Page 33 of On the Rocks

But right in the center of my chest there was an ache. A tight, unfamiliar pressure, like I was in a glass box sinking deeper and deeper into unmarked waters, sipping air as casually as I could and ignoring the feeling that there would soon be none left to sip.

I felt marginally better when the congregation was fully seated, our pastor taking to the podium on stage to open service with a prayer. Soon, we’d sing and praise the Lord, witness a few baptisms, hear the message of God through our pastor, and then I’d be set free for the afternoon.

At least for the next hour, the attention would be off me.

I hadn’t realized what I’d been feeling until Noah Becker pinpointed it with the perfect word.

Smothered.

And ever since he’d said it, I couldn’t shake it.

When Mama wanted to plan, to spend hours and hours every single day working on the tiniest details of the wedding, I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I felt the collar to any dress or shirt I wore growing tighter as the days grew longer, summer in full swing. The only bit of relief I got was when Anthony would call and talk to me at night, calming my breaths and easing my mind by assuring me he would be there soon, that he’d help, that no matter what, it would all be okay.

No matter what, we would be married in five weeks. And that was what mattered.

Those conversations with him that drifted into late night laughter were the only things that saved me.

That, and the night with Noah.

But that had been tarnished.

I found him one section over in the front row, sitting with all his brothers and his mom. Last Sunday, I’d watched him with a curious smile, thinking about our night at the Black Hole together.

Today, I wanted to shoot laser beams through the back of his head with my eyeballs.

I frowned, narrowing my eyes as I stared at his perfectly styled hair, the collar of his olive green button up, the tan skin of his neck. I’d been naïve to think Noah Becker could be anything less than an asshole. I thought he’d shown me a softer side of him that night at the Black Hole — he listened to me, saw that I was anxious before I did, and even opened up to me a little. All week, I’d caught myself thinking about that night, about the way it felt to ride Tank in the moonlight, to have the heat of a man behind me, the ear of the last person on Earth I expected bent to listen to every word I had to say.

But it was just an act, or a drunken game, or some way for him to mess with me.

He’d shown his true colors again when I’d run into him Wednesday night.

First, he’d nearly run me over. And as if that wasn’t enough, he’dyelledat me — speaking to me like I was just another nosey, gossiping bitty in town. Add in the fact that he’d practically accused me of wanting to cheat on my fiancé, and I knew one thing for sure.

I wasdonewith Noah Becker, and I never wanted to talk to him again.

But I still wanted to knock him upside the head.

I was still staring at that head of his when I heard my name flow from the pastor’s mouth.

I blinked, turning my gaze to the stage as the congregation applauded. My heart rate ticked up a notch as I tried to dig through the haze to see if I’d heard anything that had just been said.

“Standup,” Mama said under her breath, keeping her smile as she clapped.

I did as she said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I offered the warmest smile I could to the pastor.

“There she is,” he said, hands outstretched.

Pastor Morris had been the pastor for Stratford’s Baptist Church since before I was born. He was a jolly man, average height with a belly built on all the church baking fundraisers. He was pale as snow, with hair that he dyed the black it was in his youth — though the gray peppered it now.

“Ruby Grace,” he said, shaking his head as the applause died down. “I remember when you were just a young girl, singing for us up here during Vacation Bible School. Hasn’t she grown into a lovely young lady?”

The congregation applauded again, Mama dabbing at the corner of her eyes with her handkerchief as my cheeks burned.

“Ruby Grace has been such a woman of God, giving her time to those in need by volunteering all over our town, namely at our nursing home, and she’s continued to help spread the word during her time attending the University of North Carolina. And five weeks from today, right here in this church, our lovely Ruby Grace Barnett will become Mrs. Anthony Caldwell.”

The applause was deafening at that, whistles ringing out as I fought the urge to curl into a ball under the nearest pew.

“There will be an open reception at our house after!” Mama called out, standing long enough to say her peace before curtsying and sitting back down. Everyone laughed at that, a few hollers about free champagne echoing before it was silent again.