A Love Letter to Whiskey (33 page)

Without even thinking, I reached for my phone, toweling off my hands before finding Jamie’s name and tapping out a message.

— I’m scared, Jamie… —

I stared at the screen with the blinking curser, waiting for me to finish the text. My chest felt thick, my breath hard to find, and before I did something stupid, I hit the backspace until the screen was blank again and dropped my phone back to the floor.

“It’ll be okay,” I whispered to myself, closing my eyes and resting my head against the back of the tub.

That night, I didn’t sleep. I tossed and turned, mind racing with strange, fleeting dreams of Jamie and me. Finally, around four in the morning, I gave up trying to rest and turned on The Piano Guys, letting myself drown in everything Jamie. I let the memories wash in, forgot to breathe for a while, and reveled in the crushing weight of it all.

Thinking back on it now, I loved the way it felt that night. My heart was broken — completely, utterly shattered — and I liked the way that pain felt. It reminded me I was alive, filled me with hope that what we had was real — even if it had technically never truly existed. Jamie was never officially mine, but I had always been his — ever since the first taste.

Losing him hurt like hell, but in the end I still smiled, because at least I’d got to have him.

One more weekend with Whiskey, and then I’d have to let him go.

For good.

AS SOON AS MY PLANE TOUCHED
down, before I even made it to baggage claim, I grabbed a Venti Iced Americano from Starbucks. Not sleeping the night before an early flight and seeing Jamie for the first time in over a year had been a mistake, and I was feeling a strange mix of exhaustion and nerves. I figured why not add caffeine to the mix?

Sipping from the bright green straw as I took the escalator down to baggage claim, I focused on my breathing. I thought of the hot yoga class I’d taken with Mona a few months before and tried to channel that frame of mind, and it worked — at least until I opened my eyes again and saw him.

God
, Whiskey had aged beautifully.

He was no longer the boy I knew. His features had shifted, even in that short year and a half we’d been apart. His jaw was always the first feature I noticed, and it was even more pronounced now, framing the smirk that rested on his lips as he held up a piece of notebook paper that said
JUST B
in big, sloppy handwriting. I smiled, and it made him grin wider, flashing white teeth and bright honey eyes. I stepped off the bottom step of the escalator and we each took three steps until we were standing face to face. He dropped the paper to his side, and we both took our time drinking the other in. His hair was short again, styled, almost like River’s. He was dressed in dark jeans and a white v-neck t-shirt, but he wore a light-blue button-up over it. None of the buttons were fastened and it was cuffed at his elbows, showcasing toned forearms that told me without words that he was still surfing.

The barrel had aged him well, and even with the Angel’s tax, he’d only gotten better over time. He was still just as potent, stinging my nostrils and making my mouth water. But now, his flavors had matured, his color had smoothed, and I knew without hesitation that if I was brave enough to try to taste him and he was stupid enough to let me, I’d never recover.

My eyes found his again and he let out a short laugh, opening his arms wide. “Come here.”

I adjusted my carry-on bag on my shoulder and stepped into him, smelling the spicy oak of his shirt as he wrapped his arms all the way around me. Inhaling deep, I sighed into him, and I think we both felt it — like a piece of our soul had been found again. Like it was slowly melding itself back into place. “I told you not to come, I could have taken a cab.”

“I guess I still haven’t learned how to listen very well.”

“You have learned how to dress, though,” I said, my voice muffled in his shirt.

He chuckled, pulling back and grabbing my small bag from me. “And you learned how to walk in heels.” His eyes dropped to my feet and one brow quirked. When he looked at me again, I swore I felt a heat behind his gaze.

I swallowed, tucking away a rogue strand of hair. “That’s what happens when you dress business casual everyday.”

“I know the feeling,” he said, nodding toward the carousel with the bags from Pittsburgh. “I miss wearing basketball shorts or swim trunks ninety percent of the time.”

“And I miss tank tops and sandals.”

It was small talk. It was stupid. But we were treading lightly, testing the waters, feeling each other out.

Jamie grabbed my bag off the carousel, not letting me take it no matter how I argued, and then we were making our way to the parking lot. We didn’t say much, a few sentences of small talk, Jamie telling me which way to turn to find where he’d parked. Once we reached his Jeep, he loaded my bags into the back and opened the passenger seat door for me.

“Welcome home, B,” he said as I slid in. I wasn’t sure if he meant South Florida or his Jeep.

The problem was, something had changed since the last time I’d been
home
. Mom was no longer here, Jenna was, but she was out of town, and Jamie’s Jeep suddenly felt uncomfortable. I sat with my hands in my lap, trying not to be obvious about the way my eyes stuck on the evidence of another woman being in my spot. There was a hair-tie wrapped around the gear shift, a pair of women’s running shorts in the back seat, a small picture of the two of them tucked into the corner of Jamie’s dashboard. I didn’t sink back and kick my shoes off, planting my heels on the dash in front of me. No, I sat rigid, hands folded in my lap, and looked out the window as Jamie drove me to my hotel.

“You okay over there?” he asked as we made a left turn.

I nodded. “Just tired. Long night.”

Jamie didn’t say anything else until he dropped me off at check in.

“You sure you don’t want me to wait?”

He grabbed my bags from the back and sat them down in front of me. I watched as every muscle in his back moved with the gesture, and it took me a second to find an answer to his question. “No, it’s fine. I think I need a quick nap,” I lied. There was no way I was sleeping, but I didn’t want to have to spend more time with Angel than was required.

“Okay,” he conceded, though he looked a little disappointed. “Just remember we’re doing the rehearsal ‘dinner’ kind of early since Angel and the girls have to catch a flight out for their bachelorette. Can you be at the country club at three?” He shifted, running a hand over the back of his head. “I would pick you up then, but I kind of have to be there earlier, and I know you want to sleep so…”

“I’ll catch a cab over. Don’t worry about me, Jamie Shaw,” I teased, nudging him as I swung my carry on over my shoulder again. He seemed to relax a little then, and tucked his hands into his pockets.

“Never do.”

He didn’t make a move to leave at first. We stood, staring, our eyes saying more than our words as always.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “See you in a bit.”

With that, he rounded the Jeep and I turned, rolling my bag behind me. After I checked in, I collapsed on the cool comforter of the bed and let out a long, slow breath.

Here we go.

“B!” SYLVIA RAN TOWARD
me as soon as I walked into the dining room where the rehearsal dinner was being held. The country club was small but grand, and even in the brand new rose-colored lace dress and nude pumps I was wearing, I felt underdressed. Sylvia hit me like a wall and I stumbled back with a smile as she hugged me. “You’re here!”

“I am.”

She pulled back, still holding my arms in her hands as she called out behind her. “Mom! Dad! B’s here!”

Sylvia was Jamie’s youngest sister, and the only one I’d really ever gotten close with. I’d met Santana a few times, mostly during holidays, but we’d never really connected the way Sylvia and I had. She still called me sometimes, and when I moved back from Alder, she helped Jenna keep me sane.

“So good to see you, sweetheart,” Rhonda, Jamie’s mom said as she moved in next, kissing my cheeks. “Isn’t it so great to see her, Wes?”

“It really is. How was your flight?” His dad asked next, throwing his arm over my shoulder to walk me over to the group gathered near a large table setting.

“A little bumpy getting out of the fog in Pittsburgh, but fine after that.” I smiled at both of them, my heart warming. For some reason it meant a lot to me that they remembered me, that they were excited to see me, that they seemed to care about me being in their son’s life.

Sylvia took my purse and dropped it at the table setting next to where she was sitting, grabbing my hand in a squeeze before scampering off again. And then, I realized it was quiet.

Everyone was staring at me. I wish I was exaggerating, but literally every eye was on me. I noticed Claire first, recognizing her from our short conversation in the bar the night I’d first seen Jamie and Angel together. Her eyes were narrowed, like it was clicking into place for her, and when I looked to the next person for relief, I didn’t find it. Because the next person over was Angel.

It was the first time I was really seeing her, since I’d avoided photos on social media. She was beautiful, which annoyed me, with bright blonde, pixie-cut hair and fluorescent green eyes that popped against her tan skin. She was taller than me, even in the heels I was wearing, and I tried standing a little straighter to compensate. Her short white dress wrapped high around her neck where a chunky gold necklace sat, and everything about her screamed regal. She was put together, sophisticated — like she belonged in that country club.

And I certainly did not.

She kept her eyes on me, mouth pursed, and I scanned the rest of the crowd staring me down unapologetically. They must have been her family. I was starting to panic, my chest tight and sweat beading on my neck when Jamie stepped through the door with three other guys — the groomsmen.

They all came in laughing, and when the silence hit them, Jamie must have felt me. He turned from his buddy he’d been talking to and his eyes locked on mine immediately. “Well look who made it.”

He was apparently oblivious to the death threats I was getting via eye laser beams because he crossed the room without a single hesitation, wrapped his arms around me, picked me up, and spun me twice before setting me back down. Then, he kissed my cheek, and threw his arm around my shoulder like his dad had.

“Looks like everyone is here now,” he said to the group, who was still staring at me — more specifically, at Jamie’s arm around me. “What’s first on the agenda, my beautiful bride?”

That question seemed to jolt life back into the room, and a few of Angel’s bridesmaids scurried off to grab provisions while Angel stepped forward. Her parents joined forces with Jamie’s behind her, but she was too busy forcing a smile to hear what anyone was saying.

“You must be B,” she said, lips as tight as the creases at her eyes. “I’m Angel. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She thrust out her hand and I took it with an awkward smile. Jamie’s arm was still around me.

“Man, this must be heaven,” Jamie said, pulling her under the other arm. “My two favorite girls in one place. I’m the luckiest man alive.”

Angel sneered a little before popping on her fake smile again, and I tried to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest at his words. Shrugging out from his grasp, I cleared my throat and pointed to the table. “Are we eating first, Angel? Or do you need any help getting everyone rallied for the walk-through?”