Page 3 of Top Shelf

I feel the weight of disappointment from my parents. The uncertainty of what comes next. How to deal with Dallas moving forward.

But I don’t feel that uncertainty in the pit of my stomach. Because if there is one thing I’m sure of, it’s that I wasn’t supposed to marry Dallas Grisham today.

I squeeze my eyes shut, rubbing my clammy palms on my bare thighs, forcing breaths through pursed lips as I try and steady my heart rate.

“Hey,” Tyson says, and just hearing his voice brings me down a little. I open my eyes slowly and look at him. I see him lift a finger and press the button to roll my window down. He nods toward it, the wind blowing my once-perfect updo to shit. “Breathe,” he says. I just stare at him for a minute. Then he gives me a look. “Sade,breathe.”

“Where are we going?” I ask him. Slowly, he slides a hand over the center console and onto my thigh. There’s a mini-electric shock underneath the skin where his hand rests. He wraps his whole hand around mine, covering it.

“Let me take care of that, Sade,” Tyson tells me. “Please, just try and relax some.”

I let out a long breath and lean back against the seat. I close my eyes and let the wind hit my face, and then I breathe. I let my hand melt into his, and I let the wind rock me to sleep.

“Sade,” he whispers. “Sade, wake up.” I blink slowly, rubbing my eyes and trying to get a hold of my surroundings. I blink a few more times as I look out the windshield, and my stomach flips.

The lake house.

I close my eyes, letting this feeling wash over me. This feeling of blissful familiarity. The place he took me so much. Us and a big group of our friends. Summer after summer.

The lake house.

He opens his door, then turns around and reaches over to the backseat, pulling my bag out. He gets out and meets me on my side, closing my door and putting his arm around my shoulder. There is something so familiar, so safe about being with him right now. I’m aware that my life as I know it is burning down around me, but with Tyson, none of that matters. He makes it so I can turn my brain off, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.

We walk up the porch steps, and he types in the code. The door unlocks, and then we walk inside, and I breathe in that familiar scent of the Calway lake house—cedar and cinnamon, just like every other time I have ever been here.

Like the time after my sixteenth birthday, when Tyson almost gave me my first kiss.

Almost.

And the time after, in college, when we were both back for winter break. When we’d had a few beers around the fire. When he walked me back to my room, and I wanted so badly to ask him to stay with me—until my drunken boyfriend, Dallas, stumbled past us through the door toourroom, crashing down onto the bed and taking my fantasy with him.

But now, here we are again.

But this time, it’s just me and him.

“Oh gosh,” I say, watching him set the keys and my bag down on the kitchen island. “I just realized you don’t even have a bag.”

He smiles and shrugs.

“Tate always leaves some clothes here,” he says. “Or I’ll just sleep naked.”

I chuckle as the image flashes through my mind for the briefest of seconds. And then reality descends upon me again.

And I remember the mess I’ve just made—and the mess I’ve run out on—and that when this little stunt of mine ends, I have to go back to it. I have to figure out how the fuck to clean it up.

And then I feel that elephant sitting on my chest again. My hands clam up, and my breaths become shallow. But before I can even mutter a word, he’s made his way across the room to me.

“Hey,” he whispers, still in his shirt and tie that he looks so fucking delicious in, “come on. Come with me.”

He takes my hand again, walking me across the huge family room and to the back door. He unlocks the latch and pulls me out onto the deck. There’s a big glider bench that I used to love reading out on when we were younger. I’d always wake up before the rest of the house, and this is where I’d come.

He pats the seat next to him, and I sink into it. He drops his arm around my shoulders again, pulling me into him and resting his head on mine. It’s chilly out (fall always comes earlier up here), but the chill is forcing me to take actual breaths. And it feels good. And then it feels like it needs to get out. And it does, in the form of big, round, hot tears that are spilling from my eyes.

When he notices, he cups my head with his other hand, holding me on his shoulder. He rubs my hair, and I feel him press his lips to the top of my head. And after a moment, as I curl up deeper into his chest, I realize how completely fucked up this is. Because I’m sitting here, still wearing my stupid “bride” tank top the girls got me, but all I want to do is turn and kiss the man who has always been there for me, who has always acted as my getaway car long before this day.

“What is it, Sade?” he finally whispers, looking down at me and swiping one last tear from my cheek. “Talk to me.”

He is so fucking beautiful. He always has been. But sitting here like this, his dress shirt a little more snug around his thick arms and chest, his tie loosened, his dark hair tousled and disheveled from the events of the day…God,I swear I have never wanted anything more. Maybe it’s the emotions, maybe it’s the familiarity.

---