A Moment of Bliss (24 page)

S
he could've hidden in the warm safety of her own guest room, but no. Madison rocked on the basement patio swing, her knees pulled up under the quilt she'd stolen from the common room nearby.

This was a bad idea because it was freaking cold in the mountains in the middle of the night; a good idea because no one would look for her here. Then again, who said Roark was even looking? If he was half as smart as he thought he was, he'd take tonight as a blessing.

She buried her face in the quilt. That wasn't fair. He was twice as smart as he thought, and his confidence was a problem for her, not him. She was the one who wished she had what came to him so naturally. She was the one who faked it, so when it came time to really woman up, she ran.

All because she was scared; more frightened than she'd ever been, even more than when she'd gotten thrown out of her poor excuse of a home at eighteen, with an entire fifty bucks to her name.

That was nothing. Hell, when it came to being alone and surviving, she was the champ. But when she felt the pull of needing someone, wanting to be with someone, that's what sent her into a panic.

She wanted Roark to care about her, and that was the problem. She'd spent her life protecting herself so that she'd never want or need anyone's love again. But she did.

She'd been so worried about letting Roark in, scared to get close . . . but it was already too late for that. He was in. She cared about him, his family, his inn—all of it—more than she'd ever thought possible.

Roark hadn't asked her for more, because she'd been so adamant about them not being “a thing.” Because she was an idiot. Now she wanted him to ask her for more, and it scared the shit out of her.

Why would he want her? No one else did. Then he'd stepped right over her when something important was on the line. She was a fool for ever believing it'd be any other way.

And she still had a wedding to save.

Whitney was gone, but even if she did find her, then what? She didn't want Roark to be right about her not being able to convince Whitney to stay.

But he was.

She sighed, lifting her head to rest her chin on her knees.

Who the hell was she to give anyone a pep talk about relationships?
She
needed the pep talk. The thought of her trying to sing the praises of love and commitment, encourage settling down and trusting another person with your heart? What a load.

“Hey.” Whitney stuck her head around one of the giant stone pillars that supported the back of the inn.

Madison came up off the swing, clutching her chest. “You're here.”

Whitney grimaced, but came closer, her strawberry blond hair catching the moonlight, face so pale she could be a ghost.

“Yeah. ”

Madison's heart thumped in her chest like a bass.

Whitney eased toward her. The coat she wore was overlarge and the sleeves hung down over her hands. Madison could still tell that beneath all that fabric, where she held her hands together, she was wringing them.

“Do you . . . do you want to sit down?”

Whitney smiled, but it was weak. A sad impression of her smiles from the night before. “You don't mind?”

“No.” Normally, she'd mind very much. But she needed to do this, not only to save this wedding and save her own ass, but to be there for Whitney. She sure as hell needed to be there for someone.

They sat on the swing. Whitney pulled the blanket up to her chin, sitting the same way Madison sat earlier. Instead of bombarding her with questions, Madison asked her only one. “Mind if we swing back and forth a little?”

Whitney shook her head, so Madison pushed off with both feet, the swing swaying back and forth, back and forth. With each swing, the chain's links whined a little.

“When I was little, I thought the noise from squeaky swings was strangely musical.”

Madison didn't say a word but turned to look at her. Her chin was wrinkled as she fought to keep it from trembling.

“Strangely
bad
music, but there's still a rhythm if you listen. I would swing faster and slower, changing the tempo.” Whitney swiped at the corner of her eye with the edge of the quilt, her chin finally succumbing to the trembles as the tears fell. “I've always been such a weirdo.”

Madison shook her head, the claim
No, you're not
on the tip of her tongue, but how would she know? She hardly knew Whitney; plus, whenever people cooed
no
at her, she shut out whatever else they had to say.

She bit at the inside of her cheek. Think.
Think.
“I used to swing as high as I could and stay that way, just to see how long I could. I'd make myself motion sick, but I wasn't about to stop. Guess I'm a weirdo too.”

Whitney nodded, pinching her lips together, her face shiny with tear tracks.

“So . . . have you been—
where
have you been? Hiding in the woods?”

Whitney's laugh surprised them both, and Whitney snorted with another laugh. “Sort of? There's an empty round, tent-looking thing near here and the door was open.”

Madison thought of Roark, and the smile on her lips twisted her heart. “It's called a yurt.”

“I've been sitting in there for . . . I don't know how long.”

“Three hours. At least, that's when I found out you'd left.”

“That long?”

Madison nodded, pulling the quilt closer. “You went there alone, in the dark?”

Whitney pushed her feet against the concrete floor, making them swing a little faster. “Too numb to care about the dark.”

Madison didn't know what else to say, and she wasn't about to open her mouth and say something stupid. Instead, she helped Whitney keep up the swinging.

Time went by—it could've been a few minutes or thirty—but Madison had to say something or Whitney would stay hidden all night. Hiding wasn't helping matters. If Madison couldn't open up and talk about her feelings—all the squishy stuff that let people in—to help herself, then the least she could do was help the bride.

She shifted on the swing, turning to face Whitney. “Jack told us what happened.”

Whitney stared straight ahead.

She reminded Madison so much of herself, trying to put on the strong front. A strong front that wouldn't fool everyone, and could very well ruin this wonderful thing in her life.

Madison could've cried right along with her.

“I'm sorry,” Whitney whispered. “All of the work you guys did, the trouble you went through for us.”

“You weren't trouble. I enjoyed planning your wedding.” She meant it too. Every moment of arranging their event had been an experience unlike the dozens of events before. From talking about bolted-down furniture, to cake tasting, to debating with Devlin over how much dance-floor space they needed, to Sophie and her looks that said a million words, to Roark and his . . . everything.

She didn't want the wedding to be off because it'd damage her business. That was unavoidable, but she'd bounce back from it. She always did. The universe had dealt her worse hands than this, and she'd always made it through. But what about Roark? Would he bounce back? Now that she knew how shaky things were here at Honeywilde, she wasn't sure.

And would she bounce back from having Roark in her life?

In Whitney and Jack, she saw two people who cared for one another, one sitting here in tears, and they were letting some kind of bullshit keep them apart. And, for once, she wanted love—real love—to prevail.

“I don't care about the wedding, Whitney. I'm just sorry you guys aren't getting married.” As she spoke the words, she realized it was true. Her regrets weren't about the notoriety or what it'd do to her business. She was upset that these two people, who seemed perfect for each other, who were clearly in love, were apart.

She regretted that she'd had something so special right within her reach and was too scared to grab on and refuse to let go.

“I'm sorry too,” Whitney said between sniffles. “I really wanted to marry Jack tomorrow, and dance and eat chocolate bourbon cake.”

“Then . . .” Madison shook her head, struggling to keep up. “I don't understand. If you want to marry Jack, then why don't you? You called it off, you can call it back on.”

Whitney squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head. “I can't. I left him. He hates me.”

Madison stared at Whitney, who was trying to keep a stiff upper lip about it but the agony was oozing off her.

“He doesn't hate you. If you want to be with him, why'd you call it off?” Her tone bordered on harsh, she heard it. She was demanding an answer, but to hell with sitting silent. Whitney needed to answer to herself on this one, and this might be the only way.

She shook her head, strawberry blond waves bouncing.

“
Why?
” Madison repeated.

“What if getting married ruins everything? Being together all the time, working and living together. We'll end up killing each other.”

“That's what Jack said.” Madison tilted her head, remembering. “Actually, that's what Jack said Troutman said.”

“Yeah.”

“Whitney . . . I'm just going to say it. I think your manager is trying to sabotage your relationship.”

She wiped at her nose. “That isn't new. He hates us being together, but it's not him. He couldn't sow doubt if it wasn't already there. For me anyway. Did Jack talk to you?”

“A little.”

“A little is a lot for Jack. What did he say? Was he upset?”

“Of course, he's upset. The man loves you. You have to know that.”

“I do, but . . .” She turned toward Madison, her fingers curled into the quilt. “Can I tell you something?”

“I think you'd better.”

Whitney looked away, as if she was bolstering herself for something. “Everyone thinks Jack is this bad boy, troubled lead guitarist. And he is, to an extent. But he's also driven and professional and focused. Like, he
really
has his stuff together. I don't have anything together. Nothing. I'm the biggest mess you'll ever meet, but I hide it well. Scary well.”

Madison rubbed at her temple. The girl had a point here somewhere.

“Don't you see? I'm the trouble in this relationship, not him. People think I'm the Goody Two-shoes and that he'll somehow bring me down.” She tossed her head back. “Jack is the one who's got it together, I'm the wreckage. Just . . . no one knows. I will drag him down.”

Madison studied her; the pained expression proved the truth of her words. Whitney thought she was too damaged for the man she loved. It was a sentiment Madison understood all too well. She pulled the quilt up higher; she was colder than before, a shiver running through her arms.

“Does Jack know?” she dared to ask.

“Know what?”

“That you're a mess and you're scared of hurting him?”

Whitney started, then turned and gave her a sad smile. “He knew before I did.”

Madison's eyes burned at the sight of that smile. She knew what lay behind it, and exactly how Whitney felt. She tightened her grip, trying to hang on as the broken parts of her shook loose and flew around her. She'd held herself together so tightly, for so long, but she was wreckage, just like Whitney.

Jack knew the real Whitney, the good and the bad, and he didn't care. It was obvious to anyone paying attention.

And Roark knew Madison. More than anyone, he got her. He saw who she really was and had never once turned away. He'd tried to take over earlier tonight, sure, but he wasn't the one who ran. And he wasn't the one leaving.

What if he knew she needed him? He was there for the people who needed him—sometimes a little too there—but even so, it showed he was the last person who'd ever turn his back on her.

“Jack—” She cleared her throat, trying to steady her shaking voice. “Jack must be okay with you, just as you are, because I've seen how he looks at you.”

Whitney's laugh was wet as she pressed her face into the blanket. “But I'm scared,” she said, giving words to how they both felt. “I'm scared out of my mind and I feel awful because I shouldn't be. I'm supposed to be this . . . this . . .”

“Strong woman.” Madison filled in the blank.

“Yes. This strong woman who has it together, and I don't have shit together. On stage, sure, but in my life? No. Nowhere close. What if I screw this up? What if he gets sick of me? What if he—”

“Realizes what he got himself into.”

“Yes.” Whitney rubbed at the corners of her eyes.

Madison knew how she felt. Oh god, did she know. These were her own fears, laid bare in the words of someone else. If Whitney could tell her, a relative stranger, then maybe Madison could tell Roark.

“Do you want to be with Jack?”

Whitney nodded, her face blotchy and wet, but conviction sharp in her eyes.

“Do you love him?”

“Of course.”

“Then be scared about it, be freaked out, but marry him anyway.”

Whitney's eyes went wide, her face expressing precisely how Madison felt.

“W-what?” Whitney stammered.

Madison couldn't believe that was her advice either, but when it came down to the very root of things, these were two people who loved each other. They loved each other enough that they could work through everything else, including Whitney's insecurities. After all, wasn't that what love did? Stuck with you, supported you, and believed in you? Wasn't that what made it love?