Page 14 of Free

“But what about the guests?”

“The ones who matter will understand.” His voice is calm, almost gentle, and it soothes the raw edges of my heart.

For a moment, we just look at each other. The world quiets. The buzzing in my chest softens. I nod, and Nick closes the door. He places a hand on the glass, his touch lingering before he crosses in front of the truck and climbs into the driver’s seat.

The engine roars to life, and we pull out of the parking lot. My eyes catch Davis’s as we pass him—red-faced, furious, his lips moving in words I can’t hear. A shiver runs through me, sharp and involuntary. My grip tightens on my skirts, my knuckles white.

Nick is quiet. The muscle in his jaw pulses. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel. Sweat beads on his forehead, and I don’t know why. The stress of the altercation? Spiriting away with a bride minutes before she gets married? Or is it the fact that the bride is me and somehow, I misunderstood what we were to each other and it’s only his savior complex that came to my rescue today?

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, his eyes locked on the road ahead.

I huff a surprised laugh, take a shuddering breath, intending to ask him why he cares, then suddenly find myself crying.

Nick glances over, his face softening. “Hey. Hey now.” His hand disappears into the layers of lace and tulle to grip my knee, solid and reassuring. The gesture unravels something inside me, and I turn my face to the window, swiping at my tears. Now is not the time. Fall to pieces later. But now? With Nick?

I can’t…

I just can’t…

What was I thinking? Leaving with him?

The truck slows, bumping to a stop on the shoulder of the road. A car zooms past, rocking the cabin. Nick lifts the center console, unbuckles his seatbelt, and leans over to undo mine. Before I can protest, he pulls me into his arms.

“It was a lot,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. His hand presses to my back, the other cradling the back of my head. “Hearing what you heard, standing up for yourself, walking away. You were strong, Charlie. So damn strong. I’m proud of you.”

The words hit me like a wave in a storm-thrashed sea, and I bury my face in his chest, my fingers clutching at his jacket. “I don’t feel strong,” I whisper. “I’m scared and confused and hurt, and now I’m getting tears all over you.”

“Being strong doesn’t mean you don’t feel those things,” he says. “It means you do what needs to be done anyway. A lot of women would’ve let that asshole twist them up, make them doubt themselves. But not you. You walked away. You’re free, Charlie. That’s what matters.”

I press my cheek against his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat. “Go me?” I murmur, my voice weak but edged with a small, wry smile.

“Fuck yes, go you.” His grip tightens as another car rushes past, the sound a reminder of the world still spinning beyondthis small, quiet moment. I cry softly, my tears soaking into his shirt as his hand moves in soothing circles over my back.

“I’m sorry Davis cheated,” he says after a long silence.

“Me too.” My thoughts are too fast for me to catch hold of any of them. My feelings zoom through me as wild and reckless as the cars rushing past. Anger. Sadness. Grief. Relief. Confusion. It’s all too much. Too fast. Too soon.

And then there’s Nick. His scent, his voice, his warmth—they feel like comfort and home and everything I’ve missed. But they also remind me of what I’ve lost. Of what I’ll never have. Because, like Davis, Nick doesn’t want me. Not really.

I thought he did once. But he made it painfully clear I was wrong.

EIGHT

Nick

The panic attack that started at the church presses against my edges. Darkness encroaches on my peripheral vision. Walls closing in. Sweat gathers at my temples. Hands shake.

I hold Charlie and count my breaths the way my therapist recommends. Anchor myself in my present by focusing on what I see, smell, and hear. The scent of her hair, so fresh, so familiar, lavender and lemon and promises made on a pier. The beads on her wedding dress dig into my palm. The woosh of cars zooming past. Her shoulders hitching as she cries softly into my shoulder.

Charlie’s breath slows and my panic dissipates, almost as if her calming down calms me down, which makes her even calmer. A circle of ease feeding ease. The charged atmosphere of the car relaxes into something familiar. Something I miss terribly. Something in another life, a better life, I could have grabbed hold of and never let go.

I almost tell her how much I’ve missed her, but the timing would be epically shitty.

She’s sitting in my truck in her wedding dress for God’s sake. She’s moved on.

So should I.

Focus on here.

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