Page 15 of I Do With You

“Yeah, I know. I’ve heard every detail of it, ad nauseum,” Joy agrees, not seeing the issue. She’s not hearing Hope’s voice, which isn’t so muchtalking to her sister as it is explaining the whole situation to herself. “Roy this, Roy that, we, we, we.”

“Is that it?” Hope whispers. “I mean, can I set an alarm by what my life is going to be like for the next fifty years? No questions, no adventures, no excitement. Justthat? Me and Roy, forever?”

“That’s what you’ve always wanted.” Joy plops down on the table’s edge to peer at Hope in confusion. “Are you having a quarter-life crisis or something? We should’ve done the rager bachelorette party. I knew it!” She throws her head back, looking at the ceiling as if there are answers written there. “Gone to Vegas, or watched a live-actionMagic Mikeshow, or something outrageous. But you said no. Guess you got the wild out of your system in another way.” Her gaze rolls past Hope to me, once again implying that something happened between us.

“We didn’t fuck. We talked, ate, and drank a couple of beers,” I say firmly as I step up to Hope’s side, standing shoulder to shoulder with her against her sister. For myself, I want to hide from Joy’s shrewd gaze, but for Hope? I’m willing to be strong because it feels like she needs Joy to know that nothing happened between us, and when she looks up at me with gratefulness in her eyes, I know I’m right.

“Thanks, Ben.”

“Okay, fine, fine,” Joy says, holding her hands up in surrender, still glancing from Hope to me and back. “But you can understand my thinking here. You ran away from your wedding, spent the night with another guy, and show up wearing what are obviously his clothes since you only had a wedding gown. It’s pretty sketch, sis.” Less than a heartbeat later, she adds, “I wouldn’t blame you. Hot stranger in the woods, dangerous rescue, the two of you alone, with all that adrenaline and nowhere to burn it out? It’s like the plot to a smutty book. But it’s not your style.”

She sounded proud of her sister for a moment as she took some creative liberties in describing what happened, but she ended with what seems to be the biggest problem: everyone, including Hope, thinks they know her. What if they don’t, though?

Learn you from the inside, from your core, from your soul. Brave little one, let me in.

I can hear that one in my mind, with a rough whisper growing into a scream as the drums take over, pounding hard. I wish I could write it down, but now’s not the time or place, given that I’m with the press. I try to keep the thought pinned in my head for later.

“Are you really thinking about leaving Roy? For good?” Joy steps into the deep question carefully, like she knows it’s dangerous quicksand.

Hope lifts one shoulder, looking up through her lashes at her sister. “I don’t know. What do you think?” She wants a trusted opinion, like she doesn’t have faith in what her own gut says.

I get it. I’ve depended on Sean’s advice more often than my own heart many times before. Maybe that’s what started our difficulties—I have an opinion about what’s best for me, and it’s different from what he wants forus. And we’re too stubborn to compromise.

But if Joy can give some advice that keeps Hope at the forefront, it’ll definitely help.

“You deserve better than him. You know that, right?” Joy tells her gently.

It’s the first time I think I’m seeing Joy’s true self, the ride-or-die Hope said she was, and it gets Hope’s attention. Her head jerks up, her eyes wide. “What?”

“Sis, he was a big deal in high school. I get that. But those days are long gone. For most of us, anyway. But he’s still trading on that, and on his daddy’s position of power, and on having you at his side like a prized trophy. He’s not a bad guy, exactly, but you’re Hope Mercy Barlowe, for fuck’s sake. You’re amazing and gorgeous, if I do say so myself. And the only reason you’re with him is because he locked you in before you knew better, and then he kept you from getting a clue.”

Joy holds her breath like she’s waiting for the short-fused bomb she just lit to explode. It feels like she’s wanted to say all that to Hope for a long time but never dared.

“I thought you liked Roy?” Hope questions hollowly, her brows knit together in confusion.

Joy shrugs. “I like you, and you like Roy. I’m not gonna fuck us up over a guy that’ll be gone one day, sooner or later.” Okay, quicksand be damned. She’s cannonballing into the deep end now, harshly saying her piece without filter. My estimation of Joy ticks upward again. “But you can’t honestly tell me that if you met Roy today, you’d be falling over him. Did you hear those weak-ass vows? ‘Obey’?Obey?I nearly smacked him across the face for you. I mean, I don’t even know this guy”—she gestures at me—“but he’s been nicer to you in the last ten minutes than Roy has ever been. Hell, he even defended you againstme.”

It feels like a huge badge of approval, and unconsciously, I puff my chest out a little.

“Don’t get all bigheaded. I’m comparing you to a guy whose claim to fame is that his dad’s winning sperm carried the genes for mediocrity in a small town,” she says, crudely popping my bubble.

Ouch.

“Joy!” Hope shouts in shock. But her sister has no shame, blinking innocently like she didn’t just cut Roy—and me—off at the knees with frighteningly few words.

“You deserve more, and the sooner you figure that out, the better. Because half the town’s looking for you.” Joy points a finger toward the window as she gives the warning.

“Half?”

“Well, there’s a betting pool. Couple of them, actually. One for why you ran, one for when you’re coming back. So some folks want you to stay gone—until their day, at least.”

“People are awful,” Hope says. She’s right, as far as I’m concerned.

“People want to know what’s going on because they’re nosy assholes, but they care about you too,” Joy counters. “Roy and his badge-toting dad aren’t everyone’s cup of whiskey. You’ve got some pretty hard-core fans yourself.”

Even though Joy’s talking about Hope’s fans, the mere mention of the word makes sweat bead up on my brow. This is one of my problems—dealing with the public. It’s why I wear a mask onstage in the first place. I couldn’t perform otherwise. I told Hope that my confidence grew when I got older, but that’s only in certain areas of my life. In others, I’m still the shy, nervous kid who sang only in his room, with no one listening, because the one time I tried didnotgo well. I cracked, and so did my voice.

Hope looks completely lost at the information Joy is throwing at her, like she never imagined Roy wasn’t everyone’s favorite and she was seen as the coattail-riding girlfriend. Which, again, pisses me the fuck off. Who the hell is this guy? Because it sounds like he needs a two-piece wake-up call. One-two, ding-ding, motherfucker.

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