Page 63 of Broken Hearts

Confused, I try to gauge where he is leading with his words. “Is this about Dr. Mahoney? I’m still considering that, but I don’t think taking time is reckless.”

“He’s not talking about a doctor, sweetheart,” Jade whispers in my ear, her voice full of amusement and a hint of sympathy.

Jeremiah Westbrook leans in closer, his gaze piercing. “Did you both think you could keep it a secret, Miss Sinclair, or should I call you Mrs. Westbrook?”

The world freezes as Jeremiah’s words echo in my ears. “Mrs. what?” I blurt out, my voice a mix of disbelief and rising panic. “No, you’re mistaken.”

Jeremiah’s eyebrow arches, a calculated smirk playing on his lips. “Am I?” he challenges. “Didn’t you think the court clerk would contact my lawyer after registering your Vegas wedding certificate?”

His words crash over me like a wave, fragments of forgotten memories—a chapel, Cole’s intense gaze, a reckless decision—flash through my mind. I feel my heart pounding, shock and betrayal colliding inside.

It must have been a dream! He was sober; he never would have—I turn toward the field and look at him running. I narrow my eyes. Of course he would have! This has Cole’s controlling attitude written all over it.

My mind races, anger boiling inside me. How could he let this happen? How could he not mention it, not even a hint? I feel betrayed, furious at him for keeping this a secret, even if I had forgotten it myself.

I feel my face flush with anger and embarrassment. How could I have been so naive to think he was really taking things slow? And now, sitting here with the parents of the man I drunkenly married, I’m at a loss for words.

Jade’s hand reaches out, clasping mine in a comforting grip. Her warm, motherly touch starkly contrasts with the cold realization settling in my heart. “Eva, dear,” she says softly, her voice laced with understanding, “We’re not here to judge you. We just want to make sense of this… surprising news.”

Shaking my head, I struggle to process the revelation. This has to be a mistake, yet deep down, I recognize the truth. Visions of that night in Vegas start to become clearer—Cole lifting me in his arms, laughter, a spontaneous vow. I look down at my hand, devoid of a ring, and understand Cole’s foresight. He knew I would’ve sought an annulment immediately if I remembered.

I look around the stadium, suddenly feeling like it’s too small, too crowded, that the air can’t reach my lungs. Feeling cornered and overwhelmed, I stand up abruptly, the need for escape consuming me. “I… I need to go,” I stammer, my voice quivering with a slew of emotions.

“Eva, please,” Jade’s voice is tinged with concern as she reaches out to me, her eyes reflecting worry and empathy. “Let’s talk about this. There must be a reason behind what happened.”

But I can’t stay, not with this storm of emotions raging inside me. “I’m sorry, I can’t…” My voice trails off as I turn and hurry away, leaving a stunned silence in my wake.

I don’t look back at his parents or my friends as I leave the stands. The noise of the crowd and the game fade into the background as my thoughts whirl. I feel deceived, played for a fool. How many times have I seen him since Vegas? How many times have we talked, and he has said nothing?

As I navigate the crowd, my pace quickens, driven by a desperate need for space and clarity. The revelation that I'm married to Cole Westbrook feels like a surreal joke, yet its implications are intensely real.

My phone buzzes relentlessly in my pocket, but I ignore it, lost in my thoughts.

When I exit the stadium, the cool air hits me, but it does little to dim the fire inside. I walk aimlessly, just needing to put distance between myself and the revelation that’s turned my world upside down.

Cole and I… married. The thought circles in my head, a relentless reminder of a choice I can barely remember making. How are we going to face this? Can we face this? Right now, I don’t have the answers. All I have is a swirling storm of emotions and a need to be alone.

Reaching my car, I hesitate, knowing Cole might seek me out at the apartment. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, I head to the one place he won’t think to look—Blaze’s bar in the East end. It’s a refuge, a place to hide and gather my scattered thoughts away from prying eyes and the weight of a reality I’m not ready to face.

As I drive, the streets blur past, mirroring the chaos in my mind. What does this marriage mean for us? For me?

The bar stands inconspicuously at the end of a dimly lit street. As I approach, a couple of guys smoking by the door give me a cursory glance, their expressions unreadable. Pushing the door open, I step into the dim interior of Blaze’s bar.

The place is a haven for ex-Navy SEALs and Army veterans in general, but tonight, it’s thankfully quiet. The walls are adorned with military memorabilia, and the air is tinged with the scent of aged wood and whiskey.

Behind the bar stands Blaze, a man in his thirties with dark-brown hair and striking green eyes, so much like mine. A scar crosses his lip, giving him a rugged appearance that adds to his charismatic presence. He’s cleaning a glass when he looks up and notices me.

“Are you okay? Do I need to call Max?” he asks, his voice laced with concern. Max, my adoptive older brother and Blaze’s former SEAL teammate, is the reason I know about this place.

“No, I need a little space,” I say, making my way to the bar.

“And you come here? To this bar?” He chuckles, setting down the glass and reaching for a Coke. He slides it across the bar to me. “What happened?”

I take the Coke, my fingers wrapping around the cold bottle. “I made a mistake,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. The words feel heavy, loaded with more meaning than I can begin to unpack.

Blaze leans on the bar, his demeanor shifting to one of attentive listening. “We all make mistakes. It’s what makes us human.” His eyes hold a depth of understanding, a reflection of the experiences etched in his scar and the stories hidden behind those green eyes.

I take a sip of the Coke, its coolness offering a brief respite from the turmoil inside me. “It’s not just any mistake,” I continue, hesitating. “It’s about… I got married in Vegas. And I forgot.”

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