Page 11 of Lace 'em Up

The venue. The caterer. The cake. The guests.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, that worry turning to panic, all of the planning details I’d fretted over for months exploding in my mind.

So much work.

And all of it to waste.

Chrissy grimaces. “Stupid,” she mutters, more to herself than me. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” She pats my hand, starts to stand. “Rome and I’ve got this. I promise.”

“But—”

“You heard the doctor about your feet,” she says, tone fierce. “You’re going to stay here safe and sound and recovering, and let us deal with that bastard who—” A muscle in her jaw flexes hard, taking her words with it for a long moment. “I’ll make sure the vendors are sorted and the guests know the wedding’s off, but I’m bringing the cake back. That was fucking delicious when we did the tasting and no way is that bastard going to get a mouthful of it.”

Somehow…I smile.

Then sober.

Because…she’s doing too much.

“Chrissy—”

“No,” she says, voice going even firmer. “You know that if our roles were reversed, you’d be saying the same damn thing.”

“I—”

Her eyes fix on mine, rage burning in the blue depths. “When I saw the mess in the bridal room…” A breath. “When you were just gone…” Another. “I was so fucking worried about you.” Her throat works, eyes glassy now, but my friend is fierce as ever when she says, “I’m glad you’re okay, but I’m not going to pull my dad and all his resources”—and the billionaire businessman and professional sports team owner has a multitude of them—“back from this. No. Fucking. Way.”

“Honey—”

“No,” she says vehemently, “I know that you don’t see yourself the way I do, don’t grasp how fucking wonderful you are?—”

My lungs inflate in a rush, sending pain through my torso in a hot wave.

“—but you are,” she says. “Fucking wonderful. And you deserve better than Phillip.”

Damn, I love this woman.

“And further that, no one deserves what happened to you. Fucking no one.” She touches my cheek. “But least of all you, babe.”

I cover her hand with my own. “Thank you,” I whisper, feeling the words settle deep inside, knowing they’re logically the truth, but also knowing that beneath all of that, so freaking buried that most of the time I forget it’s there, those words will just…slide off.

Become meaningless.

Never heal the gulf within.

I ignore that truth and hold my friend’s eyes, summon a smile that’s not fake this time because I love this woman, know that I’m so damned lucky to have her in my life.

“I was just going to say?—”

Her brows lift, and I know that she’s preparing to shut me down if I insist on handling it myself.

I don’t.

Because…I don’t think I can.

So, I just keep talking.

“—to get the groom’s cake too.”

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