Page 2 of Loose End

Paul doesn’t cause drama, he’s not an attention seeker. He doesn’t get excited about…well, anything. He’s just Paul. Which I know makes him sound like a glorified house cat, but he’s always been there for me. He’s been my rock all the way through college, and we love each other. Right?Right. I love Paul.

Poppy grabs my arms and swivels me around to face her, keeping me from emptying the trash can like a rabid—but also sparkly—raccoon. “I need you to stop, June. Take a breath.” She inhales dramatically. “Now let it out.”

“I know how to breathe.” My words are jumbled together, and while yes, I know how to breathe, I do what she says.

“Of course you do.” She gives me a slight shake, rising up on her tiptoes to look me straight in the eyes. “I need you to calm your fucking tits before you jump on the crazy train and take it all the way to Brentwood Sanitorium. What are you looking for? I don’t think Paul is in this room, let alone the trash can.”

I take in a deep breath, this time on my own, and glance around the small space. “I know he’s not here. I was looking for something to cover my face so I can go look for him.”

Her lips twitch like she’s trying not to laugh at me, confirming my ridiculousness. A pillowcase is a stupid idea. I wouldn’t be able to see out of it unless I also found a pair of scissors. “You could put your old shirt over your head and peer out the armhole, but I think that might ruin your hair.”

With a gasp, my hands fly up to my hair and I straighten the crown. There are so many curls, twists, braids and bobby pins and no way would I be able to fix it.

If there even is still a wedding.

“Maybe he’s in the bathroom? He’ll sometimes eat Thai food that’s a little too spicy and that gives him the…you know.” I gesture to my stomach and grimace. “Maybe he had something for dinner last night that didn’t agree with him.”

“Gross. I didn’t want to know that about Paul. Come on, we need to meet up with the rest of the wedding party.”

Right. The wedding party. My two youngest sisters and Paul’s golf buddies from college who will all be judging me and wondering what I did to scare off the groom.

Which by the way, is a big fat nothing.I’m perfectly pleasant.

Maybe he needs a breather.

It’s normal to get cold feet. He probably felt some of what I was feeling earlier and escaped to a bathroom for a few minutes to clear his head. It’ll all be fine. We’ll find him, and the wedding will go off without a hitch.

Easy peasy.

Next week I’ll be laughing about this. Right?Right?

Poppy clutches my hand in hers and we sneak out of the bridal suite, passing the alcove leading to the main part of the church. The room where all our friends and family are waiting patiently while listening to the string quartet. My mom’s out there so patient is a bit of a stretch, but you know what I mean.

We make our way past the front entrance, where the door appears tightly closed. Surely, he wouldn’t take the time to do something as trivial as closing a door if he was running out of here like the church was on fire. Which means he’s got to be inside. Or at least that’s what the rational side of my brain thinks.

As we pass the coat closet, I hear a thump followed by a muted curse. I stop dead in my tracks and drop Poppy’s hand. I did hear that, right?

I glance at Poppy, her brows are drawn together and the intense way she stares at the door tells me I’m not alone in what I heard. Silence fills the air once again, but I can’t drop my gaze from the brass doorknob. I don’t know if I’m waiting for it toturn from the other side or if it’s waiting for me to find the courage within myself to open the door and find what or who is on the other side.

It could be nothing.

Or it could very much be something.

There are no accidents, at least not in my world. Ever since Poppy beat cancer, I’m a firm believer that things happen for a reason, even the bad things. The bad things bring you closer to the people you love. They help you learn and grow.

And right now, my gut is telling me not to walk away. It’s telling me I need to see what’s behind this closed door.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” Poppy grabs my hand and gives me a slight tug, but as a muffled moan comes from the closet, I stay firmly in place.

Its deep baritone sounds nothing like Paul, and I force out a breath. It’s probably just a guest getting his rocks off before the wedding. I turn to head down the hall with the groom’s suite, but before I can take a step, Poppy lunges to the closet door and throws it open.

H.O.L.Y. Shit.

I gasp, my hand flying to cover my mouth as it drops open. I don’t want to look. I don’t want to see this. But I can’t seem to tear my gaze away from a man that looks a lot like Paul, on his knees in front of the best man—hisbest freaking man—actively sucking his dick and if the sounds are any indication, giving it hell.

Paul is facing away from the door so I can’t see his face as his head bobs and weaves around his friend’s cock, but I know it’s him. His dark brown hair is slicked back in his signature style and his ears are a bit too big for his head. Mark, the best man, has his head tilted toward the heavens, a faint smile across his face, and holds onto those ears for dear life. His hips thrustand as they do, his head tilts down, his eyes finally meeting mine and opening wide.

I still haven’t moved. I’m not sure if I’ve even breathed.

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