doesn't agree with my lifestyle "—Bex says the word lifestyle in air quotes—"but now that I'm marrying into a wealthy family of doctors, lawyers, and politicians, she suddenly wants to be a part of everything. They're all pricks, if you ask me. Jake is the only decent one in the bunch."

I smile and nod, but I feel my ears getting hot.

Bex's eyes go wide. "Oh, no offense…about Spencer. But I mean, he's a complete douchebag, and no one can disagree with me. Exhibit A, he broke up with you. What kind of asshat wouldn't want to be with you forever? Douchebag. Anyway, you totally upgraded." She leans in and lowers her voice. "I bet Wood's way better in bed. Like…" She gives me a mischievous smirk. "How is it?"

My cheeks heat. "It's new."

"So, you guys haven't…?"

"Of course we have. I'm not a puritan. I just don't want to talk about it...right now."

"Okay, fine."

I take Bex's empty mimosa glass and fill it with only champagne this time.

"And that's why you're my maid of honor," she says as she takes it. "But you've got to spill the details soon, okay? I need to know everything. From the beginning."

"Soon," I say.

"You wouldn't want to come to lunch with me and run interference between Saundra and Beverly, would you?"

I'm not sure which mother is worse. She can read my expression before I even answer.

"Didn't think so," she says with a laugh. "It's okay. I'll see you at the docks at two."

This wedding is going to kill me.

The sun. It's playing the long game, but the sun is definitely trying to kill me. I've been on the dock for thirty seconds, and already my bare shoulders are hot and turning pink. I don't tan. I am either white or lobster, nothing in between, unless you count the freckles. Freckles which multiply every summer, worse than the year before. A plague of freckles.

Even in my thinnest sundress and my big hat for shade, the August sun has sweat dripping down my back. I might be an actual lobster by the end of the day. Roasted by the sun, basted in my own sweat. Delightful.

"You look so pretty!"

I turn to see Margot walking down the steps to the dock in a neon yellow bikini top and cutoff jean shorts with rhinestones that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.

Okay, I might have been overdramatic about the sun. The Hayes family, collectively, will be the death of me.

"Thanks," I say. "So do you." And she does. I could never pull that outfit off.

She comes up to me, eyes shifting around. "Is your new boyfriend around?"

A knot twists in my gut. A little angry one. "He'll be here any minute. He just had to run back up to our room to get something," I say, holding my smile as best as I can.

She steps closer and looks up at me, pushing her bottom lip out. "I always thought of you as a sister—always thought you would be my sister—so I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but are you sure? I mean, about you and Spencer? You two are just perfect for each other. Are you sure you won't give him another chance?"

I'm not sure what to say. I can't tell if my face is burning from her questions or the heat.

"I'm pretty sure he's the one who broke up with me."

"That's not how he made it sound when I spoke to him last night."

I'm not sure how to respond. Luckily, I'm saved by the sound of footsteps hitting the wooden dock. It rocks gently as Wood, Noah, and Livvy join us.

The sun glows off Wood's golden skin. He's dressed in pale blue shorts and a loose white button-down shirt, the top few buttons left open, sleeves rolled up past his elbows in an effortless kind of way. I'm reminded again that he fits in perfectly here. Looks like he belongs. He's one of the rich and beautiful. Like Margot.

And I am not.

Noah is behind him in his usual black jeans and a black T-shirt, Livvy hanging on his arm in a cute pink romper.

But then Wood grins at me, his white teeth bright in the sunlight. Instantly, my shoulders relax and it's like I can breathe again. I step around Margot, beaming at Wood. "I'm so glad you're back." And I really am.

Wood tilts his head, grinning, his eyes searching mine. He glances over my shoulder toward Margot and takes my hand, giving it two quick squeezes. I squeeze it back just once.

"Sorry to leave you alone so long, love." He comes around me and whispers in my ear, "Say the word, or give me the signal, and we can go right back to the room. I'll take the blame."

I shake my head. "I'm okay."

His gaze lingers on my face. "Okay. Oh—" He takes out my travel bottle of sunscreen. "Here you go. It was just where you said it was." Wood looks at my pink shoulders. "Do you need some help putting it on?"

"No." I squeeze some out into my hands and start rubbing it over my shoulders and arms.

"Could you help me with mine?" Margot asks, smiling at Wood.

"On second thought," I say, turning, "I could use your help getting my back."

"Sorry, girl, my hands are taken." Wood squirts some sunscreen out into his palm then tosses the bottle to Margot. "But here you go."

She catches it, a pretty little scowl on her face.

Wood's fingertips brush along the back of my neck as he sweeps my hair out of the way. The sunscreen is cold against my skin but then he's rubbing it in and all I can focus on is his hands—warm and big and smooth. His strong fingers work the lotion in over my shoulder blades and down my back to the top of my dress.

Too soon, he's done. Hands gone.

"Hey," Livvy says, walking up to me. A breeze plays with strands of her light brown hair, sweeping them across her face, over the spattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks. She has the cute kind of freckles.

I give her a hug, but she barely hugs me back and when I pull away, she's twisting her hands together into a knot.

"Are you okay?"

She looks past me to the water. "Um, yeah. It's just…"

She doesn't have to say anything. I know she's thinking about the accident at Wood's lake house this summer.

"Woo!" Bex yells over the water, and we all turn to see her in her red bikini on the stern of a huge sailboat headed toward us.

Spencer is at the wheel, and Jake is sitting on the edge, getting ready to toss the boat fenders over the side as they approach the dock.

"Let's go, bitches!" Bex holds up a bottle of champagne in each hand, her sunglasses sliding down her nose.

"Oh, we're just in time!"

I glance back at the unfamiliar male voice. Jake's two other groomsmen are coming up the dock in matching short shorts and collared shirts, except one is pale pink and one is lavender.

"Sorry!" the one in pink says. "This one locked us out of our room."

"You were distracting me by being so cute."

"Can't help it," the one in pink beams, batting his lashes. He pauses, looking at me. "Oh my goodness, I'm so rude. We haven't had a chance to meet yet. I'm Zayne."

"And I'm Dane," says the one in purple.

"Zayne and Dane. I know, we're adorable," says Zayne.

"Macy." I shake his hand. "I'm Bex's maid of honor."

"Oh, of course I know who you are, honey."

Dane shakes my hand next. "I love your hair. I'd die to be a natural ginger."

"Thanks. And this is my date, um, boyfriend, Wood."

"Oh!" Zayne looks Wood up and down while shaking his hand longer than necessary. He side-eyes me. "Oh, girl. Love that for you."

"Who wants champagne?" Bex yells.

"Me!" Dane and Zayne shout simultaneously, raising their hands, then run over to the boat.

Margot's already on, champagne glass in hand, chatting with Spencer. I can't help but see her glancing toward Wood every few minutes.

Bex overflows each little plastic champagne flute, handing them to everyone as they get on the boat.

Spencer glares at the splattered champagne on the boat deck.

But as Noah holds Livvy's hand to help her step on and Bex goes to hand Livvy her drink, Livvy freezes. "I don't think I can do this."

"Really?" Bex's already pouty lips go poutier.

"Yeah, I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay, I understand. I'm sorry." Bex steps onto the dock, spilling more champagne, Jake watching, holding the rope steady so the boat doesn't rock. Bex gives Livvy a hug and tells her she'll see them at dinner.

Wood leans down and whispers in my ear, "This is our last chance. I'll make something up and we can turn around now."

Noah is comforting Livvy as they come up the dock, and I notice Bex's slumped shoulders as she watches them, holding an almost empty champagne glass.

This is Bex's week. Bex's wedding. I'm her maid of honor, and I'm going to be here for her, ex-boyfriend and nausea be damned.

"No, I'm okay. Let's go."

Wood touches my lower back and claps Noah on the shoulder as they pass, then leads me to the sailboat. He hops on first then holds my hand as I step off the dock. His other hand grazes my waist to keep me steady.

Bex has perked back up and hands me some champagne. I take it.

That's probably a mistake, but what the heck.

The first fifteen minutes are good. Great, even.

The next half hour is slow torture.

I listen and nod as Bex talks about the mix-up with the florist and how they can't actually get peonies in time for the ceremony because they have to be shipped from Brazil or something and there was a storm or a boat got stuck in a storm or—I'm not sure. My head hurts.

I'm dizzy, and my stomach feels like it's churning with each wave. I want to lie down but I think that would make things worse. Even blinking too long makes me feel like I'm going to fall over.

My glass was empty, but Bex keeps refilling it. The champagne really was a bad idea.

Thankfully, she gets distracted by Zayne and Dane at the stern of the boat asking her to take a video of them reenacting the scene from Titanic for a video they're going to post. She's all over it.

Wood steps closer. He's been hovering around, chatting with everyone and enjoying the view of the water, but never going out of sight. I appreciate it, but right now, I feel like I need to lean over the edge of the boat and vomit.

He touches my arm, "You don't look great. What's wrong?"

I recoil at the contact. "I'm fine. Go socialize. I just kind of want to be alone."

"Are you sure?"

Bile rises in my throat. "Yes! Please, I don't need you right now. Leave me alone."

Wood flinches. I didn't mean to snap at him. But I did. I'm also about to puke and I really, really don't want anyone to witness that.

Especially him.

"Okay." He holds his hands up and backs away from me, like he's protecting himself in case I explode again.

He gives me the smallest lopsided grin before he looks down and turns away. I didn't think I could feel any worse. I was wrong.

I instantly want to tell him to come back, but now saliva is filling my mouth and I'm definitely going to throw up.

We've been on a loop and are now heading back toward the house. Maybe I can make it.

Please don't throw up. Please don't throw up. Please just don't let me puke on this boat.

When I glance back over to Wood, he's been cornered by Margot. Spencer is at the cockpit area nearby and I'd save Wood from them, but I don't think I can move.

Please, please, please just let me make it to a bathroom to vomit. Preferably behind a locked door.

Wind whips over the water as the house comes into sight. I think I might make it.

Nope. Not going to make it.

I lean over the side of boat and, holding on for dear life, vomit over the edge into the water.

Thankfully, when I stand back up, wiping my mouth, it seems no one heard or saw me.

Wood and Spencer are talking about something but I can't hear them. I move a little closer, keeping my hand on the rail.

Spencer raises his voice. "I should have been the row team captain instead of you, and you know it."

"Why is that?" Wood asks, unfazed.

"It wasn't based on merit. It was a popularity contest."

"So you admit nobody liked you."

Spencer shoots Wood a death glare, the muscles in his jaw popping.

Wood's expression is relaxed as he finishes his champagne.

Fortunately, as we come up to the dock, Spencer has to redirect his attention to getting the boat lined up, and then Jake and Margot help get it tied off.

Wood approaches me cautiously. "Can I help you off the boat?"

I nod, too afraid to open my mouth.

"Are you going to tell me what's up?"

I shake my head.

He sighs and takes my hand, steadying me as I step onto the dock. Stepping from the gentle rocking of the boat to the solid dock makes the sickening feeling in my stomach come back with a fury. I'm spinning and I stumble forward.

Spencer grabs my shoulders and rights me. "I forgot you get seasick." He says it in a way that makes it sound silly. Like it's my choice. Like it's another one of my faults.

Wood scoops his arm around me, shuttering me away from Spencer. "Fuck, I didn't know you got seasick. We should have skipped this."

I still can't talk.

Spencer scoffs.

Bex and Jake are way ahead of us. Zayne and Dane are behind us, taking pictures at the end of the dock, living their best lives. And Margot is hovering just ahead of Spencer as we walk down the dock toward land. Sweet, sweet, non-moving land.

Spencer's gaze keeps latching onto Wood's arm around me. "Admit I was the better choice, Woodall. I'm a leader. And a better rower."

Wood lets out a hard chuckle.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Spencer snaps.

"Take it however you want."

My stomach churns audibly.

"I could beat you in a race right here, right now." Spencer gestures to the canoes tied to the dock on the far side of the property.

Wood tilts his head. "I'm not going to race you, bro."

"Chickening out because you know you'll lose?"

"I do not give a flying fuck. Can't you see Macy isn't feeling well?"

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Please. Now you're just making excuses."

I'm too hot. I'm sweating. My stomach tightens and lurches as I dry heave. I just need the ground to stop moving for, like, two minutes. Please don't let me puke again. Not in front of everyone.

"Holy shit, Mace. Are you going to be sick?"

As soon as we reach the grass I drop to all fours and the remainder of what's left in my stomach and half a bottle of expensive champagne spew out across the Hayes's manicured lawn.