Two Wedding Crashers Read online

  “Talk to me. What happened from the bed to the bathroom that has you this upset?”

  Gathering myself, knowing there is no other choice, I gently push away from him and zip up my bag. “This isn’t going to work, Beck.”

  “You’re running again.” Beck blows out a frustrated breath and from the corner of my eye, I see him grab the back of his neck. “What the fuck, Rylee? Is this because of what I told you?”

  “What?” I wipe a stray tear off my cheek and shake my head. “No, Beck. This isn’t because of you. This has nothing to do with what you told me last night.” I gather my backpack, phone, and charger and search the room one last time before turning toward Beck, giving the decency of a proper goodbye.

  “Then what? Five fucking minutes ago you were snuggled up against me, kissing my goddamn chest. How could you possibly change your mind that quickly? Is it because I want a family?” I wince and he catches it. “That’s it, because I want a family. Hell, Rylee, I don’t need one right away. I wasn’t speaking of starting one tomorrow, but just knowing it’s something I’d like in the future. Christ, you asked me. I simply answered you.”

  My gaze drops to the floor as more tears stream down my cheeks. “I can’t have a family.”

  “You can’t, or you don’t want one?” he asks, his voice stern and unforgiving.

  Choking back a sob, I take a deep breath and say, “I can’t.”

  “Why the fuck not?” He’s spitting fire with every ounce of anger building inside him, and I know this is all my fault. If I acted like an adult—a mentally stable adult, who can hold a difficult conversation—he wouldn’t be nearly as worked up, but given the up-and-down roller coaster I’ve put him through, I can understand why he’s being so harsh. He’s been so open with me, exactly what I craved, and I’m pulling away. I’m saying no to an us.

  Shaking my head, I swing my backpack over my shoulder, my throat so tight I can’t speak. I pull on the handle of my suitcase and head toward the door, Beck following behind me. When I open the door, he grips the wood from behind me, holding it tightly at the top.

  Giving him one more glance, I take in his taut chest muscles flexing with every frustrated breath he takes. His eyes are narrowed at me, his brows pointed down, his knuckles turning white from the death grip he has on the door.

  “Why the fuck not?” he repeats, holding me in his glare.

  Not able to respond, my past a dagger to my already broken heart, I say, “I’m sorry, Beck.”

  Disappointed, his head bowed, he says, “Not as sorry as I am.”

  The door shuts, the loud click of the lock sounding off like a deathly silence in the hallway of the Bellagio. It’s like the final nail in the coffin of our story. Our burial.

  I pause for a second, just a breath to see if he opens the door again, but when I hear nothing from the other side of the door, I take off toward the elevators, my heart dragging behind me.

  Hood pulled over my head, a coffee in hand, knees tucked, I sit in an airport chair waiting for my flight. Passengers travel past me, suitcases rolling behind them, kids skipping along, not holding hands, and an occasional flight crew buzzing about their layover. Life rotates around me as I sit, stagnant, recollecting on all the mistakes I made with Beck.

  Mistake number one: letting him say goodbye to my sweatshirt.

  Mistake number two: not requesting a room far away from his.

  Mistake number three: falling for a man I had no right falling for.

  My phone buzzes next to me with a text message.

  Zoey.

  I sent her and Victoria a crazed text while waiting in line at security. I’m kind of surprised it’s taken one of them this long to get back to me.

  Zoey: Hold on a second, what’s happening? You’re in Vegas with Beck and he wants kids and you walked out on him? When did you decide to go to Vegas and why didn’t I know about this?

  I’m about to answer when Victoria pipes in with a text.

  Victoria: Please tell me I’m not reading this correctly. You flew across the country to be with a man and didn’t tell us? That’s very irresponsible. You could have been hurt and we never would have known.

  Oh Victoria.

  Zoey: From the text message she sent, I’m going to assume she doesn’t need a lecture right now, Victoria. We can tell her how IDIOTIC it is to go somewhere without telling anyone later. For now, let’s focus on the facts. You left Beck in a hotel room. Why?

  I type out a response.

  Rylee: Rain check on the lecture, I know it was stupid. Despite that, Beck and I decided to meet up this weekend and it was . . . everything.

  Zoey: Oh sweetie.

  Victoria: He’s a very honest and sweet man.

  Rylee: The best actually.

  If I wasn’t so dehydrated, I’m pretty sure I could be crying some more as images of sexy and understanding Beck runs through my head.

  Victoria: How was the weekend? What exactly went wrong?

  Rylee: The weekend was amazing. It felt like everything was right in the world when I was in his arms. We crashed some weddings but then spent most of our time in our hotel room. Could sense things were getting serious but there was a roadblock in our relationship, our clouded pasts, so I asked Beck point-blank what he was hiding.

  Zoey: What did he say?

  Rylee: A story for another time. It’s far too much to type out. But after, we had the most incredibly amazing night. We . . . we made love. We didn’t speak much, but it was an unspoken understanding that we weren’t fucking, we weren’t screwing each other’s brains out like before. We were legit making love.

  Victoria: I feel sad for where this is going.

  Rylee: I fell for him and I fell hard. It was almost impossible to keep my heart out of the equation, especially after the story he told me. So I asked him what he saw for his future and he went on and on about having a family. He wants a wife and kids. I can’t give that to him.

  Zoey: Oh Rylee, you can still have a family, you’re just going to have to go about it a different way, that’s all.

  Victoria: Zoey is right. Just because you can’t have kids of your own doesn’t mean you need to give up on a man who clearly can’t get enough of you, who wants to be with you. You can find a solution.

  Rylee: You guys didn’t hear him. He wants four kids. Four! He has dreams and who am I to stop him from making those dreams his reality?

  Zoey: Rylee, I know the operation is still fresh in your memory, that the loss is still burning a hole in your heart, but you have to know not being able to carry your own child isn’t a hindrance to stop you from ever being happy.

  I take a deep breath and close my eyes, my thoughts traveling back to Beck. He was so sure, so set on having a family, on teaching his children his values. He deserves the world. How could I possibly consider taking that away from him?

  Rylee: It’s not going to work out. There are just too many factors keeping us apart.

  There is a pause and then Victoria responds.

  Victoria: But what about all the positive factors pulling you together? Love doesn’t come along very often, Rylee. When you feel it, there is only one thing you can do: fall head over heels.

  I cover my eyes with my hand, my throat closing in on itself, my nose stinging, signaling another wave of tears. God, how I wish things could be different, how I wish I had the courage to take a step forward toward a future with Beck, but even though there are options, I will always think in the back of my head, Beck wanted something different.

  And that something different won’t ever include me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  BECK

  Zoey: You need to call me now, jackass.

  I stare at the text for what seems like the hundredth time. It’s Sunday evening, Chris is on his way over with donuts, and for the life of me, I can’t stop staring at the text Zoey sent me.

  When I first read it, my immediate thought was something happened to Rylee, but the more I read it, the more I real
ized what she was doing. She’s intervening.

  There is no way Rylee kept our story from Zoey and Victoria. Their friendship is too strong. And knowing Zoey, I really shouldn’t be surprised by her text, because there is no way she would be able to keep from saying her peace about the entire situation.

  But I’m too damn raw to talk to her right now.

  Knock, knock.

  Thank God.

  “It’s open,” I call out, not wanting to move from the slouched position on my couch.

  The door to my apartment opens and when I expect to see burly Chris walk through with a box of donuts, Justine passes through the threshold, a Danish box in her hand.

  Sigh.

  Can’t a guy get a fucking donut when he wants one?

  “You look like shit,” Justine says, closing my door and going straight to my kitchen where she grabs two forks, two waters from the fridge, and then plops down next to me.

  “What happened to Chris and donuts?”

  “You know how he is with feelings, so you’re getting Justine and Danish instead.” She flips open the box and hands me a fork. “It’s raspberry and delightful so wipe that sneer off your face and take a bite.”

  Before I can stop her, she scoops up a big piece with my fork and shoves it in my mouth. I let the Danish sit on my tongue for a few seconds before chewing and . . . mother fucker, it is good.

  With her finger wiggling at me, Justine knowingly says, “See, I told you.” Taking a bite of her own, she talks while chewing. “Now tell me what the hell is going on. Last thing we knew, you were having the weekend of your life with Rylee. What changed?”

  I exhale and tip my head back so it’s resting on the couch cushion. “Everything.”

  And that’s the fucking truth. Not only did my relationship with Rylee end in a flash, but my feelings for her morphed into something entirely more serious than I ever could have predicted when I first met her. Seeing her again, in person, solidified everything brewing deep within my bones.

  “Why?” Justine takes another bite from her fork, letting the metal amble in her mouth longer than normal.

  “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Skip the horny details. I’m assuming the first half of your trip was splendid. What happened during the second half? Why am I sharing this Danish with you?”

  I let out a heavy breath, sorrow clouding my vision, my fork poised in my hand resting on my stomach. “We started talking about our futures and what we want. Hell, I opened up to her about my past, and I mean I told her everything.”

  Justine stiffens, her eyes narrowing. “Did she fucking leave because of what you told her?”

  “No.” I pat Justine’s leg, appreciating how protective she is. “She was actually super empathetic when I told her about Christine, the accident, and my time in prison. Incredibly empathetic actually. It wasn’t until the morning when we started talking about our future that she went rigid on me, disappeared into the bathroom. She was sobbing, Justine.”

  “Sobbing?” Justine’s brows rise. “What the hell did you say to make her sob?” She slaps me in the arm, steals my fork, and then points it at me. “Did you break that girl’s heart?”

  “What? No!” Why am I the one getting yelled at now? “I told her about wanting to have a family and getting married one day. Isn’t that what women like to hear?”

  Lip curled, eyes gazing toward the ceiling, her fingers tapping her chin, Justine says, “Well, that doesn’t seem incriminating. What did she say?”

  “She said she can’t have a family.” I scrub my face and say, “I kind of blew up on her because it was like déjà vu. She was packing her things and leaving me without even giving me a fucking chance to keep her in my life.”

  “Hold up.” Justine raises her hand. “Did she say she doesn’t want a family or can’t have a family? Big difference.”

  My brow pinches together. What is she getting at here? “How is there a difference?”

  Justine rolls her eyes and sits up straighter. “Don’t be so dense, Beck. If she doesn’t want a family, that’s her choice. But if she can’t have kids, that may not be something she can control. So are you sure she said can’t?”

  I still, my pulse starting to pick up as I try to recollect the words we spoke to each other. “Fuck, I think she said can’t.”

  Justine plants another wallop of a slap to my arm and huffs. “You stupid man. Ugh, this makes sense.” Justine shoves a huge bite of Danish in her mouth and continues to speak, bits of pastry flying out of her mouth and hitting my face and shirt. Justine is very comfortable around me. “She confesses that she can’t have children. She sobs in the bathroom. You blow up on her. Yeah, no wonder you’re in California and she’s all the way over in Maine right now.”

  My eyes race back and forth, my mind working a mile a minute. “Do you think she’s unable to get pregnant?”

  “Duh! God, welcome to the conversation, Beck.” Justine shakes her head. “Men really are stupid.”

  “Shit.” My hand goes to my phone and I open up the screen to Zoey’s text. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  “What?”

  I show the text to Justine and once again, she whacks me. “My guess is she’s calling to tell you you’re an insensitive prick who yelled at a girl who didn’t deserve to be yelled at.”

  Yeah, that’s my fucking guess too.

  Out of nowhere, Justine swipes my phone and starts pressing buttons only to be followed by the sound of a phone ringing on speaker.

  “What the fuck—?”

  “It’s about time you called me, dickhead.” Zoey’s voice fills the small space of my apartment and I take a deep breath. Fuck, for a second I thought she was calling Rylee. I can handle Zoey. “You have some explaining to do, mother fucker.” Or at least I think I can handle her.

  I go to answer her when Justine puts up her hand and says, “Zoey, it’s Justine.”

  “Justine? Oh I’m sorry. I thought this was Beck. You’re not a dickhead. How are you? Did you try that brownie recipe I emailed you?”

  Brownie recipe? They email? The fuck?

  “I did. Chris ate half the batch and the kids ate the other half. Note to self: make a big batch and hide them.”

  “I told you they’d be a real winner.”

  “They were,” Justine coos. “But unfortunately, I’m not calling you to talk about brownies. I, uh . . . I have Beck with me.”

  “Ah, yes, am I on speaker phone?”

  “Of course.”

  “Hey, Zoey,” I sigh, hating this right now.

  “Oh hello, Beck. Took you long enough to call me. Had to bring in a friend to help?” I’m sure I heard her mumble, “Dickhead.” Just in case I didn’t know . . .

  Grumbling, I slouch on the couch and wave at Justine to continue. I don’t feel like a verbal bashing from Zoey right now. Hell, calling her wasn’t even my idea, so Justine can take the lead.

  Clearing her throat, Justine says, “As you know, our friends snuck away this weekend to Las Vegas.”

  “Yes, they thought they were so clever, getting away for the weekend without consulting us. Honestly, what were they thinking?”

  “They obviously weren’t,” Justine answers, patting me on the leg.

  “Can we just get on with it? Fuck.” I rub my brow. What I wouldn’t give to not be in this situation right now. All I want is to have Rylee wrapped in my arms, looking out over the ocean in Key West. That’s when I felt the most at ease, the most myself. And then Vegas. Vegas trumped Key West.

  “Hey, why are you getting pissy when you’re the one being the asshole? Do you know the kind of hell Rylee has been through?” Zoey’s voice gets louder and I match it right back.

  “No, I don’t. So can someone please fucking inform me? Because she sure as hell didn’t. She just ran.”

  “Because she’s scared, Beck.” Zoey takes a deep breath. “She told me not to talk to you because in her mind this is over; your relationship is completely over.”
>
  I shake my head and look to the ceiling, biting on my bottom lip to prevent me from yelling obscenities. Justine gives my knee a reassuring squeeze, letting me know she’s here for me, and even though it’s nice to have friends who care deeply enough to sit through relationship agony with you, I want nothing more than to be by myself. How the fuck was I supposed to know what she meant when she said she can’t have kids? If I’d realized . . . if I had any idea how hard it was for her to hear me talk about my dreams of being a dad . . .

  Why run?

  And even though I haven’t craved alcohol in many years, I know Justine and Chris are still keeping an eye on me.

  “So why are you bothering to talk to me then? What’s the point if she’s tossed our relationship to the trash?”

  “Because she loves you, Beck.” My eyes start to sting as my skin prickles with goosebumps. If only I could hear that from her. “But she’s willing to push that aside so you can have the life she thinks you deserve.” What the hell? What does that mean?

  “I only want her.”

  “And that’s the answer I hoped to hear.” Zoey pauses for a second and then says, “This past year for her has been hell. Life-changing hell. We forced her to go to Key West to try and bring her back to life. And then there was you. You were supposed to be a fling, but you kept pursuing, and she saw how she could easily fall for you . . . and she did.”

  “I don’t understand, Zoey. What the hell do I—?”

  “She was diagnosed with cervical cancer nine months ago, Beck.” My breath catches in my throat and the pieces start to form. Cancer. Oh Rylee. Zoey continues to talk and it’s almost like my life is in slow motion as she fills me in. “It was aggressive, fortunately she caught it at the very beginning . . .” God, I can hear how this is shaking Zoey. Fuck. “She spoke with many doctors and the consensus to beat this cancer was to have a complete hysterectomy.”

  “Meaning she can’t have kids,” I finish for her.