by Lucy Gage
Malcolm is also a hand talker. Everything has a hand gesture and it’s interesting and mesmerizing. I’ve never met anyone like him before.
The way he talks about movies and music and art and books… He does it with so much passion. The first thing I’ll be doing when I get back to Margo’s house is Googling everything he’s mentioned that I’m not familiar with. I want to experience the things making him so animated and happy.
“Your mom was married to Emmitt’s uncle, right? So you’re a Crowell?”
Malcolm shakes his head, his fingers tapping against the water bottle resting against his leg. “I’m a McDonnell. My dad is Emmitt’s mom’s brother.”
“And you live with your mom in Washington.” It’s not really a question, Emmitt’s already told me this part, but I want to hear it again, from Malcolm.
“Yep. My parents divorced when I was still in diapers. Mom moved to Seattle to manage her boyfriend’s band. It didn’t work out—the boyfriend or the career choice—but she liked it there, so we stayed.”
“What about your dad? Do you come out to see him often?” Please say yes.
He shrugs his shoulders and even that is the most beautiful movement I’ve ever seen. “My dad and I aren’t close. Technically, he had split custody of me until I turned eighteen, but I’ve only been out here a few times over the years, and it’s mostly been to stay with my aunt and uncle.”
That makes me sad. I’m not very close with my dad either, but he’s still involved in my life. Too much most of the time.
“You want to go for a walk?” he asks, shooting a glance over his shoulder at Margo and Emmitt unabashedly giggling and kissing as if they aren’t in the middle of a park, surrounded by strangers.
“Sure.”
Malcolm stands and holds out his hand to help me up. I accept it and the moment his fingers curl around mine, I look up into his eyes and I wonder if this is the start of something. Something big and life changing.
My muscles are taught with tension. It’s a mix of anxiety and excitement.
After four years apart, I’m going to see the one and only girl I’ve ever cared about.
Okay, that’s weak. I didn’t just care about her. I was practically obsessed. I worshipped her. I would have done—and did do—anything for her. I loved her. Helplessly, devotedly, and with every fiber of my being. Mind, body, and soul.
One of the secrets I carry with me every day is that I never stopped. Not for one second.
I tried. But time and distance couldn’t kill what I felt.
That was the one thing I couldn’t bring myself to do for her. I couldn’t let her go.
My eyes shift side to side, sweeping over faces as I move through the church hallways, following my cousin into the sanctuary. I don’t see her, and I didn’t really expect to. Hoped. But I knew she’d probably be back with Margo.
I can’t believe my cousin is getting married today. Really can’t believe he asked me to be his best man. Especially after what I did. Nobody but me truly knows why I did it. My actions affected his relationship with Margo. How couldn’t they have? Margo’s his girl and she was—is—Sunny’s best friend and I’m his family. I put him in a bad situation. Yet, here I am, holding the ring he’ll place on his wife’s finger in my pocket.
And in a few minutes, I’m going to see the love of my life again.
It’s surreal.
The moment I’ve been looking forward to for months. Hell, years if I’m being honest.
“What’s the plan? Where do you want me?” I couldn’t make it in for the rehearsal dinner last night, so I’m winging it today.
“Right by my side, man,” Emmitt replies.
“I’m not walking the maid of honor down the aisle?” We both know exactly who the maid of honor is, but I’m not ready to say her name aloud yet. If I do, I know I won’t be able to hide the emotion from the one word. My favorite word.
His lips press tight together, a flash of discomfort coloring his face. “No. Margo thought it would be better if Sunny walked down by herself.”
Though it’s a fairly common practice, I’m sure the only reason Margo chose to do it this way is because of me. She’s always been a good friend to Sunny. Loyal. Dependable. Pushy when need be. Always protective.
“Okay, easy enough.”
“Sunny’s not going to make a scene at her best friend’s wedding if you want to maybe offer her your arm on the way back out. Just throwing that out there.”
I look at Emmitt and he lifts his brows, shrugging.
So maybe I’m more transparent than I thought.
I actually consider doing it for about two seconds. After what I did though, I know I don’t deserve to touch her. Not without her permission. And if I put her on the spot in front of everyone, it will only piss her off. I’ve done enough of that already.
Furthermore, I really need to talk to her. If I want her to listen, which is already going to be difficult enough, I can’t fuck anything else up.
“How long do we have?” Emmitt asks. The seats are mostly filled. My uncle offers us a thumbs up as he lowers himself into the front pew.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I note how low my battery is. I had to take the redeye in and never got a chance to charge it. And of course I didn’t think to bring a charger with me. Guess I won’t be taking pictures. Which sucks.
“About five minutes.”
Emmitt grins so wide his cheeks must hurt. I’d have thought he would be nervous, minutes away from agreeing before God and all his friends and family to spend the rest of his life with one woman. But he’s as cool as a cucumber.
The minister takes his place, speaking quietly to Emmitt. I zone out.
My eyes shift to the back of the room, staring hard at the door. Waiting. I once thought this would be me. Standing where Emmitt’s standing. But it’d be Sunny coming down the aisle in a wedding gown.
Fuck.
This is a lot harder than I thought it’d be.
My dad moves through the door. Our eyes meet and he lifts his hand in a stiff wave. I nod back in acknowledgement. He and I haven’t seen each other in a while. He’s just another person I disappointed. Another name on my list of people I need to make shit up to.
But that’s part of why I’m here. To make amends.
Music begins. I shift my head back quickly as a little girl, Margo’s niece, if I remember correctly, skips down the carpet, tossing pink and red rose petals in the air. Everyone chuckles quietly, snapping photos and taking videos of her.
And then Sunny is in the doorway. Her long blonde hair in soft curls down her back. Wearing a sexy-as-hell red dress that shows off her legs and just a hint of full cleavage. Even from here, I zero in on her hands clutching her bundle of flowers like a lifeline.
Though I can’t take me eyes off her, she does a great job of not looking at me right up until she comes to stand on the opposite side of minister. Our gazes lock and I feel like someone just gutted me with a rusty spoon. Because Sunny doesn’t look at me like she hates me—even though she should.
No. Instead, she looks at me the way she used to.
She looks at me like she loves me.
As quickly as it happened, it’s gone. Her gaze flicks away as the music changes and Margo walks into the room, her arm folded around her dad’s elbow.
The scent of sunblock on warm skin surrounds me as a shadow falls over my face. I grin without opening my eyes. My hands remain where they pillow the back of my head, but my fingers twitch in anticipation of touching her.
Cool drops of water drip drip drip, starting on my foot and trailing up my leg, over my knee, making light tapping sounds on my thigh, covered in swim trunks, before continuing along my stomach. Now that she’s close enough, I snap up, grabbing Sunny around the waist, bringing her with me as I lie back down. She squeals in surprise before morphing into laughter. Her legs settle on either side of my hips. Her warmth envelops me everywhere. I�
�ve never wanted someone so wholly as I want her.
The last six weeks have flown by. Our summer together melting away fast. Not a day has passed where I haven’t seen this girl. Even if for only five minutes or on a FaceTime call. Her dad is strict and a little controlling. I don’t think he likes me much. And I get it. I know I’m not good enough for a girl like Sunny. Hell, I don’t think there’s a man alive good enough for her. Which might be why her dad keeps her days so busy. Watching her little brother, cooking and cleaning, working, summer homework. Still, she manages to always make time for me. We’ve spent countless hours texting. Talking late into the night. Hanging out whenever she’s free. Every second I get with her is priceless to me.
I haven’t told her yet, but at some point, I fell head over ass in love with her.
It’s not possible to be this happy. And yet, I know it must be because I feel it. I’m living it. I’m this happy.
Sometimes I am so fucking scared it’s all just a dream. That I’ll wake up and she’ll be gone.
Sunny’s hair falls around us as she dips forward, bringing us chest to chest. It’s our own perfect little world here, hidden in the veil of her golden locks. My pulse hammers when she presses her mouth to mine. I love the way she tastes. I love the way she feels. Like she was made for me and me alone.
That’s possible, I think. That everybody has that one perfect match meant for him or her. The one person who completes you.
Each time we kiss, I can clearly envision the rest of my life.
We’d come home to a house we share. Have dinner together in our kitchen. Snuggle on our couch. Make love in our shower. Go to bed with her in my arms, matching rings on our left fingers.
Even on repeat, imagining this scenario day after day—it doesn’t get old. It’s what I want most in the world.
“I need to tell you something,” Sunny whispers, her lips still pressed to mine.
“What do you need to tell me, baby?”
She pulls back so she can meet my gaze. The way the sun hits her blue eyes almost makes them look like ocean water. Full of depth and so many different blues you can get lost counting.
“I think…” She shakes her head and starts over. “I know I’m falling in love with you.” She shakes her head again, slower this time. “No, I’m certain. I love you Malcolm.”
I swallow with difficulty. Damn. Why did I wait? I should have told her first. Hearing those words leave her mouth does something to my chest. I swear it swells.
“I love you too. You’re my Sun. My light. I love you so damn much.”
Her smile is blinding. I kiss it, needing to taste her happiness.
“Do you know how much I love you?” she asks, her tone barely more than a breath.
“How much? Tell me?” Tell me everything.
“I love you so much Malcolm McDonnell, sometimes I think my heart is going to burst.”
Yes. That’s exactly how it feels. She’s so good at that. Putting my feelings into words. And she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
Goddamn. I don’t know how I’m going to survive it when we’re on opposite sides of the country.
“Do you know how much I love you?” I rasp, repeating her question.
“How much?” she asks, her voice sensual and intimate. “Show me.”
I roll her onto her back and gaze down at her. There are a million ways to show her how much I love her. And I want to do all of them. Over and over again.
She’s staring at me, her chest rising and falling quickly. The adoration in her eyes makes me feel invincible. I swear, she makes me think I could take down a grizzly. Like I’m Superman. It’s crazy. I always wondered why I wasn’t happy. Not truly happy like so many other people seem to be. And all this time it was because I just hadn’t met her yet.
Sunny’s fingers move slowly, skimming the skin on her stomach, between her breasts, and then her neck. She reaches back and gives a gentle tug on the string holding her bikini top in place.
There’s nobody around our lake sanctuary and the tall grass and trees make for pretty good cover. But she deserves more than this. So much more.
More than I can provide.
“Please.”
One word. That’s all it takes to break my willpower.
Somehow I made it through the ceremony. I held it together during what felt like endless amounts of photos. And I kept myself in check in the limo ride to the reception, my head turned, looking out the window even though all my attention was really tuned into one person.
But now I’m sitting, chugging my second glass of champagne—not counting my pre-wedding drinks—and I can’t stop my gaze from sliding to Malcolm over and over again.
It pisses me off that he looks good. No, good is such an understatement. I think he’s gotten taller. Packed on about twenty pounds of hard muscle. And I swear his eyelashes grew longer. He’s sexy as hell, and it’s completely unfair.
He should have gotten fat and gone bald. It would serve him right for what he put me through.
Memories of our summer nights together stubbornly replay on a loop in my head. I can almost feel his soft caress against my skin.
Shit.
It’s too much. I need a break. I deserve a break. It took real strength not to ream his ass for disappearing without so much as a goodbye.
I mean, we had plans. I was changing my whole life around. For him. And then he just… left.
As a server walks by, I grab a third glass of champagne from his tray and head out into the hall. It dangles between my fingertips as I repeatedly press the elevator button. If I don’t get some fresh air soon, I may have a total meltdown.
The doors slide open and I’m grateful it’s empty. There isn’t another fake smile in me. And if I have to try to partake in idle chitchat I know I’ll fail. Angry tears sit just below the surface, begging for me to unleash them. But I won’t. I cried for far too long over Malcolm already.
I ride the elevator all the way to the top floor and find the door leading up to the roof access. My feet hurt. Once outside, I slip off my heels, one at a time and toss them to the side. The cool concrete beneath my soles feels amazing, soothing the pain.
At the edge of the roof, I peer out at the sky. The wind rips my hair away from my shoulders, snapping the ends. It’s a clear night, the moon full and shining brightly, illuminating the rooftop. I’m surprised by the amount of stars. It’s really pretty. I’m not sure I can even remember the last time I looked at the sky.
It’s been a while. Months, maybe years. Little joys like these are pushed aside as life gets busy. Instinctively, I reach for my phone, wanting to snap a photo for my Instagram, before realizing I left it sitting in my clutch on table in the reception hall.
I’m missing my best friend’s wedding reception. Over a guy. Dry laughter echoes darkly. No matter what he did, he’ll always be more than “a guy.”
Regardless, I need to get back. My place is with Margo on her special day.
I inhale a long, deep breath, gather my shoes, and head for the door. But when I reach for the handle, I notice the small keycard box.
A keycard I don’t have.
Still, I try the doorknob and nearly start sobbing when it does nothing.
How do I get back inside?
Out of habit, I reach for my cell once again, real panic sinking in when for the second time, I remember I don’t have my freaking phone. That thing is practically glued to my hand twenty-four seven. Of all the times I could forget it...
Fucking Malcolm. This is his fault. He has me so distracted and turned upside down. I’m going to kill him. If I ever get back inside.
Oh, my God. I’m locked out on the roof. How many times have I seen The Hangover? I know things like this can happen.
No.
No no no no no no no. He was stuck out there for days, wasn’t he?
Okay, I am an intelligent person. There has got to be another way in. People must c
ome up here and forget their keycards I’m sure.
Right?
Those people probably have cell phones on them though.
I gulp down the remains of my champagne and set the glass on the ground. After sliding my shoes back onto my feet, I groan in pain as I walk the perimeter of the roof, hunting for some other form of entry.
Of course this is happening to me. This day wasn’t difficult enough, I guess. My search turns up nothing but a locked hatch I’m guessing leads back into the stairwell. I obviously don’t have that key either so I go on a second mission, this time hoping to find something I can use to bust the lock. It’s either that, or I start screaming and hope someone forty flights down on the street can hear me.
I can hardly hear myself curse over the roar of the wind up here.
But what I do hear is what sounds like the door squeaking as it opens. Praying I’m right, I run on the toes of my shoes as fast as I can.
I’m momentarily shocked to find Malcolm, the light of the stairwell shining like a halo around his body, the illumination growing smaller and smaller as the door swings back toward threshold.
“Don’t let it close,” I shout, running harder.
Malcolm startles at the sound of my voice and my words must register too late because in the seconds it takes him to turn around and lunge for the door, it closes with a distressing clank.
“No,” I cry, slowing even as I reach out like I can somehow still make it. I throw my head back and silently ask God why he insists on punishing me.
Seriously. What have I done that was so awful?
“Do you have a keycard?” I pant.
“What?” he asks, perplexed by the question or my presence on the roof, I’m not sure which.
“A keycard? For the door? Do you have one?”
He looks from me to the reader on the door and back again, shaking his head slowly. “No. I don’t.”
“Great,” I say stiffly. “We’re trapped up here.”