Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

Amelia

My first day is over and it didn't kill me. I only saw Van once, managed to successfully dodge Parker and Summer's questions about why things were so weird when I did see him, and I only cried in a back stairwell one time.

Okay, so I went to the stairwell twice, but the second time, I only breathed through it. No tears.

Now, I'm waiting in my tiny cubicle for the sounds of the building to quiet.

"You've got this," I tell myself, looking at the empty desk. I really need to find some personal items. Because right now, it's the perfect metaphor for my life. Stark. Barren. Empty.

With a wry smile, I add, "Melodramatic."

"Who's dramatic?"

I jump at the sound of Parker's voice. She appears behind me, grinning.

"Oh." I laugh nervously, glancing around. "I thought everyone already left."

I hoped everyone left. I stayed late, declining a dinner invite with Dad so I could be sure to avoid running into Van again. In the hallway. Or the parking lot. Or anywhere else he might be in the building. I swear, I walked around today like I was being followed by a ghost. That's for sure how it felt.

The ghost of mistakes past.

But was the bigger mistake marrying Van on our last night in Florida? Or was it leaving without talking to him about why my dad texted him Thanks for babysitting ?

Maybe both. In equal parts.

"You're coming out with us," Parker says, and I'm shaking my head even as she starts dragging me out of my chair. "No excuses. Sorry. You're all out of them. They're like vacation days, and you have to earn them. It's your first day, so you've got none." Parker's smile is wicked.

Or at least, it feels wicked to me. I'm sure Parker doesn't have a bad bone in her body.

"Who's the us ?" I ask, hoping and also not hoping to hear Van's name. If he'll be there, I'll fight my way out of this.

I'm pretty sure I could take Parker in a physical fight.

"Me and Summer and Gracie and Bailey."

"Have I met Gracie and Bailey?" I ask, grabbing my purse and following Parker out. The names sound familiar, but I don't think they work here. The only women I interacted with today at the Summit were Summer and Parker.

She bites her lip. "Noooo … "

Her tone of voice is off, and it only takes me a second to connect the dots.

"They were at the wedding."

Not the wedding , a little voice in my brain corrects. Reminding me that the wedding Parker means wasn't THE wedding. The one that actually took place. Technically, she means the failed wedding.

THE wedding was the one where I actually got married.

The one only Van and I know about. For now.

"Sorry to bring it up again," Parker says.

"It's unavoidable," I tell her with a shrug. "And honestly, not all that painful."

Definitely less painful than thinking about the other wedding.

Which is really wild when I think about it. Why should a spontaneous wedding with a guy I barely know—as I quickly found out—hurt more than one I planned for almost a year?

Maybe because I didn't care as much about Drew as I do Van.

Did . As much as I did care about Van.

"I'm honestly okay with it," I assure her. "Most of it, anyway." I am still struggling with the part where I lost a cousin and a once-beloved uncle.

"Yeah? Well, you can tell us about it over drinks," Parker says.

I have no plans to tell them anything about either wedding over drinks. Or to drink at all, considering what happened the last time I drank.

No, I wasn't drunk when Van and I got the brilliant idea to get married. Just ... tipsy. Happy.

Foolish.

The alcohol didn't force me to make the choice or make me lose all my inhibitions. But it did soften up my edges and made me feel like it was okay to let loose a little. In that way, it was a little like Van, who did the same thing.

And had I not found the text from my dad, I don't know that I would regret the decision to marry Van on the beach. That's what I'm really struggling with—my own conflicting feelings about what happened. About Van.

I thought Van was ... trustworthy. I know it was fast—I know it. I can't un know it. But then—I trusted Drew. And I knew him longer. Better. He still cheated, and I still had no idea.

So, how can I really trust Van?

After Mom died, one of my dad's favorite things was to tell me how they fell in love. They had the same friend group in college and were just that—friends. But somehow, by the time senior year rolled around and people were talking about jobs and futures and some people were even starting to get engaged, the friendship had blossomed into something more.

"We were friends for years by the time we realized we were in love," Dad told me more than once, often with tears shining in his eyes. "Friendship is a great foundation for trust."

Van lost my trust almost as fast as he gained it, proving Dad's point. Too bad I married him before realizing it.

Why didn't I just, like, let things progress at a normal pace?

Why did I suggest getting married?

I know what people would think, and maybe this is part of the reason I haven't even told my best friend. They'd assume I was in a messy emotional place or maybe even that it was some kind of revenge, especially considering the way Drew and Becky showed up at the resort.

But … it wasn't just an emotional knee-jerk thing or a revenge plot.

I remember how I felt at that moment. Like I had finally learned to let loose in a healthy way. Like Van brought out something in me no one else in my life had seen. I felt safe. Hopeful. Confident.

But if he could marry me without telling me the truth about why he was in Florida, if he could marry me while the deal he and Dad had was between us like a dirty, not-so little secret—I can't trust him .

By extension, it means I can't trust what we had.

His deal with my dad cheapens the simple vows we repeated on the beach under string lights with the ocean's rough murmur nearby. Van's failure to come clean undermines everything, casting long shadows of doubt.

Especially considering what Drew did not a week before.

My trust in other people is shaken—including the trust in myself and my decisions.

I can't shake the niggling sense that I screwed up too by leaving. By not giving Van a chance to explain. By ghosting him completely.

Was he hurt when he found my note?

I rarely allow myself to wonder about this. But every time I do, guilt spears through me.

Because two of us said vows on that beach. And though he kept his deal with my dad from me, I know Van's feelings were real.

Feelings aren't the problem. It's the lack of foundation, the lack of honesty and trust, and the decision we both made far too quickly.

Now … I just don't know what to do about it. Except maybe get this thing annulled, then consider whether there's something here worth salvaging?

I'm grateful Parker and I drive separately to Mulligans, giving me a chance to mope and think angry thoughts and bathe in regret. Then banish all those things to the dark corners of my mind. No way do I want these slipping out.

I settle at the table next to Parker and order a Diet Dr Pepper, my guilty pleasure when I need a little pick me up. Dad loves to tell me that the chemicals in soda will kill me one day, but I figure we're all dying anyway. Might as well die drinking something I love.

Parker lifts her glass to mine in a toast. "We're a pair, aren't we? You're drinking Diet Dr Pepper and I'm drinking root beer."

We clink our glasses. "Cheers," I say.

"Gracie and Bailey should be here soon. Summer ended up bailing." Parker sighs. "Playoffs are in a few days. Which means the guys are all in weird places."

I take a sip of my drink. "Like what kinds of weird places?"

"Logan gets in his head and wants to be alone. Because he came from the NHL and the Appies are a minor league team, he has a lot to prove."

"And what does Nathan do that means Summer isn't coming?"

Parker snorts and leans forward, eyes bright. "Nathan, apparently, likes to cuddle."

I burst out laughing at this. I met Nathan today, but I remember seeing him before. Mostly because he is terrifying. He looks like he could rap all the limbs from a man's body over breakfast.

"Who likes to cuddle?"

Two women pull out the empty chairs at our table. The one who asked the question has medium brown hair and freckles. She's carrying a large instrument case and sets it beside the table. "You must be Amelia. I'm Gracie," she says, extending a hand.

"I'm Bailey." The other woman is wearing scrubs and gives me a shy smile as she takes the seat beside me.

"Nice to meet you both."

"I was talking about Nathan cuddling," Parker explains.

Gracie laughs. "It's always the ones with the tough outer shell."

"Nathan?" Bailey asks. "Cuddling?"

"That's why Summer isn't here," Parker says. "All the guys do different things when it's playoff time. What about Felix and Eli?" Parker leans closer to me. "Gracie is dating Felix—the goalie—and Bailey is married to Eli, the blond who looks like he just drank from a firehose of pure sunshine."

Bailey grins at this. "He really does, doesn't he? For playoffs, I'm not sure he does anything different. Not that I'd know since we're still … new." Her cheeks go pink at this. "He likes to play with the dogs. But that's pretty normal for him. I think?"

She thinks? I wonder how long the two of them have been together.

I feel suddenly like I've been shoved just outside of the circle. Everyone but me is paired up with one of the players. I mean, sure—technically, I am too. I've got more legal claim on Van than Gracie or Summer or even Parker. But for all intents and purposes, I am not with him. Which makes me the odd woman out.

A tug of longing moves through me. I can picture how easy it would be to slide right into this group, to complain about whatever weird thing Van does during playoffs.

The longing is quickly replaced by anger. Because Van wrecked what we had after it barely began.

The waitress appears and takes Gracie and Bailey's drink orders. Bailey gets fries and a chocolate malt while Gracie chooses a glass of red wine and a wedge salad.

Gracie leans forward and lowers her voice. "Don't tell him I told you, but Felix is baking."

"Baking?" I ask. "Baking what?"

Gracie's smile is soft. "He's baking his way through a box of recipes that were his grandmother's."

Parker groans and drops her head to the table. "How is it that I get the guy who doesn't want to see me so he can focus, and everyone else gets cuddling and puppies and baking?" She sits up, turning her gaze suddenly to me. "What about Van?"

I jolt, knocking over my drink. Bailey jumps up as a tidal wave of Diet Dr Pepper goes her way.

"Sorry! So sorry." I frantically try to stop the flow of liquid, but I'd need a few dozen more napkins to even make a dent.

The waitress reappears and sweeps the mess into a dustpan using a bar rag. "I'll bring you another one," she says with a sigh.

I'm sure my cheeks are flaming, but I do my best to force my face into some kind of normal expression. "Why are you asking me about Van? I have no idea what he does. Or is doing. Van and I are … nothing. We're not anything. So, I have no idea."

I definitely said too much there. There's a brief pause in which the three of them simply stare.

Parker smiles a little too sweetly. "Of course. You're right. I was just testing a theory."

"A theory about Amelia and Van?" Bailey asks, tilting her head curiously.

"There is no me and Van," I say, waving my hands. This time I avoid knocking over any drinks. But I'm still being overly dramatic. Someone might as well plop me into the middle of a Shakespeare play for all the protests I'm doth ing too much.

I wait for them to press harder, but thankfully, the tension seems to ease.

"Too bad." Bailey smiles. "He's really misunderstood, I think. Probably intentionally so."

Or not , I think, but I need to back away from this topic—casually and slowly. Like you would from a bear. Or is that what you do if you run into a mountain lion? I can't remember which predator you're supposed to back away from and in which scenario you're supposed to make yourself look bigger.

Honestly, I should just avoid the forest altogether.

Too bad the forest, in this half-baked metaphor, happens to be where I work.

"He's my second favorite," Bailey says. "No offense to Logan and Felix. All the other guys are great too. But Van walked me down the aisle at my wedding," Bailey says, looking at her ring. "It was really sweet. He—ow!"

Parker or Summer or both must have kicked Bailey under the table. Parker and Summer are clearly trying to silently communicate.

"Oh, shoot," Bailey says, color rising in her cheeks as her wide eyes snap to me. "I … forgot."

I groan. "I'm going to say this once." I pause and meet each of their gazes briefly. "I promise, I'm okay talking about weddings. My wedding, other people's weddings—whatever. It's not a landmine subject for me, and it's not the kind of topic we can avoid forever. So, please don't walk on eggshells around me or feel bad for saying the word wedding. I'm okay talking about it."

At least about the wedding they know about.

"What about Van?" Parker asks.

The waitress returns then with everyone's orders and a new drink for me. "What about Van?"

Casual, casual, casual. That's the name of the game. My tone is perfectly even, my face a mask of innocence. My pulse is a totally different story, but unless any of them are vampires and can sense the quicker flow of blood through my veins, I think I'm safe.

"You just seem to have an emotional reaction to talking about him," Parker says. "Or talking to him."

Gracie laughs. "Yeah, but it's Van . He has a way of riling people up. Pushing their buttons. Especially with your dad," she adds, looking at me. "I swear, Van is the player most likely to inspire your dad to retire early."

"Oh, yeah." I roll my eyes and try not to think of the text from my dad I saw on Van's phone. "Dad uses his name at home like a curse word."

Summer and Parker laugh, but Bailey looks slightly troubled by this. And I feel sick saying it because I remember saying something similar to Van.

"I'm kidding, of course, but I do know he makes Dad nuts."

"Like father, like daughter," Parker says, and I don't like the assessing look in her gaze. I swear, the woman is like a dog with a very big, very juicy bone. If I'm not careful, she'll figure things out by my second day of work. Which cannot happen.

Conversation moves on then, and I'm grateful for it. Because I am barely hanging on by a quickly fraying thread.