I cringed thinking about the next line, knowing full well it took me two hours to actually write it.
“I want to do that without the baggage of some girl at home. I don’t want to have to waste all my time working crappy night jobs so you can still be unhappy. I’m sorry you made the cab trip here.”
As she read, tears flooded down her face, and the clouds moved in, rain beginning to pour down as if she herself had willed it so. I sat there watching her clutching the letter in one hand, sobbing, water soaking her hair and dress, her teeth chattering despite the summer weather. My hands gripped the steering wheel as I too let the tears come, knowing I had just destroyed her. Still, I could never be the man she needed me to be, not like her family had expected for her. She would hate me forever, but at least she would do it with a good education, rich family, and anything and everything she’d ever need.
Knowing if I stayed any longer I might not be able to hold back, I put the car in drive and pulled out, heading away from the park. The tears washed over my cheeks as I drove, hoping that the distance I was putting between us would one day heal the heart I had just ripped from my own chest. I had a feeling California wouldn’t be far enough, but that was where I was headed, and I’d figure it out from there.
One thing I knew was no matter how much I patched my heart back, I would have always left a huge piece of it on that picnic table with Emma.
Chapter 1
Emma
8 Years Later
The wild sounds of women screaming and laughing echoed through the club. The place smelled like expensive perfume and tequila, a staple for any bachelorette party. It wasn’t just any party, though. It was mine. It was one of the hottest clubs in Chicago, fully rented out for the night, packed with friends and family going out for one wild night before I walked down the aisle. It was a night of extraordinarily expensive bottles of champagne that would unfortunately give me the same massive hangover that the cheap stuff would.
Smiling my best fake smile, I raised my glass to several cheering women that I barely recognized, heading down the hall to the bathroom. That was my whole life, though, constantly plastering a fake smile on my face as I greeted people who knew me but I rarely knew past a former chance meeting at one of my father’s rich parties.
Liv planned the party, but not fully. If she had planned it without interruption by my family, we would be rolling through Vegas, just the two of us, watching stupid magic shows, drinking, and wasting money on slots. We would have had an amazing time, spent the whole trip wasted, and come back still miserable and depressed, as most women in the Harrison family tended to be. I fit the mold perfectly for them.
Inside the bathroom, I locked the door and set my glass of champagne down, drifting over to the sink. I put both hands on the porcelain and looked up at my reflection in the mirror. My makeup was perfect, my hair pinned back with a bejeweled crown and small white veil puffed out from the top. My dress cost more than a year’s tuition in college, with a satin sash reading “bride” draped across my chest.
My eyes were tired, and I knew it had nothing to do with the ridiculous amount of wedding planning and tidying up odds and ends that had been going on the last two weeks. I was mentally tired. I was emotionally tired. I was just plain exhausted with life.
The alcohol I had ingested through the evening kept the tears at bay, which I was thankful for considering I had to be the perfect bride for everyone else’s sake. A knock on the door drew my attention away from my reflection. I shuffled over in my six-inch, hot pink heels and unlocked the door, cracking it enough to see Liv standing on the other side, brows raised.
“You okay, bride-to-be?” she asked with a concerned grin. “I didn’t get you drunk too fast did I? We still have dancing, dancing with male strippers, who are only allowed to be half naked per your mother’s instructions, and shots left.”
I sighed, wanting to make a run for it right then and there, but I knew how much hell my poor best friend went through to put everything together just perfect. She had been in my life since we were in grade school and thankfully understood the trials and tribulations of rich parents. She had somewhat broken out of the mold by not marrying yet and living on her own in the city, but there was always this shadow that followed you around when you came from a family like mine.
“I’m ready,” I replied, grabbing my glass of champagne.
Liv grinned and put her arms out, pulling me into a hug. “I just want you to have a good time. You have been far too stressed. Let loose, I’ve got your back. I’ll pull you away if you get too crazy around the family.”
“Ohhhh,” I groaned, squeezing her. “This is why you’re my number one.”
When we parted, she put her hand out for me, and I took it, heading back out to the party. The lights were dim, and vibrantly colored moving lights spun around the dance floor. I could feel the thump of the music in my chest as everyone cheered, watching me walk out onto the dance floor. I knew Liv was right. I needed to relax, but it wasn’t something I was accustomed to. So, instead, I drank.
And drank.
And drank.
In between the shots, drinks, and more shots, I danced, sweat building on my forehead. The more I drank, the less I cared about cheering on the shirtless stripper, but not too stripper, dudes on the dance floor. The more I drank the less my inevitable embrace of me following in my mother’s footsteps settled in the back of my brain for the night. The more I drank, the more tolerable the people at the party became, until I was happy to be best friends with the whole lot of them.
Thankfully, I had Liv taking care of me all evening. By one in the morning, though, and two pieces of cake, innumerable shots, and far too many fruity blue drinks later, I found myself in a booth, leaned back, my crown tilted, and my makeup smeared. No one noticed, thankfully, considering most of the older crowd left before eleven, and the people my age all looked the same. I drunkenly gazed around the club, chuckling at the girls sitting on the laps of the strippers, one or two dancing together sloppily on the dance floor, and the sheer number of bare feet.
“Hey there, party girl,” Liv said, plopping down next to me. “I took care of everything, paid the bill, thanked them, and took care of the strippers. They said we can stay as long as we want, but it looks like this hen party is wearing down.”
I sat forward, swaying drunkenly, pointing at Liv. “You…You beautiful bitch.”
Liv giggled. “That I am.”
Not remembering where I was going with that, I smiled and tried to hold my head up with my hand. When it slipped, I sat back and sucked in a deep breath. “I think it’s time to go.”
Liv clapped her hands. “My thoughts exactly. I already made up the spare at my place, the car is out front waiting, and you are three minutes away from either passing out in the booth or a concussion. I’d like to avoid both.”
She stood up in front of me and put out her hands. I slapped mine into hers and let her pull me to my feet, tugging on the hem of the dress. I was drunk, way drunk, but not accidentally walking around with my ass hanging out drunk.
The ride to Liv’s condo seemed really long, especially since I was desperately trying to stay conscious the whole time. When we got there, she led me straight to the spare room, helped me out of the dress and shoes, pulled an oversized T-shirt over my head, and forced me to lay down. Before she could pull the covers up, I shook my head, waving back and forth as the room spun.