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Barron groans. “Dude, do something. The wedding is coming up.”

I blow off his urgency with an eye roll. “I have plenty of time. It’s not for a couple months.”

“Still….”

I stare at him, my eyes burning from the oil. “Still what?”

“I don’t know. Just do something or you’re going to be miserable.”

He really has no idea how the last four years have been for me, but then again, maybe he does? I reach for a towel on his toolbox and wipe my face. “You’re one to talk.”

Barron raises an eyebrow, a hint of anger behind his dark eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re miserable,” I point out.

“Which is why I’m telling you to do something. Don’t be like me. What does Josie say?”

“Nothing. She’s too caught up in planning her best friend’s wedding to know I’m losing my shit over it.”

“You could have said something before she got engaged.”

I could have. Sure. But where would that have gotten me? She would have left eventually. I throw the towel at him. “And you could fuck that girl in there and marry her, but you probably won’t because you’re a pussy.”

He glares. “I sign your paychecks, asshole.”

“Whatever.” I slide my phone into my back pocket and walk away. Shit. I shouldn’t have done that. I wonder if waterproof phones mean oil proof too? I’m about to find out.

It’s not until I get back to my house that I think about what Barron said. You could have done something before she left.

Could I? It didn’t seem like that because I distinctly remember the guilt I felt when I wanted to ask her to stay. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, so I let her go hoping it was what was best for her.

Drawing in a breath, I start the shower and stare at my phone on the counter. I look at myself in the mirror, the grease on my face and the darkness in my eyes. I clench my jaw tight as anger pulses through me and I slide my finger across the screen of my phone. I pull up her page on Instagram. Torture maybe, but whatever the reason, I’ve been going crazy ever sense that invitation arrived.

Her page looks the same as it did the last time I checked it. No posts since Halloween when she posted herself in a skeleton jumpsuit that clung to her every curve. Do you see it? My dick hardens at the image, wishing I could have peeled the cotton from her body and showed her what my dark side looks like on Halloween.

One thing I notice… there’s no engagement post. He has one on his page, but she hasn’t posted about it. Anticipation swells inside me and I draw a deep breath and set the phone down. The image of her on Halloween haunts me. Why? Because it’s not my arm around her that night. It’s his. And she might be in his arms now.

I grip the edge of the counter as steam rolls through the room. What am I going to do? The idea of her marrying him makes me physically sick to my stomach, but I can’t get my pride out of the way long enough to make a fucking decision on what I’m going to do about it.

CHAPTER5

What Was I thinking?

ABBI

Oh, Lol. I WASN’T!

“I knowyou’re not stupid enough to lose the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Do you remember when he said that? I do. I can’t forget it. In fact, it’s all I’ve thought about.

Isn’t it funny how the one person who claims to love you more than anything else, can also destroy you with words. One simple sentence has me doubting our entire engagement.

The best thing that’s ever happened to me?

I wouldn’t say that’s Griff. I’d say it’s the Texas boy with a smirk, calloused hands, who begged me for my virginity in the bed of his truck. That boy, he held my heart in his hands from seven to seventeen, and at twenty-three, I’d be lying if I said he didn’t now.

Maybe that’s how I got to today. Or… the bottle of wine I was drinking when I bought a round-trip ticket to Amarillo the other day.