Page 55

You should be. But I’ll tell you this. When you race motocross, about halfway through the race, deep ruts form in the track and expose rocks, roots, anything that’s under the surface of the track. Hell, I once saw a license plate kick up. Once you hit those ruts, you have to choose a line and commit to it. If you don’t, you’ll end up wrecking and taking out others in the process.
Only I’m not sure which line I’m committing to.
Have you ever thought to yourself, what the fuck am I doing? And then actually looked around for the answer. As if it’s going to pop up on a pit sign. Life’s going to hold up a sign with two laps to go and say to you, “You’re fuckin’ this up, girl. Own it.”
I wish I had a pit sign to tell me that but in reality, I don’t. All I have is a mind that won’t stop obsessing over what to do next. That’s the only reason why I can justify getting in my car to go to the post office, and ending up here.
I rub my hands over my jeans, gulping in air. “What am I doing here?” I ask myself, a gold-lined cardstock in my hand with the names of two people written in fancy fonts. Staring at the invitation in my hand, I think about how fast it all happened. How I went from being engaged one day, to three weeks later having invitations and the wedding day two weeks from now. It’s like one of those shotgun weddings where they’re getting married because the girl got pregnant.
That’s not the case. In my situation, Agustin is set to leave for Peru for a few months to work on a company merger between his family’s company and another one. He leaves in three weeks and wants to be married before then. If I had to guess, I think it’s because he doesn’t want to leave me here, in California, alone and unmarried.
You and I both know that’s why.
And that leads me to today.
Do you see me here? Edginess in my movements and butterflies swimming around inside my chest like they’re making a home? I’m terrified to deliver this invitation here. Why am I?
Okay, hear me out. I’ve had three weeks to calm down, and while I’m still pissed at Roan for lying to me, I don’t want to hate him. I can’t. I’ve tried and everything inside me tells me I shouldn’t. I don’t know why he chose to let me believe a lie, but he had a reason, didn’t he?
And if you wanted to give someone, let’s say, one last chance, would you give them a wedding invitation to see what their reaction will be? Is that, you know, a bad plan?
Too bad. I’m going to do it and see what happens. After swinging the car door open, I stand on the stone driveway and smooth out the wrinkles in my dress. Looking up at the house before me, I stare at the bikes parked in the driveway to Roan’s blacked-out GTR.
I fight back a smile thinking about the things we did in that car when he told my dad he was taking me for a ride. And he did. Just not the kind my dad thinks. I make my way to the front steps and knock.
Scarlet answers. “Oh, hey!” Her excitement relaxes me a little. At least she didn’t slam the door in my face. She lets go of the door and it creaks open. “Roan’s out back if you’re looking for him.”
I nod. “Okay.”
Making my way through the house, it’s quieter than it usually is. No kids, hardly any of their friends, but I spot Roan immediately. He’s sitting by the bar with a drink in one hand and his phone in the other. I swallow nervously, shifting my weight from foot to foot. I want to go out there, but something stops me at the large glass doors. I know he doesn’t want me here, so why am I?
With a deep breath, I step outside and walk toward him. He doesn’t even look at me. He keeps his eyes on his phone, but the smirk leads me to believe otherwise. I know he sees me. There’s nothing quite like feeling you don’t belong, and I’m not sure I’ve ever belonged in his presence. Roan’s had a tough life, and it’s evident by every gesture he makes. It’s the way he pulls at his hair, the obsessive way he drinks, the stiffness in his shoulders, the limp from countless injuries and the tired, worn expression on his face.
He’s been racing with the X-Treme EnduroCross Series the last few weeks. Yes, I’ve been following it. Last night he took a hard hit in the main event and he’s clearly in pain, yet still incredibly beautiful in every detail imaginable. To his left, a bottle of Jack, the right, an ice pack perched on his shoulder. He’s been through hell lately and here I am about to tell a guy ejected midair from his bike last night and landed in a bed of rocks, that I’m getting married in two weeks.
I clear my throat and extend the invitation to him. No words.
Shit. Dumb move.
He gazes at me, like he knew I’d come here. Reaching for the invitation, he reads it and then looks up at me again, pursed lips, gaze penetrating. His angry blue eyes return to the invitation. “Why’d you give me this?”
So you’d stop it. Tell me you love me. Make me believe you’re worth giving up a man I know will treat me right.
You know, just to name a few reasons.
My heart feels like it’s going to drop out of my chest and land on the floor at his feet. The thing is, it’s been there for so long, how can he not see it? If he knew, he’d probably stomp on it. I swallow over the lump forming. “We’re friends?” That is the worst answer I could have given him and not the one I rehearsed on the way here. Because we weren’t friends. I’m not sure we’d ever been friends. I’d been his toy. A shiny object he played with when he wanted, and set aside when he felt like it.
Only now, I’d been the broken one. The toy used by others and he could no longer trust. And I couldn’t trust him either.
Silence stretches between us and he grins smugly.
True to his form of revenge, Roan removes a lighter from his pocket. He flicks it with his thumb, the flame bursting to life. With little movement, he sweeps it along the edge of the invitation in his hand. Without breaking eye contact with me, he holds it out to me, the flame licking his fingertips. “I never said I’d be your friend.”
What a fucking dick!
He’s twisting the knife and watches me bleed. “It figures you’d react this way,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I thought to myself, why not give him one last chance. If a wedding invitation doesn’t get his attention, maybe seeing me would. But no.” I step back and shake my head with disappointment. “You always have to have the last word.”
I begin to walk away to where Scarlet is standing, having watched all of this. She’s glaring at Roan, pointing her finger accusingly at him. I shrug, as if to say to her, I have no clue what to do.