Page 84 of The Bridges I've Burned

“Who gets to control the music?”

They both started laughing.

Do they think I’m joking?

“You know, I think I’m actually going to miss him,” I said as we headed back down the coast.

“But not more than you’d miss me though, right?” he teased.

“Eh.” I tried to keep a straight face but only lasted a second.

We’d said our good-byes to Hendrix at the airport, and even though Zander had made him swear to behave, he’d done the exact opposite.

“I can’t believe he picked you up.”

“And twirled me around. Don’t forget about that part.” He laughed.

“You two act like brothers,” I commented as I watched the trees go by the window.

“We are,” he said confidently. “As much as Macon and I are. Maybe more so.” I could tell admitting that came with a little guilt. Maybe some leftover anger. “Isn’t that the way it is with Marin and you?”

I nodded. “Yes. I mean, not enough to get Mueller tattooed on my body, but they’ve always been good to me.” Better than my own family.

He grew silent for a moment before he finally said, “I didn’t even know that was Marin’s maiden name.”

“She hasn’t used it in years,” I told him.

A heartbeat later, he tapped out a beat on the steering wheel. “Just makes me realize how much I’ve missed.”

“There’s a lot to look forward to though,” I reminded him.

He looked briefly in my direction, and I saw doubt lingering in his eyes. Suddenly, I was on high alert. My nerves twisted as I feared the worst.

“Please tell me you’re not leaving again, Zander.”

“No,” he said firmly. “No. I just…” He breathed out in frustration. “My job is chaotic. So fucking chaotic, and I worry I’ll still miss everything and let them down. I can’t decide which is better—to be the forgotten brother or the disappointing one.”

“You were never forgotten,” I assured him. “There’s a reason Marin recognized you the second you showed up at that door. And honestly, you’re starting at ground zero as far as your brother is concerned. So, you can really only go up.”

My attempt at humor lightened his mood instantly.

“So, what you’re saying is, the standards are low?”

I grinned. “Very.”

“All right. I can work with that.”

Our conversation just flowed from there, and I realized how easy it was to talk to him. Since that moment we’d shared in the water, things had been easier between us. I stopped trying to ignore him, and although the sexual tension was still through the roof, I was glad I could finally talk to him again.

I’d missed that more than anything.

We made good time and arrived at the bridal salon around mid-afternoon. Thankfully, since most rentals emptied out on Saturdays, the traffic gods had been on our side.

The door dinged as we stepped inside. The air smelled sweet and floral, and although the decor was tasteful, I remembered why I’d hated this place the last time I was here. Everything was understated yet somehow over the top at the same time with accents of gold and muted shades of pink. It screamed feminine, which was usually my jam, but this just felt nauseating.

I knew a lot of women dreamed about their wedding from a young age, but I hadn’t been one of them. Don’t get me wrong; I loved fashion, shoes, and makeup as much as the next girl. But the idea of a traditional wedding with the white dress in a stuffy church with a bunch of people staring at me sounded more like a nightmare than a fairy tale.

Maybe it was First Communion flashbacks. Maybe it was a fear of commitment. Maybe I just really hated tulle. I had no idea.

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