Page 2

Stevie

Another wedding.

It’s exhausting.

First Henrik and Autumn.

Now Ivan and Chey.

And next week, fucking Blake and Rowan.

I get it.

My friends are somehow all involved in hockey, and this is the off-season. They try to get married and go on honeymoons before the new season starts, but it feels like it’s one right after the other.

Of course, Henrik and Autumn’s wedding was fun. I was just a guest at theirs, so I could relax, drink champagne, and allow myself to pretend that might be me someday.

Not likely.

The devil on my shoulder whispers in my ear in a voice loud enough to make me scowl.

The devil is an asshole, but I’m Chey’s maid of honor, so I don’t have time for self-pity today. If I’m honest, it’s been nice having a lot to do. Between the planning, shopping for dresses, shoes, and accessories, throwing her the most elegant shower in the world, the bachelorette party, and helping plan the morning-after brunch—in addition to working part-time at my friend Saylor’s art gallery, spending time with her boyfriend Canyon’s twelve-year-old niece, and my modeling career—I’ve had plenty to do to keep my mind off how miserable my life is.

Well, I guess how miserable it was .

It’s better now.

I’d even go so far as to say it’s good at the moment.

If not for the nightmares.

And loneliness.

And all my insecurities rearing their ugly heads when I least expect it.

Like right now.

I’m supposed to be celebrating with Chey and Ivan.

The ceremony was lovely.

Chey looks like a princess, and Ivan is her knight in shining armor.

He’s in a white tuxedo, and she’s in the palest pink imaginable. It’s a breathtaking combination. I’m in a dark but muted shade of pink as the maid of honor, and the rest of the girls are in a lighter shade. The guys are in soft-gray tuxedos, and I’m a little taken aback by how handsome they all are. They’re his teammates on the L.A. Phantoms, and though I know them all, they’re usually hot, sweaty, and smelly when I see them after games.

That’s not the case today.

Gabe is Ivan’s best man, and he cuts a dashing figure, with his dark hair and broad shoulders.

Jensen, who’s six feet five inches and built like the side of a mountain, wears a tux like he was born to it.

Connor is only nineteen, but he’s grown up a lot in the year or so since I’ve known him. He’s filled out enough to where he’s more man than teenager now.

Canyon has a smirk on his face, his blue eyes twinkling as he stands there watching his girlfriend Saylor, who’s also in the wedding party. They’re so cute together.

And Marty.

My heart skips a beat when I look at him.

Nothing can come of it, but there’s something…alluring about the broody, dark-haired man. We shared a dance at Henrik and Autumn’s wedding that left me breathless.

Strong, muscular body.

Tall enough that I can wear heels when we dance and still look up.

Deep, soulful brown eyes.

He’s not traditionally handsome, but he’s all man.

And in a tux?

I’m having a hard time averting my eyes.

Thank goodness it’s time to follow the group down the aisle.

I take Gabe’s arm, and we move behind Ivan and Chey.

“This is the biggest, fanciest wedding I’ve ever been to,” he tells me. “I don’t know if I’m happy or sad that Harper and I eloped.”

I chuckle. “I think eloping is the way to go. If I ever get engaged again, that’ll be my plan. This feels like…a lot.”

“But Chey is a lot,” he points out.

“That she is. In the best possible way.”

I smile in her direction.

Because Chey is a lot.

A tall, gorgeous force of nature with a lot of success, a lot of money, and a lot going on. Always.

But she’s also the kindest, sweetest, most giving friend I’ve ever had.

When my ex threw me over the railing, it was Chey and Ivan who came to my rescue and Chey who stayed at the hospital with me. Who moved me into her and Ivan’s new house and made sure I had everything I needed, both physically and emotionally. Chey who jumped at the chance to do a fashion show that meant very little to her but helped to get my modeling feet back under me. And Chey who asked me a hundred times if I was sure I could handle, and wanted the responsibility of, being her maid of honor.

She’s the top supermodel in the world, probably one of the most beautiful women to ever grace a magazine cover, and yet, she’s just my bestie to me. The most important title in the world, as far as I’m concerned. So when she needed me to be her right arm in planning the celebrity wedding of the year, there was no universe where I said no. No universe where I ever let her down, no matter how over-the-top her plans were.

We get into formation for the receiving line, and I’m grateful for the five hundred guests that keep us there an hour. My feet hurt, but I don’t have to worry about anything—I just have to stand here and smile, say hello when I recognize people, and pretend like I do this every day.

I’ve been in weddings before, but nothing as extravagant as this one.

Ivan and Chey went all out, and it’s truly stunning.

Exactly what I envisioned my own wedding would be.

Except in Paris.

With a view of my favorite city in the world.

In a beautiful couture gown.

Friends and family surrounding us.

My gorgeous groom beside me.

Except the man in that scenario turned out to be a monster and my fantasies no longer exist. At least, not the ones related to weddings.

Now I’m focused on survival, slowly but surely making my way back to being one of the top models in the world and starting a new life here in Los Angeles. With both old and new friends, a completely different lifestyle, and a whole lot of therapy.

“I’ve stolen a bottle of champagne with our names on it. Interested?” The low, gruff voice in my ear makes me break out in goose bumps and I nod without even turning around.

“Absolutely.” I take Marty’s arm and move against him. “You are the best. It’s like you read my mind.”

“I try.”

We step out of the line and head for one of the balconies of the hotel.

The sun has just set so it’s not quite dark out, a tiny sliver of orange gracing the horizon, and I stare at the landscape of Los Angeles spread out before us.

“My favorite time of day,” I whisper.

“Mine too.” Marty sounds a little surprised.

“It’s the end of the day, so to speak, but not quite nighttime. And nighttime is my least favorite part of any day.” I don’t know why I told him that, because it feels incredibly personal, but it slipped out. Marty is easy to talk to even though we haven’t seen each other since Henrik and Autumn’s wedding.

“Why?” he asks curiously.

I shrug. “The nightmares that are inevitable.”

“Still?” His voice is soft.

“Still. We’re working on it in therapy but…well, everything else is going okay except that. They’re not every night anymore, usually every two or three nights, but it makes it hard to sleep when I know they’re coming. She says it will pass, that this kind of thing takes time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” I glance at him. “Did you bring glasses?”

He grimaces. “I wasn’t supposed to take anything from the champagne fountain and one of the attendants started yelling, so I grabbed the bottle and one glass before she chased me out of the room.” He pulls a single champagne flute out of his pocket. “Glass for you, bottle for me?”

I chuckle. I don’t know why that strikes me as funny, but it does.

“Perfect.” I watch as he fills the glass and holds it out.

Then he takes a long pull from the bottle.

It’s a little uncouth at an event like this, but I like it.

I like him .

There’s something rough around the edges about him that turns me on but also something about him that makes me feel safe.

I’m not in the market, but if I were, I’d climb him like a tree.

Of course, I haven’t had sex in a long time.

Not since the accident.

Not an accident.

I have to keep reminding myself of that.

What Damien did to me was intentional. There was nothing accidental about it. Even though I refer to it as an accident whenever it comes up. That might be part of why I’m struggling to get past everything that happened.

“Where did you go just now?” Marty asks, his dark eyes finding mine.

“I… it doesn’t matter.” I drink deeply from my champagne flute, hoping the alcohol will give me enough of a buzz to stop thinking so much.

“Somewhere dark,” he says knowingly. “Your ex or something to do with what happened.”

“Yes.” No point in denying it.

“You shouldn’t.” He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes. There’s a breeze up here that’s sending the tendrils hanging from my messy updo in every direction.

“I can’t seem to help it.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Fuck no.” The response is genuine and immediate.

“Then let it go. I know it’s easier said than done but replace those memories with better ones. The friendships you’ve built since leaving New York. The way Ally looks to you like a big sister.” He motions behind us. “The family you’ve found here with the Phantoms.”

His eyes are still fixed on mine, and I can’t look away.

In almost any other time and place, I would lean in, tilt up my face expectantly… but not with him. Not now. I don’t want to ruin whatever this is.

Our easy, budding friendship.

He’s in the middle of a messy divorce and has his three kids with him. He’s not looking for a girlfriend. And I’m not interested in casual sex, even though my body seems to disagree when I’m near him.

I know he knows what I’m thinking.

He feels it too.

“I wish I could,” he whispers out of nowhere, brushing his knuckles across my cheek.

“I know.” I let my eyes flutter closed and lean into the warmth of his hand.

Just for a second.

A tiny moment of intimacy that reminds me I’m still alive.

And when I open my eyes again, he’s gone.