Chapter 5

Evie

"What are you doing in there, Evelyn?" The irritation in Mom"s voice is evident as she raps on the bathroom door. "You"re taking longer than Levi does to get ready, for Pete"s sake."

"Who"s Pete?" I call back, smiling as I picture her annoyed face, while I continue fixing my hair into an updo.

"That"s not funny. Hurry up, please. Fraser will be arriving any minute now."

Ugh. Why did I agree to get ready for the wedding here?

Mom brought it up over dinner last week, slipping it into the conversation so casually that it seamlessly evaded the usual internal defensive line I activate whenever I"m in Mom"s presence. These imaginary guys in my head have one job and one job only: to protect me from my mother"s incoming barbs.

Or at the very least, warn me they"re coming to give me time to plan a counteroffensive.

Clearly, they took a break sometime between mains and dessert, so I was caught off guard. I found myself nodding and the words, "Sure, I"d love to," flying out of my mouth.

So here I am.

In my parent"s house.

In my old bathroom.

Getting ready to go to my ex"s wedding.

With Fraser as my date.

"I"ll be right out, Mom."

I ignore her muffled huff of annoyance on the other side of the door, finish adjusting my hair, and eye the dress I agonized over for months.

Choosing it proved tricky because while I want to look good, at the same time, I don"t want to overshadow the bride. As much as I"m looking forward to sticking it to Bryce, this is Mercedes"s big day, too. She"s done nothing to deserve an ex-girlfriend swanning in and stealing the attention that very much belongs to her today.

So I hunted for a dress that didn"t scream center of the universe, but whispered elegance and grace and shove this where the sun don"t shine, Bryce.

Tough assignment.

I finally settled on a one-shoulder chiffon lavender midi dress with an asymmetrical neckline.

Occasion appropriate. Classic. Fashionable. And not too showy.

I open the door and step out into my old bedroom.

Mom"s inspecting the posters on my wall. On her nose-scrunching disapproval scale, she"s somewhere in the four-to-six range—she doesn"t mind the hockey players, but it"s evident she doesn"t approve of or understand any of the album covers. She barely pays any attention to the women in the final frame.

As always, she"s the epitome of elegance and sophistication, her meticulously styled hair coiffed to perfection. She"s smart with her makeup, always opting for neutral tones that enhance her features. And even when she goes for a casual, around-the-house look, she remains more polished than I could ever hope to be, dressed in a pastel-blue silk blouse with a cashmere cardigan draped over her shoulders, crisply tailored navy-blue trousers, and stylish leather flats.

I clear my throat.

She spins around, and her face lights up. "Oh my, Evelyn. You look beautiful."

"Wow. A compliment."

I regret it the second the words fly out of my mouth.

Hello, defensemen? Where are you?

Granted, I hadn"t run any drills with them to be on the lookout for praise, but still, twenty-three years as Meredith Freeman"s daughter has taught me we need to be prepared for anything.

"Don"t sound so surprised," Mom says, walking over to me, her eyes raking over every detail. "I compliment you all the time."

When? I want to scream but decide against it. I don"t want to get into a fight with Mom before the wedding. I"m already on edge as it is.

Ah, we made a logical decision. Thanks, defensemen. Teamwork makes the dream work.

"But not too beautiful, right?"

Mom raises an eyebrow. "Is that a trick question? You seem to be under the false impression that I don"t compliment you enough, and now you want me to, what, walk it back?"

"It"s not a trick question, Mom. I just don"t want to pull the focus away from Mercedes, you know? It"s her big day, not mine."

Mom rolls her eyes and tsks. "What sort of a name is Mercedes, anyway? Who names their child after a car?"

"You don"t like it?" I direct a warm smile at her. "I was thinking of Silverado for a boy, Camry for a girl."

"Does that mean I can expect grandchildren sometime this century?"

Ouch. Well played, Mom. Well played.

Side note: Camry for a girl. It grows on you. Give it a few.

"You do realize I"m the youngest of the four children you birthed. Do you badger them as much as you badger me?"

"I don"t badger anyone, Evelyn," Mom says, picking at one of the pleats on my dress. "And for the record, you look just the right level of beautiful."

The doorbell rings.

"I"ll get it," Dad yells out.

"And I"m sure Fraser will agree with me." Mom smiles, and it"s a little too smiley for my liking. "He"s become quite the strapping young man, hasn"t he?"

"Ah, yeah, about that."

I haven"t gotten around to explaining to her that Levi roped Fraser into going with me, and that"s all this is—him doing me a favor. Mom is under the impression that this is an actual date.

After having failed to move to Washington to become "a real reporter," in second place on Mom"s list of things I wish Evie did with her life is marrying well.

And by marryingwell, she means marrying into money.

And you can"t marry any more well than the Rademachers. They"re one of the wealthiest families in Comfort Bay, which is really saying something, given the numbers of Lexuses and Cadillacs you see driving around town.

"Listen, Mom?—"

There"s a knock on the bedroom door.

"Ah. That"ll be him."

She gives me a final once-over.

I"d say approving final once-over, but I don"t have much practice with those words in relation to Mom.

"I"ll leave you to it."

She flashes another too-smiley smile before spinning on her heel to open the door.

"Fraser," she greets enthusiastically. "How wonderful to see you."

"It"s great to see you, too, Mrs. Freeman."

She gives him two air kisses, whispers something into his ear I can"t hear, and then she"s gone.

And Fraser is here.

In my bedroom.

Entering through the door and not the window, for a change.

He steps in, his eyes darting around the space, and I wonder if he"s having the same sense of nostalgia I am.

Probably not.

Why would he?

Absolutely nothing ever happened between us. He just needed a place to escape filming and vent, and my bedroom was that place.

The bedroom. Not me.

Important distinction.

His intense gaze rolls around to me. "Wow, Evie. You look…breathtaking."

"Don"t lie. You prefer the hockey jersey and Ugg Boots, don"t you? You can admit it. I won"t be offended."

"I"m so relieved," he says, wiping imaginary sweat off his brow. "Any chance you can get changed? It"s going to be torture for me, looking at you in that dress all day."

"You"re not the only one who"s going to suffer. Look at you in that suit."

Yes.

Can we please take a minute and look at him in that deep-navy-blue classically tailored suit? How it accentuates his broad shoulders and muscular physique? The crisp white dress shirt underneath contrasts perfectly with the dark hue of the suit, and the electric-blue tie brings out his summer-sky blue eyes.

His hair, usually tousled and damp under his helmet during games, is styled neatly. He"s clean-shaven, which makes the scar on his cheek more prominent.

And he"s got a confident ease about him, like he"s dropped the guarded, brooding persona he adopts on the ice and is letting his natural charisma shine through.

Like this is who he really is. The person he let me see all those years ago.

But that"s in the past now.

Today, he"s simply in handsome revenge-date man-candy mode, just like he promised he"d be.

He produces something from behind his back.

Flowers.

Yellow roses, to be precise.

Again.

Which is twice more than Bryce ever did. Not that I"m keeping score.

"I seem to have developed this bad habit of buying flowers for you."

"You"re a monster. Where can I report you?"

He lets out a light chuckle. "Is your vase in the same spot?"

"Uh, I assume so."

Mom has kept my room pretty much how I left it when I went away to college.

Fraser strides over to my desk, crouches down, and reaches behind it. Smiling, he produces the vase and lifts it onto the desk, setting the flowers down beside it.

"I"m impressed," I say.

"By the flowers?"

"No. That you remember where the vase is stored."

He slides one hand into his pants pocket. "I have a knack for remembering random details."

"I"m tucking that little nugget away for trivia night."

He observes me with an amused warmth, then knocks on my desk. "I also remember you sitting here making your bracelets. Do you still do that?"

"Not really. I didn"t have time in college. I took it back up after the breakup video went viral and I went into hiding, thinking it would relax me like it used to."

"Did it?"

"No. It doesn"t seem to have the same effect anymore."

"Why?"

"No reason."

Big reasons. But I can"t exactly tell him that it"s his fault.

One, that would sound illogical.

Because two, it is illogical.

But three, that doesn"t make it any less true.

After Fraser failed to acknowledge the bracelet I made him—and disappeared the very next day without saying goodbye—let"s just say, it put me off bracelet making altogether.

In my head, it had become intertwined with his late-night drop-ins, and I was trying desperately to put that behind me. So I packed up all the beads, leather cording, clasps, jumping rings, and other bits and pieces I"d amassed and threw them all away.

"Hmm." He wanders over to the wall. "Remember that time you committed violence against me?"

"Excuse me?"

He spins around, a smile curling his lips. "You made me listen to punk music."

"That"s right. I"d forgotten your taste in music is as poor as your tolerance for spicy food. Unless that"s changed in the last seven years?"

""Fraid not," he says. "You would still easily beat me in a chili eating contest."

"That"s purely speculative." I place my hands on my hips. "There"s only one way to find out if it"s actually true."

"Ha. Not happening." He chuckles. "Are you ready to go?"

"I am. I just need to put on my shoes and find my purse."

Spotting my purse on the bed, he goes over to collect it. I slide on a heel but almost topple over as I put on the other one.

Fraser magically appears and extends his hand.

I take it gladly, slipping my fingers into his large palm to steady myself. "Thank you."

"You know…" He leans in, his voice getting low, almost husky. "I get that the dress has to stay, but it"s not too late for the Ugg Boots."

I slap him away with a giggle. "I wish. No. I"ve officially banned myself from wearing them outside my apartment. I"ve also renamed them to ugh boots. Remember that, because if it catches on, I want all the credit."

He reaches out, lightly grazing my cheek with the backs of his fingers. "You"re an intriguing woman, Evelyn Freeman."

My heart stutters at the unexpected closeness, at the unexpected touch, at the unexpectedly sultry smile he"s aiming my way.

Perfect fake date material, I remind myself. That"s all.

"Thanks again for doing this," I tell him as we make our way out.

"No need to thank me," he says. "I"ve been looking forward to this for a long time."

Well, this is a fizzer.

"You okay, Evie? Can I get you something else to drink?"

I throw a glance at the four barely-touched glasses on the table in front of me. Fraser, in total perfect-date mode, got me every one of those drinks, but nothing is hitting the spot.

I feel restless.

And agitated.

And like I"m the world"s biggest fool.

Again.

No amount of alcohol can fix that.

"No. I"m fine. Thank you."

"All right." Fraser bumps his foot gently against mine under the table. "We"ll resume sitting here in stone-cold silence thinking about ways we can plot our revenge on jerkface that don"t see us getting twenty-five to life behind bars. Oops." He lifts his fingers to his lips. "Did I say that out loud?"

That manages to draw a tiny smile out of me. "For the record, that"s not what I"m doing."

"What sort of name is Bryce anyway?" he continues. "Do you think he was actually meant to be called Bruce, but someone at the hospital accidentally typed y instead of u?"

I bring my napkin to my lips to hide my growing smile. "Stop it."

Fraser stops, his expression turning serious. "Well, what is it, Evie? You haven"t been yourself all day. Tell me what"s wrong."

"How do you know something"s wrong?"

He takes a sip of his whiskey. "Because I"ve got eyes."

Great. I"m that obvious.

I thought I"d been doing a good job concealing whatever weird funk I fell into the moment we got here.

I wished the bride and groom all the best, and, surprisingly, it wasn"t even that awkward.

I mingled with the other guests who, in all honesty, were more interested in talking to Fraser and taking a selfie with him than they were in me.

I"ve been making pleasant conversation with the people at our table, listening and nodding politely as we somehow veered to the topic of foot health and Mr. Mariano"s horrifying story about how he names his corns.

The only thing I haven"t done is take Fraser up on his offers to dance.

Yes, offers.

Plural.

He"s asked seven times, which I"m sure he"s only doing to fulfill his date obligation and make it look like we"re a couple, as opposed to what we really are—a pity date called in as a favor by his best friend to help said best friend"s loser sister out of a jam.

Besides, I"m a terrible dancer. The last thing I need is someone recording me and earning myself a second viral moment.

Move over, Breakup Sneeze Girl, and make way for Dance Floor Bambi.

I scrunch the napkin up and toss it onto the table.

So much for showing up to Bryce"s wedding and sticking it to him. What was I seriously expecting would happen?

"This sucks," I mutter, lifting the champagne flute. "This really sucks."

"The ceremony was a tad on the long side," Fraser agrees, not missing a beat. "And the chicken was dry."

He"s trying.

He"s been trying so hard all day to be here for me.

He hasn"t left my side.

He"s been checking in with me and getting me drinks.

He"s been great at handling all the attention coming his way when I know it's precisely one of the reasons why he avoids social situations like this.

He doesn"t like peopling at the best of times, but I guess he hates disappointing his fans even more. So he"s been the perfect gentleman, smiling and listening as people gave him pointers and unsolicited advice about how he can fix his game, despite last night"s thrilling win.

Who do these people think they are? Me?

In short, Fraser has been nothing but wonderful.

The problem isn"t him.

"I don"t mean the wedding sucks," I say with a sigh. "I mean…me. Coming here. I didn"t think it through properly."

"What specifically didn"t you think through properly?"

I take a sip of champagne. Okay, maybe it"s more of a gulp. Then I push the flute away from me. I refuse to be the ex-girlfriend who gets wasted and does something embarrassing, like topple into the wedding cake.

"I mean, I got so fixated on being here. On showing up. On proving to everyone that I wasn"t the loser sneezing girl they saw online, that I never really considered what I"d do once I got here."

"You have been remarkably well-behaved."

I let out a small hiccup, the bubbles from the champagne percolating in my chest. "I never intended to cause a scene."

"You really should have disclosed that upfront. I thought I had front-row seats to a romcom situation here, where you"d interrupt the speeches or maybe get down with one of the groomsmen, engage in some wildly inappropriate dancing."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"You haven"t." He reaches across the table and pins me with a heated look. At least, I think it"s a heated look. Or maybe the champagne"s messing with me? "You couldn"t."

I hold his gaze for a moment before blowing out a breath and looking at the wedding scene unfolding around us.

People are swaying on the dance floor, children scamper between tables, and everyone else is mingling and laughing and having a great time.

Everyone except for me, it seems.

And because I"ve been such a Debbie Downer, I"m sure Fraser isn"t exactly having the time of his life, either. Bet he"s regretting going along with Levi"s silly idea now.

Another thing for me to feel bad about.

Great.

"Mercedes seems lovely. Bryce looks happy. But I"m just…lost. Floundering. Like I have no idea what I"m doing."

"Like me in the second half of last season?" Fraser says, injecting some humor into his voice.

"That"s not funny. Also, leave the critiques of your game to the experts."

"And by experts you mean…"

"Me."

"Thought so."

I manage a smile, and he grins right back at me.

"I"m sorry for dragging you here and forcing you to sit through the tediously long ceremony. If it"s any consolation, the fish was really chewy."

"I"ll be able to sleep soundly tonight knowing that." He drags his chair closer to me, cups my hands in his, and says, "What do you say we get outta here?"

"You want to go home?"

"Who said anything about going home?"

"Where do you want to go, then?"

There"s a mischievous glint in his eye. "Do you trust me?"

"Absolutely not."

"I"m taking that as a yes. Come on. Let"s say goodbye to everyone and do something fun. You deserve that."

"Uh. Okay. I guess."

I mean…why not? I don"t want this day to be a complete bummer. I owe it to Fraser to do something enjoyable.

As I shift to get my purse, I spot Bryce standing by himself at the bar. "Can I meet you out front?"

Fraser follows my gaze. His jaw clenches. "Want me to go with you?"

"No. It"s fine. I just need a few minutes."

"Okay. I"ll be outside."

Fraser stands, glares in Bryce"s direction, then leaves the table.

I quickly check my makeup, then make my way over to Bryce and accidentally-on-purpose bump into him. "Hey. How dry was that chicken? Am I right? You"d think they would"ve forked out a bit more for proper catering—Oh, it"s you. Sorry, Bryce."

"Evie." Bryce turns, then looks around. "Where"s your bodyguard?"

"Restocking his weaponry."

"That guy has been giving me evil looks all day."

"No, he hasn"t. That"s just his face. Some people have a lazy eye. He has a mean eye."

"As I experienced so many times during our relationship, I have absolutely no idea if you"re being serious or not."

Yeah. We weren"t exactly compatible in the banter department.

Or the flower department.

Or, as it turns out, in the what we want to do with our lives department, either. I"ve heard that Bryce and Mercedes will be relocating to New York. So much for wanting to settle down and live a small-town life.

"Thanks for coming today. I know it couldn"t have been easy for you."

"Thanks for going with peonies and not chrysanthemums, otherwise it wouldn"t have been easy on anyone standing within ten feet of me."

Bryce at least has the decency to look bad. "I"m sorry about the flowers. And the, you know…"

"Humiliating breakup on live TV that went viral and forced me to go into hiding for a month?"

He exhales deeply. "Yeah. That. I honestly never meant to hurt you. It had been building inside me for a while, and I guess it just…came out."

"It"s fine."

It isn"t.

It was, and will always be, a rotten thing to do to someone.

Note to all the men out there who may need to hear this—breakups should be a private thing, not an on-live-TV thing.

"I"m okay, really. Doing heaps better, and for what it"s worth, I am over you."

Now that is unequivocally true.

We had issues in our relationship that I put up with because I was making Bryce "put up" with something, too.

Looking back on it, I see how wrong it was of me to frame it that way. I was up-front about everything right from the beginning. He knew what he was getting into from the moment we started dating.

"I"m really, truly over you," I repeat, my gaze flicking over his shoulder. "So you can tell that bridesmaid-zilla over there that she can stop death-staring me."

Bryce turns around and gives her a discreet thumbs up to chill her out a bit.

"I know you have a million people to get to, so I won"t keep you. I just wanted to say…" A tightness grips my chest. "Thank you."

"Thank you?" Bryce looks understandably shocked. "What are you thanking me for?"

In the aftermath of the story going viral, the press hounded Bryce for more information. Why did he really break up with me? There had to be a juicy story there, right?

"Thank you for never mentioning?—"

"Ah. That."

For once, he catches my drift without me having to spell it out for him.

Because believe me, while being the Breakup Sneeze Girl was bad, being the Virgin Breakup Sneeze Girl would have been a thousand times more mortifying.

To his credit, Bryce turned down every interview invite and kept his mouth shut until the story blew over.

"Evie, I would never…"

"I know. Deep down, you"re a decent guy, Bryce. That"s why I"m here. That"s why I really do wish you and Mercedes all the best."

I feel lighter as I say the words, and it hits me.

Thisis why I needed to come today.

It wasn"t to prove anything to him or anyone else, it was to help me put this whole saga behind me and finally move on.

And I have. I really have.

"Take care. Have a great life, Bryce."

"Thanks. You, too, Evie."