Page 99 of A Little Broken

A brat? Now we’re name calling? Real mature, Lia.

Another message buzzes.

Ophelia

You don’t get to ignore my calls and messages, then get butthurt for being the last in the know, Tate.

Ouch.

Ophelia

Fine. Here it is. Mav proposed. We’re getting married. I’d love to give you the details, if you’re interested. Give me a call.

The sucker punch hits its mark, leaving me breathless.

What the fuck, Lia?

Legs weak, I lean against the wall and reread the message.

Mav proposed.

We’re getting married.

Married.

Anger surges through my veins, and I squeeze my cell, my vision blurring.

They’re getting married.

Racing the rest of the way down the stairs, I steal a bottle of Jack from the bar before flicking the lid off. It rolls on the ground, disappearing into the sea of dancing people in the middle of the room while I bring the bottle to my mouth. Liquid heat burns my throat as I swallow.

They’re getting married.

My eyes ache with unshed tears, but I tell myself it’s the liquor. That it has nothing to do with my sister and the happily-ever-after she’s living without a single fuck to give for the rest of the world, let alone the man she buried. The manweburied.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, then go in for another glug. The quicker the alcohol sets in, the quicker I can black out and forget this ever happened. At least, for a little while. It’s funny. When you’re used to surviving a day at a time, a little while is all you can ask for, isn’t it? Squeezing my eyes shut, I open my throat and pour the liquor down, letting it wash over me as I welcome the numbness, praying it’ll take over soon and I won’t have to hurt so much. I won’t have to hurt so deeply. Then again, I should know better than this. To believe the pain will go away.

I can’t believe they’re finally doing it. They’re getting married. They’re fulfilling the fucked-up circle of life or whatever. It shouldn’t be a surprise, and in a way, I guess it isn’t, but seriously? They’re really just…moving on like that? Like he never existed? Like they didn’t steal his happily-ever-after? Andeven though I knew they’d get married and ride off into the sunset, it still…hurts. Knowing he never will.

“Tate, are you—” Rory’s eyes pop as I turn toward her. Staring at the bottle of Jack pressed against my lips, her eyes glaze with trepidation. “Whoa.” She peeks up at me again. “Are you okay?”

Keeping a firm grasp on the neck of my liquid gold, I drop my arm to my side. “Fan-fucking-tastic. Haven’t you heard the news?”

She frowns. “What news?”

“There’s a wedding to be had,” I announce, using my best hoity-toity British accent while batting my lashes.

Her frown deepens. “What are you talking about?”

“Your brother proposed.” I swallow the bile coating my throat, well-aware it’ll only be replaced with more.

“Mav proposed?” she asks, dumbfounded.

“Yup.” I take another swig of alcohol. “How much do you wanna bet Jax will be at the wedding?”

The blood drains from her face.

“Exactly,” I quip. “Which is why I led with fan-fucking-tastic. Who doesn’t love a good ol’ family reunion, am I right?”

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