Page 3 of Third Time Lucky

ASHER

What a fucking tool. How did Lucy even meet this Brandon? What does she really know about him? Clearly not this – I hope.

I lie in bed, alone in the dark hotel room, staring at the ceiling. My head is churning with a jumble of bullshit – all the times I’ve been cheated on (by almost every single girlfriend, for the record), broken hearts and what Kris would want me to do.

‘You just had to go and die, didn’t you?

’ I snap the words out angrily into the empty room.

‘You realize if you hadn’t wrecked or if we didn’t drink, or if I had missed the corner instead, it could be you waiting for Lucy at the end of that aisle tomorrow.

What if that was supposed to happen and I fucked up the timeline with a terrible idea? ’

I groan. Stop thinking about it , Ash . This never leads anywhere good.

I squeeze my eyes closed – please fall asleep now. Like, right now .

The room is quiet, besides the random drunk giggle as someone walks past. Yet my mind is loud – and filled with flashing lights, horror and Lucy’s face as I told her what happened after EMTs declared Kris deceased on arrival.

Her house was the first place I went after the police were done questioning me.

Needless to say, she was devastated. And I was crushed almost beyond words.

It took me ten minutes of her panicking before I could actually explain what had happened. I still feel bad about that.

‘She still thinks about you—’ I say, unable to rid the situation from my head.

‘Considering it feels like you’re always sitting on my shoulder, I’m sure you heard that.

She misses you the day before she marries someone else.

That’s fucking heartbreaking, man. Now she’s ended up with some cheating asswagon and I get to be the one to break her heart. Again.’

Only silence fills the room. Obviously, considering I’m the only one here.

And for that I am thankful. I’ve never told Aaron details about this part of my life.

He only knows what our parents told him, and we’ve never spoke of it.

In fact, I’ve never told anyone willingly.

The pain is too deep, rooted right through my heart and soul, and at times, even now, it tears me up.

* * *

We were eighteen. After a few more sips from my dad’s bourbon bottle than was smart, we decided to go race around the city in our souped-up cars – BMWs.

We worked our asses off through high school to buy them.

His was cherry red. Mine was white. At every red light, we’d pretend we were race car drivers and burn out, attempting to beat the other to the next light.

On a slightly damp evening, we took our shenanigans just outside the city to the curvy roads of the west hills.

As we raced the roads taking curves like we were in that movie The Fast and the Furious, we were having a blast and everything was going great. Until it wasn’t.

Unexpectedly, I witnessed Kris miss a corner and go head-first into the most enormous tree I’ve ever seen at probably eighty miles an hour.

He didn’t stand a chance. I nearly skidded off the road as I screeched to a stop about a hundred yards past him.

I still don’t know how I had the brainpower to get the car into park, I was so frantic, but somehow, I did.

While parked in the middle of the road late at night, my car engine still running without me in it, I ran to where he was, but there was nothing I could do.

Kris was gone and all I got was a core memory that changed me forever.

‘Why did I live just to be the one who has to break her heart repeatedly?’

The words ‘save her’ echo in my mind with haunting clarity, sending chills down my spine. I sigh, running my hands through my hair as the weight of the situation settles in.

‘She’s gonna hate me if I do that, you know…’

What am I doing? Having a conversation with a fucking ghost? How much did I drink tonight? Not enough for this shit.

How do you tell someone this? I’m sorry your husband-to-be is upstairs boning what I suspect to be a prostitute.

I mean, no judgment; everything’s legal in Vegas, and people gotta make a living; the fault is not hers.

She’s just doing her job (or, from what I saw, a job) and charging the guy double – that part makes me laugh.

But that fucking Brandon deserves to have his ass kicked a million times over, and considering I don’t want to go to jail again, words seem more efficient.

Maybe I should just go to her room and tell her.

Get all the terrible news out there so she can start processing.

What room, though? The front desk isn’t going to happily announce to a stranger where a wealthy heiress is sleeping.

Goddamn it. I need Aaron’s warped mind to figure this out. He might be a bit over the top and misdirected, but I know he’s always got my back, and despite the shock of his actions and words at times, I trust he’ll have a perspective on this that may trigger a solution… I hope.

* * *

I barely slept, knowing what I know. Not to mention seeing what I saw. I actually Googled how to get an image out of your head, and apparently – I’m fucked. Short of a lobotomy or brainwashing, I’ll be seeing that image in my mind’s eye for the rest of my life. Lucky me.

Finally, I gave up sleeping, decided to shower and go for a walk.

I ended up at a restaurant that wasn’t packed to the hilt with people but still within our hotel.

I texted Aaron so he’d know where to find me, but I got no response.

I’m on my second plate when he finally rolls in wearing sunglasses inside – the best way to hide a hangover.

‘Morning, sunshine. Where were you all night?’

‘Bridesmaids, birthday boy,’ he says, flashing me two fingers as he slides into the booth, laying his head against the back of the chair. ‘It. Was. Awesome.’

Blech. I nearly gag at the thought of it. The mental image is bringing back ‘Brandon does Sexy Lexy,’ and I wanna vomit.

‘You’re sleazy.’

‘Yes, I am,’ he says proudly. ‘You order any coffee? My head is pounding.’

I push the full pot his way. ‘Speaking of head?—’

He smiles wide, suddenly interested in somebody beside himself. ‘You?’

‘No.’

I slide my phone across the table to him, the video already pulled up and on mute because I don’t need that kind of attention. I hit play and Aaron immediately picks it up for a better look.

‘What the—? You filmed a guy getting a hummer and didn’t order your own?’

‘No, king of fuckboys, I didn’t order my own – as classy as that sounds.’

He looks at me like I’m the one who’s nuts. ‘You’re into watching? That’s wei?—’

‘Brandon,’ I point out. ‘ That is Brandon, the groom-to-be of the wedding you said we’d attend.’

Aaron looks at my phone again, now zooming in on the video.

He laughs. ‘Shit… and this is your friend? Lucy?’ He taps the screen, restarts the video and watches it again.

‘Lucy’s got some skills.’ He looks up at me with sudden sympathy on his face.

‘This coulda been you – I told you. Why didn’t you invite her up to the room to catch up? ’

I snatch my phone from his hand. ‘That’s not her.’

His eyes go wide, and for a moment, he looks less hungover than he did two seconds ago. ‘Shit. I suppose – good guy that you are – you’re going to show her this?’

I shrug. ‘Don’t I have to if I consider myself her friend?’

‘Old teenage friend – your words. Is that something old friends do?’

I’ve asked myself that question at least thirty times since sitting at this table.

‘I think I have to.’

He sighs heavily, running both hands through his hair. ‘Can you do it without ruining what may well be the love of my life with her maid of honor, Madi?’

‘You slept with her maid of honor?’

‘Guilty,’ he says with a not-so-sheepish shrug.

‘Wait, I thought there were two women?’

He laughs, pouring coffee from the pot into one of the mugs on the table.

‘One maid of honor, one bridesmaid. Bridesmaid’s got a boyfriend back home, so she wasn’t as into me as she was Madi – which I was totally cool with because those girls together were – Jay-sus.

’ He lifts a hand like he’s praising God.

‘That, Madi – wow. She did this thing with her tongue?—’

I hold up a hand. ‘Do not utter another word of that story.’

He smirks. ‘Jealous much?’

‘Of the fact that we’ll need to stop by the Planned Parenthood before we leave here to get you tested for bugs? No.’ I roll my eyes. ‘Madi’s not the love of your life.’

‘You don’t know,’ he says defensively, stealing a slice of bacon from my plate.

‘I know ya said the same thing last month about a Sara, and that didn’t exactly pan out, did it?’

He smirks, then shrugs as if he doesn’t understand how women don’t love him the morning after, even though they are drawn to him at first sight.

But I know he knows, and I can’t wait for the day some girl ropes that asshole’s heart in a way he can’t escape, and I get to watch him writhe for his life before falling hopelessly in love with someone and promising to only sleep with her for eternity. Though, I’ll never tell him that.

‘How in the hell do I tell her this?’

Aaron groans, running a hand over his head. ‘Why you gotta tell her at all? She’s not your girlfriend. You didn’t cheat.’

‘This might surprise you, but because I’m not an asshole?’

‘Oh yeah.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘Almost forgot you’re the goody-two-shoes in this relationship.’

‘Someone’s got to keep you alive.’

‘And even though I hardly ever say it, I do appreciate that. One question. What if she thinks you’re full of shit?’

‘In that case, I show her the video.’

His eyes go wide. ‘Ah, amateur porn produced by the groom himself, what every bride dreams of seeing the morning of her wedding.’