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I would know. Charlee and I have built enough of them.

I wipe my tears from my face and focus on my breaths and the comfort of my marshmallow kingdom enveloping me.

Inhale. Exhale.

And inhale. And exhale.

And I decide, just now, that I’m sort of pissed. It’s an emotion I’ve long since been acquainted with, this deep-rooted anger born from somewhere I can’t quite pinpoint, but I welcome it with open arms.

I have every right to be pissed, though, don’t I?

Because shouldn’t the first thing out of someone’s mouth when there’s obvious interest between you be: “Hi, so nice to see you again. I’M MARRIED! I’m married, I’m married, I’m married.

“In your face, motherfucker.I’M MARRIED.”

Especially given our history?

How did I not see the ring sooner?How did none of us see the damn ring sooner?Before hope and memories and feelings sunk their claws back into me?

Andfuck, but it hurts. My chest aches, and my throat tightens, andit fucking hurts.Just like I knew it would when I found out he was taken. Because of course he’s taken. He’sGreyson.

What idiot would let that go?

This idiot,I remind myself, and then I reluctantly throw on my big girl pants and tell my friends what happened in one short, three-worded text. The zinger that still makes me want to throw up two hours later.

Me:So, he’s married.

Forty-five After

SCREW IT. I’Mbuying a lottery ticket, and if I’m not a multi-millionaire by tomorrow, I’ll be shocked.

Because what are the odds?

When Charlee and I turn around from the concessions stand, arms full to the brim with popcorn and drinks and candy, there he is.

Greyson.

Looking as good as ever and as married as I never hoped he’d be.

“Jess, hey!” His face lights up when he finally sees me, and I smile, genuine, even though I feel as if I’m slightly dying inside.

Because he’s not alone. A beautiful brunette stands beside him, toned body peeking through the shorts and adorable crop-top she’s wearing beneath her oversized coat.

Greyson’s coat, from the looks of it.

I hate her. I hate her immediately. I can’t help it.

And isn’t it amazing, how I’ve reverted back to a sixteen-year-old version of myself in a matter of seconds?Get it together, Jess.

“Jess, this is,” Greyson turns towards her as I prepare for the blow, my body stiff.My wife, my wife, my wife,he’s going to say, and it’s going to crush me. “Brienne, my drummer’s wife.”

Wife.There it is.Ouch.

My heart drops, landing somewhere in the pit of my stomach—but, wait.What?“Your drummer’s wife?” I ask on a breath.

“Yeah.” He smiles. “And speak of the devil,” a tall, tattooed man walks over, sliding his arm around her, “This is Matt, my best friend and bandmate. Matt, this is Jess,” Greyson says, and I can tell from the surprised look on Matt’s face that he knows exactly who I am. Yet his eyes are warm and inviting, friendly. I’m not sure what to make of that.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says and holds out his hand for me to shake.