Page 18 of Free

But I’m not Charlotte Chaplin.

I never was. I never will be.

I’m Charlie Cooper. Barefoot and sweaty in a wedding dress, sitting in a gravel parking lot, wondering how I got here. My job is gone, my future a giant question mark, and the man who helped me escape is the same man who once broke my heart into a thousand jagged pieces.

I glance at Nick again, desperate for some sort of clarity. Why did he help me today? Why now, after a year of silence? He takes a breath, his eyes softening, his lips parting like he wants to say something—and dear God is there so much left unsaid between us—but then I’m surrounded by the warm embrace of my father and the chatter and questions of everyone else.

“Charlie,” Dad murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. His hands find mine, his blue eyes searching my face. His dark curls—a mirror of my own—flecked with gray at the temples, seem more pronounced in the fading sunlight. “Davis told us you left him at the altar to run off with Nick.”

My stomach drops. “Davis saidwhat?”

Angela slides into the seat beside me, her red curls pinned in an elegant updo that doesn’t match the tightness in her expression. “He said you called off your wedding because of Nick.”

Garrett, her husband and my older brother, looms nearby, arms crossed over his chest, his glare drilling into Nick. “I know Nick wouldn’t derail your wedding without a damn good reason,” he growls. “And I know you wouldn’t ditch Davis for someone with a history of leading you on. So one of you better start explaining.”

Nick huffs a cynical laugh and I hold up a warning finger for Garrett. Somewhere between running from my wedding, being rescued by a man who’s made it clear he doesn’t want me, and sitting at a picnic table, in a wedding gown, in sweltering heat, my patience has run thin. “What happened between me and Nick is none of your business.”

Garrett glowers. “You’re my sister.”

“Which makes ityour sister’sbusiness,” Angela interrupts, shooting him a look that could cut steel.

“Thank you.” I nod in exasperated gratitude, turning back to the conversation at hand as I recount what I overheard between Davis and his best man. Each word feels like gravel in my throat, rough and raw.

The reactions around me are subdued—not the shock or dismay I expected, but knowing glances and small nods. Like this betrayal is less surprising to them than it is to me.

“I wonder whythatpart of the story didn’t come out at the church,” Angela mutters, her lips pressing into a sad line.

Dad’s expression darkens. “That guy never sat right with me.”

“He’s definitely painting you two as the bad guys in the situation,” Angela adds, waving a finger between me and Nick. “After hearing his version of the story, I wanted to punch Nick in the shoulder for getting in the way of a good thing.”

“I still want to punch Nick in the shoulder,” Garrett growls, and Angela punches him in the shoulder instead.

“Or we could be glad he was there to help. Right time, right place, you know?” Mom says, opening her palms. “Maybe that was his purpose for being at the wedding in the first place. The Universe has its way of making things happen. I know it couldn’t have been easy for you to send the invitation, Charlie, or for Nick to accept it. But here we are. It seems to me the two of you were exactly where you needed to be, when you needed to be there.”

Nick crosses his arms over his chest, lowering his chin and pressing his lips together with a deep sigh. It’s the same look he gave me when I told him he didn’t have to choose to stay broken. “Don’t know about all of that,” he grumbles, an entire thesis on anger, frustration, and hopelessness coursing through his words. “Sometimes bad shit just happens.”

He loosens his tie and shrugs out of his jacket with so much irritation it silences the table. My heart twists at the sight of him—lost, angry, and carrying too much pain.

For what he went through…

For how lost he seems…

It breaks for the hope I had, the pure belief that what I’d found in Nick was that magic kind of love that Angela has with Garrett, Ivy with Micah, Dad with Mom…

My family and friends find seats at the table. More jackets are removed, ties undone, skirts lifted to allow for a breeze as people settle. Connor, the middle Cooper sibling, presses a kiss to my cheek. “I’m just glad you found out about Davis before you married the asshole,” he whispers before finding a seat.

Dad purchases enough food to feed the new arrivals, and I can hear Fred’s friendly exclamations as they fall into conversation and the griddles sizzle to life. After the food arrives, we discuss the “what nows” and “what nexts” of my suddenly messy life.

“I’ll have to get my stuff out of Davis’s house,” I begin, glancing around the table before continuing.

Only there’s nothing left to say. My thoughts turn to static.

Apparently, getting my things from Davis is the extent of my plan for the future. I wasn’t exactly a financial rockstar before I quit teaching yoga, but now? There’s not enough for a downpayment on an apartment in my account, let alone anything else I’d need to rebuild a life. The realization shocks the air right out of me. A buzzing sounds in my ears, sizzles across my skin.

I am righteously screwed.

“Your old room is still intact; if you need it.” says Mom, her reassuring hand on mine. “I mean, I’ve used some of the shelves for storage, but your bed and dresser are still there, ready and waiting. You can stay with us as long as it takes to get on your feet.”

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