A Week with the Best Man

by Ally Blake

  She needed to shake off her past as much as he needed to rid himself of his.

  It was the only way they could move forward. Whatever that meant.

  Somewhere in the house a wall creaked. A gecko made a clicking sound. His fridge began to whir. A soundtrack to loneliness.

  First thing Monday he was putting the house on the market.

  But what about now? Now what the hell was he supposed to do?

  Go to bed and sleep it off? Not going to happen.

  Not while Harper still filled his head. That burr in her voice when she’d asked if he believed her. Her body sinking into his. Her cheek against his heart.

  He wondered if Harper had ever asked such a question before. Of anyone else. If she’d ever been that vulnerable with another person. He would have bet everything he had that he was the first.

  Because he was more to her than a roll on the couch. And she meant more to him than anything.

  Anything.

  As wrong as Harper had been, everything she’d done she’d done out of love. Knowing it could backfire. Knowing she’d be the bad guy. Knowing Lola might choose Gray, and never talk to her again. She’d been willing to sacrifice the most important thing in her life, because she believed it gave Lola a better chance at a happy future.

  Which said it all really.

  He ran a hand through his hair and paced down the hall. Stopping when he had no clue where he was going. Only knowing that he had to do something.

  What if there was a kernel of truth to her assumptions? What if Weston had been somehow involved in her father’s bad deal?

  If being a good person was about making hard choices then that was what Cormac would have to do.

  He checked the time. A little after midnight. Too late by any stretch of the imagination, especially considering the man’s only son was getting married the next day.

  Yet he picked up the phone and made a call, knowing that it would change everything, no matter which way the chips fell.

  * * *

  Harper lay on her bed, a pillow over her head, her thumbs pressing gently into her temples.

  Like gravel shifting through wet cement, she had to keep the gritty flashes of memory rolling about inside her head lest they solidify into a sharp, chunky, heavy mass she’d never be able to shift.

  What had she been thinking, having that conversation the night before Lola’s wedding? How could she have imagined it would go anything but badly?

  Why? Because she was so used to having to make hard decisions on her own. That life had been forced upon her, when the father she’d loved had let her down.

  He hadn’t hit her, as Cormac’s father had hit him. But he’d damaged her all the same.

  A gentle knock sounded on Harper’s door.

  She peeked out from under the pillow to check the time on her phone and saw it was a few minutes after one in the morning. And that Lola had sent her a text a few minutes before, asking if she was awake.

  She pulled herself to sitting and said, “Come in.”

  Her door opened slowly and Lola’s face poked through the door.

  “You should be asleep,” Harper said, moving over to make room.

  Lola crawled up Harper’s bed to sit cross-legged beside her. “Like you can talk.”

  True. For Harper was fully dressed. Her bed still made.

  “What’s up?” Harper asked, finding herself unable to ask if Lola had heard her. If she’d decided to call the whole thing off. If so she’d be the bad guy and stand up in front of the crowd and tell everyone so that Lola didn’t have to.

  Only after the way Lola had clung to Gray, who had protected her as if she was the most precious thing in the world, the thought of the wedding not going ahead felt hollow.

  “Stuff,” Lola said after a while. “Thoughts. Imaginings. Memories. Mostly of Dad. Even while I want to smack him right now for all he put us through, I still kind of wish he could be here tomorrow. Mum, too.”

  Harper breathed out slowly. It was the best she could do considering the lump of lead that had suddenly pressed down on her chest. She patted the pillow beside her and they lay down side by side, curled in towards one another.

  “Do you remember how we used to sleep this way?” Harper asked.

  “On that God-awful mattress on the floor in the rooms above the convenience store.”

  “The mattress was perfectly serviceable.”

  Lola rolled her eyes. “Always so sensitive. It was a terrible mattress. The springs dug into your back if you slept near the edge. And the apartment—do you remember the smell?”

  “Mothballs.”

  “That’s right! But it did the job of keeping us together. And I never truly thanked you for making it happen. So, thank you, Harper, for always looking out for me.”

  Harper felt something shift inside her at Lola’s words. Shift and settle. “You’re welcome.”

  “Now, can we agree that those days are long behind us, that you did an amazing job of raising me, even before Dad finally left, and that it’s time for you to let me go?”

  Harper laughed, even as a tear rolled down her cheek, wetting the pillow. “I think I can do that. If not, I’ll do my best to pretend.”

  “Atta girl.”

  She had to ask. “You’re still marrying Gray, then?”

  The look Lola gave her was so grown-up. “Of course I am. Whatever his father did or did not do, it does not reflect on Gray. He’s his own man. My man.”

  Harper’s mind went straight to Cormac before she could stop it.

  Never, not once, had she believed that Cormac’s father’s actions reflected on him. Or only so far as to show how extraordinary he was, having come out the other end of such a terrible formative experience so strong, resolved, balanced, kind and loving.

  It was only fair that he gave Gray the same benefit of the doubt.

  “I like Gray,” Harper said, and meant it.

  Lola’s face lit up. “Me, too.” Then she said, “May I say, I’ve noticed signs of you having become a proper grown-up now too.”

  “Have you, now?”

  “Apart from tonight’s massive spontaneous combustion, of course. I mean, you managed to stay out of the commotion downstairs without stepping in with your negotiator hat, which was huge for you—”

  “Hang on,” she said. “What commotion?”

  “You really didn’t hear it? Dee-Dee and Weston. And Cormac.”

  “Cormac’s back?” She’d heard his car drive away over an hour ago, kicking out gravel he’d left so fast.

  Lola shook her head, and Harper’s disappointment was like a living thing.

  “Cormac rang Weston about an hour ago. It got loud. Heated. His voice carried all the way from the library. Knowing Gray would have fallen asleep the moment his head his pillow, I went to check on Dee-Dee then scurried downstairs to make sure Weston was okay. Only to find him talking on the phone... about Dad.”

  “Our dad?”

  Lola nodded. “From what Dee-Dee and I could gather, he was telling Cormac everything he remembered about Dad’s bad deal. Then he’d pause to listen. Then Weston would rub his forehead and try to remember more. It got pretty intense.”

  Harper rolled to look at the ceiling, as her heart thumped so hard it felt as if it was trying to push out of her chest. “Did he admit to anything?”

  “Only that he knew of it after the fact. That he’d called Dad in, offering to help bail him out, anonymously, at least with the smaller local investors. That Dad had accepted. And that was the last time he’d seen him.”

  Harper breathed out long and slow.

  “Harper, I believe him.”

  “I think I believe him too.”

  Yet somehow, in the quiet of the night, it didn’t even matter anymore.

  What mattered was Cormac. S
he tried to imagine what had been going through his head when he’d made that phone call. With nothing to go on but her hunch.

  She knew Cormac would stand up for anyone and everyone if he thought he could help. He was just that kind of man.

  But this was bigger than that. He’d stood up to his hero tonight. A man he claimed saved his life. For her.

  “I’ve been thinking about it and I reckon I know why Dad said all that stuff about Weston,” Lola said. “Dad would have been happier with a simpler life. Life in a place where keeping up with the Chadwicks wasn’t a consideration. I think he’d have liked living in that one room above the convenience store with us.”

  That thought settled over both of them like a blanket, gathering memories as if they were dust bunnies.

  On a yawn Lola said, “Not a dull moment when you’re around, Harps, I’ll give you that. We’re going to miss you when you go back to your fancy life.”

  “We?”

  “Me, Gray. Cormac. I think he might have a little crush on you too.”

  “I’ll miss you all too.” The thought that Cormac had already said his goodbye squeezed like a fist around her heart. “More than words can say.”

  But Lola had already fallen asleep, her dark lashes soft against her cheeks, her breaths even. Her little sister was going to be just fine.

  As for Harper? Living out of her big, empty apartment in Dubai and spending her days bending powerful business people to her will seemed like another life. A life she’d relished. But the real satisfaction had come from it giving her the ability to give Lola everything she’d ever wanted.

  Only now she realised Lola would still be happy living in a tiny flat above a convenience store. So long as she had Gray there with her.

  That was what Cormac had tried to tell her. The meaning of life he’d stumbled upon at a far younger age than she had.

  Find what makes you happy and do more of that.

  Maybe it was time she found out what really made her happy.

  And, as though a veil had been lifted, Harper saw the grey between the black and white. And with it a million new colours too.

  Cormac, she thought, his face swimming before her as her eyes slid closed and sleep began to take her under.

  So smart, so kind, so hot she couldn’t even think his name without coming over all woozy and feeling like the floor was tipping out from under her.

  She had to tell Cormac...something. About being best man to her maid of honour. Best man she’d ever known.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BY THREE THE next afternoon most of the guests were seated in gilded chairs on the Chadwicks’ lawn overlooking the bluff. Others milled about, partaking in chilled flutes of local bubbly or prawn gyoza and salmon blinis.

  The grass was green, the sky an uninterrupted cerulean-blue dome, the waves crashing dramatically against the jagged rocks below. Only the slightest breeze took the edge off the crisp warmth of the day.

  “How you doing?” Gray asked.

  Cormac came to from a million miles away, blinking against the glint of sunlight reflecting off the second-storey window at the rear of the Chadwick mansion. Harper’s window.

  “Me?” he said, clearing his throat of the gruff note. “Isn’t that meant to be my question to you?”

  Gray’s smile spread slow and easy across his face. “I’m great. Looking forward to the next bit.”

  For Gray that might have meant seeing Lola, eating, or whisking his new bride off to Nepal—to check in with a few of the Chadwick factories and attend a surprise yoga retreat for their honeymoon. For the man was easily pleased. Cormac figured that came with being very wealthy and very loved.

  Cormac had never felt that level of ease. It was why he’d had the same group of friends since high school. It took a lot for him to trust.

  He looked out over the guests and caught Dee-Dee and Weston—standing shoulder to shoulder, as they always did, as if they couldn’t bear to be outside of touching distance from one another—watching him.

  He felt a sliver of remorse for the phone call made late the night before. Not for making the call itself—he stood by that decision. He wished he’d waited. Then maybe he’d not have come at the man with such heat, such feeling, such emotion.

  Over Harper.

  She provoked him like no one else. Finding soft spots, bruises he’d thought long since healed. Pressing till he was forced to say enough. Or to own up.

  Harper.

  Who’d seen that his ease, his contentment, was skin deep. When those who’d known him longest, those he’d thought had known him best, had taken his smiles at face value.

  Harper.

  Who had walked into his life and shaken it to pieces. Until he could no longer see it the same way he had a week before.

  Dee-Dee lifted a hand, waving at him.

  Cormac did the same. Then he dropped his hand over his heart, sending her his love. For she was family—if not of his blood, then in spirit.

  Even from a distance he saw her smile, and her sniff, before she took a tissue from her purse and dabbed it over her eyes.

  Cormac let go a long, slow breath. His life would never look the same from this day on because it wasn’t.

  The house he’d called a home now felt like nothing more than a roof over his head.

  After the wedding the Chadwicks would announce their retirement. He’d been running their operations for years and knew they planned to make it official. He’d thought that was what he wanted. But now he wasn’t so sure.

  Gray and Lola would be married, meaning their lives would shoot off on a different trajectory. A life of couples’ dinners and snuggling on the couch and pretty soon children. Nappies and sleepless nights. Birthday parties and scraped knees and new friends who inhabited that world.

  And while a week ago such thoughts all strung together would have sent him hurtling into the surf in order to distract himself, standing beside Gray, the sun on his face, his future uncertain, Cormac felt loose. Relieved. Free.

  Once more his eyes cut to the second-storey window.

  To Harper.

  The harpist who’d been playing rock songs at the edge of the dais stopped mid-song before launching into the opening strains of Pachelbel’s Canon.

  Cormac dragged his eyes back to Gray, who was busy chatting with Adele—high-school girlfriend, and current wedding celebrant. “Gray, mate, you’re on.”

  Gray looked to Cormac blankly a moment before his eyes filled with joy. “It’s happening?” he asked.

  “It’s happening.”

  Gray grabbed Cormac and yanked him into a bear hug. Cormac gave as good as he got.

  “Love you, brother,” Cormac managed through the tightness in his throat.

  “Right back at you, brother.”

  Pulling apart, they turned as one to face the aisle between the gleaming gilt chairs. A path of soft pink rose petals split the guests in their floral dresses and summer suits.

  The view was so bright, so cheerful, it was as if the world had been washed clean. Or that was how it looked to Cormac: fresh, new, full of possibility.

  Then the doors at the rear of the house swept open and Cormac’s next breath in didn’t make it far. His heart beat so fast he could hear it in his ears. And Harper stepped out onto the terrace.

  While the guests wore a cacophony of colour, Harper had been poured into a subtly sexy, shimmering, pale grey number that clung to every part of her it could. Never thought he’d see the day he’d be jealous of a dress, but there it was.

  Gray swore softly beside him. “If that isn’t the most beautiful woman on the planet, I don’t know who is.”

  “Hmm,” Cormac murmured, in full agreement.

  She looked like a dream. His dream. Dazzling on the outside, tough as nails, with a soft centre.

  Then he blinked and
saw the bride heading down the petal path a few steps behind her big sister.

  Cormac huffed out a laugh. For Lola—a down-to-earth girl who swore, drank beer and lived in yoga pants and baseball caps—looked like a princess in the most wedding-dressy dress imaginable. And she grinned from ear to ear, showing more teeth than a person had the right to have.

  As they neared the business end of the aisle, Harper slowed by Dee-Dee and Weston. She leaned over and said something, then held out her hand to Weston, who after the barest hesitation shook it heartily. While Dee-Dee leapt to her feet and hugged her for all she was worth.

  If Cormac hadn’t already been aware of how impressive the woman was, watching her swallow her pride and make peace with the Chadwicks pushed him right over the edge.

  Gray, clueless as to the whys of the happenings, grumbled, “Can’t they walk faster?”

  Then, with a growl, Gray suddenly took off down the steps. Cormac reached out to grab him before deciding to let him go. The guests laughed as Gray grabbed a shocked Harper, placing a big kiss on her cheek, before running to Lola and lifting her into his arms, and rushing her back up the aisle and plonking her on the dais.

  “There,” he said. “Better. Let’s get this thing done.”

  Adele’s face twisted a moment before she said, “Ah, one thing’s missing.”

  Harper had stopped in the middle of the aisle, catatonic gaze stuck on Lola, throat working, as if she didn’t quite know what to do.

  Cormac told Novak to stay—for the rings were hanging from a small box attached to the dog’s collar—then jogged down the steps and went to Harper.

  He’d planned to take her hand, and place it in the crook of his arm and lead her the rest of the way. To make it appear as if it was a part of the ceremony.

  But when he caught sight of the smudge of a tear beneath her right eye, he was undone. All pretence went flying out the door.

  He was done. Gone. Head over heels. He was hers—if she wanted him or not.

  After the way they’d left things the night before he couldn’t be sure of the reception he’d get, so he simply followed his gut. Slipping a hand around her waist. His hand jolting when it met skin.