Bad Cruz

“You were a gasshole.”

“I was. Vindictive and stupid and jealous and so depressingly aware of everything I’d lost over the years. It’s no excuse, but it’s a reason. And I’m sorry for that, too.”

“You should be sorry for existing,” Tennessee said with dignity.

“I mostly am. But who knows, maybe Bear will need an organ transplant at some point and I’ll make myself useful. Dream big.”

“My big dreams died the day you ran away and left me to fend for myself.”

“Have you been getting my checks?”

“Yes.” Tennessee tore a piece of sourdough bread, popping it into her mouth, but that same fury I saw in her the first time I’d dropped her off was gone. She was getting used to his presence in her sphere. “I got them.”

“You still say gasshole and holy sheep.” Rob smiled.

She rolled her eyes. “Put your efforts where they matter. With your son.”

“Why?” Rob studied her, his hand twitching. He wanted to swipe a lock of hair off of her face. I knew, because I wanted to do the same. “Am I too late? Are you Cruz’s now? When I asked around town, no one said they knew anything about you two.”

That could also explain how half the people in town knew about Tennessee and me. Between Gabriella and Rob tag-teaming it to “fact check”, their lack of graces covered all the social bases.

I leaned forward at the table, my elbow sinking deep into some kind of beetroot dip, and listened to her response.

It came swiftly and airily, like she hadn’t even given it a second thought. “In his dreams. Cruz is just a plaything, an interlude to pass the time. I belong to no one, Robert Gussman. Only to myself.”

Cruz is just a plaything, an interlude to pass the time.

In his dreams. I belong to no one.

That was what Tennessee had said.

Clear as the August sky.

She had one chance to own up to our relationship, to show me that she gave half a shit, that I wasn’t the only one here doing the heavy lifting, and she blew it all to hell.

I knew it was bullshit posturing, but the fact that she didn’t take the goddamn chance to legitimize me hurt like a bitch.

I mean, for puck’s sake.

Did I just say for puck’s sake? Even in my head? God, I needed another drink.

“Where are you headed?” Wyatt asked as I made a quick exit out of the rehearsal dinner minutes after we were finished.

My parents stayed behind to discuss canapes and honeymoon arrangements with the Turners. Tennessee was sneaking looks, no doubt waiting for me to come to her side.

Unfortunately for her, I had no appetite to be her designated fanboy for the evening.

I made a beeline to my car, feeling like a jackass for not telling Bear goodbye. The adults had no excuse—they were all shitheads—but Bear deserved better.

Wyatt followed my steps stubbornly, trying to catch up. I was secretly proud of him for not giving me shit even though his confession to Trinity got him in hot water.

Maybe he was finally growing up.

“Where you off to, baby bro?”

“Getting a drink downtown. I need something strong.” I stuck a finger into my tie, loosening it as I cracked my neck.

“Sign me up. I’ve been pre-gaming before the rehearsal dinner, but I need more.” Wyatt slipped his entire tie off.