Page 123 of Merry Me
Because no matter how many years had passed, no matterhow many times I’d told myself I didn’t care—there was still a small, stubborn ember inside me that had wantedsomething. An apology. An explanation. A clean ending, maybe. Closure.
But this? Him showing up now, dragging all those old fractures back into the light like we were unfinished business?
No.
I straightened, spine stiffening like I was snapping a shield back into place.
“Well,” I said, lifting my chin, “you’re here. But let’s get something straight.”
He blinked.
“You don’t get to ruin this.”
His brows drew together. “I didn’t come to ruin anything. I tried to call you this week, to talk about everything…”
Ah, so I’d been right. That unknown number had been him. I didn’t know how he’d even gotten my number in the first place, but I was glad as fuck that I hadn’t picked up. Hadn’t had his voice ruin the whole week instead of just now.
I stepped closer, my voice low, steady. “Good. Because you won’t. Paige gets her day. She gets the magic, and the cake, and the teary vows, and every single ounce of joy without you dragging your history into it.”
I paused, letting the weight of my words settle. “And you’re not going to tell her you’re sick. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not until she’s back from her honeymoon and all her wedding glow has faded. She doesn’t need that in her head when she walks down the aisle. You don’t get to ruin this for her.”
He didn’t speak. Just nodded, something wounded flickering behind his eyes.
“As for me…” I shook my head. “We’re not doing this. Not now. Maybe not ever.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “But I hoped maybe?—”
“No.” I cut him off before the hope in his voice could do any real damage. “You don’t get to hope. Not after years of silence. Not after all the missed birthdays and holidays and graduationsand broken promises. You don’t get tohopeyou still fit somewhere in this story just because you showed up with a tie and a guilty conscience.”
His eyes glistened. I didn’t care.
“I’m not that little girl who used to wait on the porch in her best dress,” I said. “And I’m not going to pretend you get a second chance just because you finally remembered we exist.”
A long silence stretched between us. Thick. Cold. Heavy with everything we weren’t saying.
“I just wanted to see you,” he murmured. “Even if you didn’t want to see me.”
I took a long breath, let it sear through my lungs.
“Well,” I said, my voice firm as I turned toward the door, “now you have.”
And I stepped back inside.
The warmth of the lodge wrapped around me, too sudden, too bright. Conversation swirled in half-heard fragments, the flicker of candles catching on sequins and champagne flutes. My heels scuffed softly against the floorboards, but I couldn’t quite hear them over the rush in my ears.
Then Easton was there.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask what happened or press his luck with some charming joke to break the tension. He just wrapped his arms around me, solid and strong, and pulled me into his chest like he’d been waiting to do it all night.
And I let him. Completely.
I sank into him, my hands curling into the fabric of his suit coat. Let his steady heartbeat anchor mine. Let myself be held, because it had been a long time since anyone had seen the cracks and wrapped themselves around me anyway.
I felt the weight of his chin rest lightly on top of my head. His hands slid up and down my back in slow, grounding strokes.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured.
I closed my eyes. Soaked it in. Let it hold me up, just for a minute.
