Page 5 of The Only Road Back

BETH

I lie flat on the bed, eyes locked on the cracks in the ceiling, willing my thoughts to slow. They don’t.

Memories from today spin in an endless loop: Clark’s betrayal, Stephanie’s moaning, the wreckage of a wedding that collapsed before it began, and somehow, amid the chaos, Jack.

I press my fingertips to the spot on my forehead where Jack kissed me. The warmth still lingers. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was reassurance. Maybe even a quiet promise. I can’t decide if I’m ready for any of it, but I can’t pretend I didn’t feel something shift inside me.

A sharp buzz, and my phone lights up with a mess of missed calls and frantic texts—Mom, Dad, Clark, even Stephanie. Everyone wants explanations. Apologies. Answers that I don’t have or don’t owe them.

I scroll through the mess until I find the only name that matters: Lori.

I hit Dial , and she answers on the first ring. “Beth? Oh my God, where are you? I’ve been losing my mind over here.” Her voice is breathless.

I close my eyes.

“I’m okay,” I say, but it comes out thin. “Car trouble. I’ve just been…decompressing.”

“Seriously? Where are you? Do you need me to pick you up?”

That’s Lori. Always ready to rescue me from whatever disaster I create.

“No, it’s all right. The car’s in the shop. I’m staying somewhere nearby. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

A beat.

“At least tell me the mechanic’s cute,” she deadpans, forcing a smile out of me.

I hesitate for a second too long.

“Oh, come on.” She laughs, triumphant. “He is, isn’t he? Beth, you move fast.”

I roll onto my side, shoulders relaxing. “He’s nice, Lori.”

“No. You don’t get to nice me. Your whole life blew up on aisle three, and nice isn’t gonna cut it. Give me details. All of them.”

I laugh despite myself. “His name’s Jack. Ex-Marine who runs the garage with his brother. Offered me a place to stay.”

She whistles. “Wait, wait, let me get this straight. Stranded runaway bride, rescued by a stoic but secretly smoldering ex-Marine mechanic? Beth, you’re living my favorite paperback.”

“Don’t start,” I groan, but my mood lifts a little.

She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Has he at least kissed you yet?”

The question feels electric. I freeze.

“Beth. Oh my God, he has. Out with it!”

“Not like that,” I mutter, my cheeks burning. “It was just…he kissed my forehead.”

A pause. Lori’s tone shifts. “Oh, babe, that’s even bigger.”

I frown. “Why? It’s just a forehead.”

“Because forehead kisses mean something. Anyone can go for your lips, but a guy who kisses your forehead? He cares enough to see you as a person first.”

I go quiet. My fingers drift to that spot again. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not staying here for long.”

“Beth, maybe you need to. Maybe you need a break from all the drama. A chance to remember who you are, not who everyone else expects you to be. And maybe you need someone who actually looks at you.”

For the first time today, I don’t have a snarky reply. The silence stretches, unexpectedly tender.

“Okay,” I say at last. “Tell me what happened after I left.”

“Oh, you’re going to love this.” A smile permeates her words.

I pull myself upright, bracing for impact. “What did you do, Lori?”

“Well, after you bailed, I marched into the chapel and hijacked the mic. I told the room the wedding was off—because your loving fiancé was fucking the shit out of the maid of honor in the storage closet.”

I choke out a gasp, hand to my mouth. “No. You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did. The whole room went silent; everyone started buzzing like a beehive. Then Stephanie and Clark busted in on cue—messy hair, crooked clothes, the works. Clark’s fly was practically halfway down.”

Images cascade and collide; my horror melts into real, helpless laughter I haven’t felt in weeks.

“Your mother—and Clark’s—leaped into PR mode,” Lori presses on. “‘ Oh, this isn’t true’ and ‘ surely, there’s a misunderstanding ’…but everyone saw the circus. There was no spinning it. Your mom looked like she might keel over.”

I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe.

“Then I peaced out,” she finishes. “Didn’t see the point in sticking around to watch the meltdown. But, Beth—it was legendary.”

I wipe my eyes. “Thank you, Lori. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She softens. “Always, B. You know that.”

For a minute, all I hear is our breathing. Then she asks quietly, “So, what now?”

I glance around the room, at the handmade quilt, the chipped dresser, the silence. I twist the edge of a pillow in my fist. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Whatever you do, I’ll back your play,” she says. “But don’t run just because you’re scared. Not this time.”

I let out a shaky breath. “I’ll try.”

“Good. Now, get some actual sleep. For real. No doomscrolling or self-blame fests tonight.”

A ghost of a smile. “Night, Lori.”

“Night, babe.”

I set the phone aside when the call ends, ready to let exhaustion claim me. My body feels heavier than it has in weeks, and my head is finally quiet.

Beneath the covers, something like safety settles around me.

As I drift toward sleep, one thing lingers in my mind.

Jack.