Page 54 of The Best Man Wins

Oh. Oh no.

As though I dreamed him into reality, Ace Soren stands in front of me. Flesh and blood. Too tall, too handsome, and every bit as debonair as I remembered. He looks down at me and that familiar crooked smile stretches across his face.

“No, Susie,” he says. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Crap.

25

Braxton

There two thoughts that occur to me as I lie half-naked, tied to the Daltons’ guest bed.

First: This is why I always need to be the one in control.

Second: Susie is in very.

Very.

Big trouble.

I twist my wrists back and forth and try to loosen the binds for a solid ten minutes. No luck. Susie must have been a salt-clogged sailor in her past life, because this knot is next level. The rope starts to chafe my wrists, leaving itching red marks.

I grind my teeth together.

To hell with this.

I yank once. Hard. I’m rewarded with a loud crack. I’ve split the headboard completely in two.

A shame, but. What is it that Roxanne says? There’s more than one way to cook a goose?

I drop the broken rung on the bed and unravel the rope loops from my arms. Free now, I rub my wrists to stave off the offending itch.

First stop, the bathroom. I slept in my contacts. A mistake. They hurt like sandpaper, and I blink hard, eyes watering, when I finally remove the dry things. I fit my glasses on instead, brush my teeth quickly, and wash my hands. I still smell like Susie, so I apply more soap and add a spritz of cologne. I pull on clean clothes—a pair of jeans, a loose blue shirt, and a grey blazer. With that, I rake my fingers through my hair and head downstairs with quick, purposeful strides.

“Oh, Braxton, honey, I didn’t realize you were here. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Roxanne is bustling around in the kitchen, balancing two plates in her hand.

“No, thank you, ma’am.” My jaw is tight, my tone curt. “I broke your headboard. I’ll pay for the damage.”

Roxanne blinks at me, surprised, and then brays a hearty laugh. “Whew, you all are too much for me. That’s fine—I don’t want to know.”

“Shouldn’t you be at the brunch?” I ask her.

“Oh, no.” She loads the dishwasher. “I was supposed to drive Cora over, but then she told me the brunch was cancelled. It would be nice if people informed me of what was going on every now and then—”

“Cancelled?” I taste metal. Alarm digs its nails into the back of my neck. “Where is Cora?”

“She took the car…said she was going to pick up a couple things for the wedding.” She looks back at me and must see the look on my face because her expression scrunches up. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“No.” I smile politely. “I’ll be back.”

I scale the stairs two at a time. When I get to Cora’s room, I throw the door open. Her bed is made. Her luggage is gone. On the bedspread sits a single sheet of paper, folded over to make a tent.

Cora is gone, but she’s left behind two words.

Ray,

I’m sorry.

---