Page 10 of The Pucking Grump

He gives an astonished gasp. “Faye? How are you on Blake’s cabin landline right now?”

My palms grow slippery with sweat as I fill him in on the few key details: getting cheated on, running into Blake, escaping the venue. These are the things I wouldn’t ordinarily share without consulting a PR team because they could easily get leaked. But right now, I’m too tired to think of following normal protocol.

Kevin lets out a low whistle once I’m done giving him the highlights. “Well . . . wow. That’s awful. I’m sorry, Faye. Really sorry.”

I thank him. There’s an opening now for me to find out what’s going on, how bad it is. But my heart races even more at the thought of asking those questions, of knowing what happened after I left. Something about my ignorance is comforting.

Kevin whistles again on the other end of the line. “You know, it’s kind of funny that you ended up with Blake.”

“Why?” I’m momentarily distracted.

He gives a small, nervous laugh. “He’s about the most romance-averse person I’ve ever met in my whole life. You’re basically a different species to him.”

“Oh.” That does explain a lot: his brusque manner, the fact that he always assumes the worst, even the scowl he wore during the entire six-hour drive.

The only thing it does not explain is his physical attraction to me.

My stomach drops when I let myself dwell on that for a moment. I wonder whether to ask more questions. As far as I can tell, I’ll be staying here overnight, maybe even for the next few days. It wouldn’t hurt to know a little more about him.

But before I can think of what to ask, Kevin adds, “You know, your version of the story is kind of different from what the media is saying.” There’s a tiny pause, before he quickly continues, “Of course, I believe what you’re saying.”

Version? There are versions of the story now? “What do you mean?”

He gives another nervous chuckle. “Everyone has different theories of why the wedding didn’t take place. The guests know you didn’t show up, but the media has been churning out ideas all day.”

My heart shrivels up in my chest. It’s not worse than what I expected but hearing him say those words is still scary. It confirms my worst fears.

Unable to stop myself, I ask, “What’s the leading theory now?”

Kevin pauses. “Has your dad contacted you?”

I shake my head before I remember he can’t see me. “He has no idea where I am. No one does.”

I hear Kevin swallow on the other end of the line. I wonder if he’s trying to stomach the fact that he’s the only one who knows my whereabouts. But then, he asks, “So you have no clue what he’s telling the press?”

My anxiety, buried under a layer of dread, surges up again. I have literally no idea what my dad could be saying.

But I’m willing to bet anything that it’s not good.

I could stay here a few days and remain blissfully ignorant. It would give me time to mull over everything that happened and make a decision.

But then, the panic surging in me is desperate for news. Any news. Even bad.

“What’s he saying?”

Kevin gives his longest pause yet. And then, in a low tone, he mutters, “I suggest you get to a TV. Quick.”

4

DAMSEL IN DISTRESS

Ipush through the front door of the cabin, two paper bags filled with groceries in my arms. The first thing I see is Faye bent over the TV, her wedding gown sprawled behind her, fiddling with the antennae above the screen. The set is on, displaying only a mass of black and white squiggly lines.

A headache threatens to split my head in two.

“What are you doing?”

She looks back at me, her eyes wide and frantic. “I need the TV to work. Can you fix it?”

---