With one last hug, I said goodbye to the girls and boarded my plane, hating the empty seat beside me. Part of me had hoped we’d be forced to sit next to each other. I knew we wouldn’t have talked, and our anger would’ve been palpable, but maybe it would have filled this void growing bigger and bigger each second away from him.
But he never showed, and I could assume he changed his flight to avoid me. After hearing all the words he spewed about me, maybe I shouldn’t have been so surprised. Maybe the things he said in anger were the truth—the way he really saw me—as some spoiled, selfish girl.
Was I?
By the end of the flight, my headache had only grown, and I moved through the airport at lightning speed. When my car arrived, I exited the doors and scrolled through my contacts for our lawyer. I was so focused I didn’t even register the first flash.
But when I heard my name, I jerked up to find a small crowd of photographers with their cameras pointed at me.
“Raelynn, where’s your husband?”
“You and Austin have been friends for years? What changed?”
“Raelynn, how does Bodie feel about this?”
“Did you plan to get married while away?”
They peppered me with questions, and my usual confidence and quick wit were nowhere to be found. Thank god for sunglasses to hide my deer in headlights look.
“Rae,” a familiar voice called behind me.
I looked over to find my father’s secretary smiling next to a black Escalade. “Molly,” I sighed in relief, darting over to escape the small mob behind me.
“Congratulations on your wedding,” she exclaimed loud enough for the photographers to hear.
Her forced smile was so big it looked like her face would crack in half. Before I could ask her what the hell was going on, she pulled me into a big hug.
“Your father is so happy for everyone to hear the big news.” She pulled back, holding my shoulders, and uttered through her stretched lips just for me, “Wave and smile.”
Digging up my socialite skills among my confusion, I turned and gave a coy smile and finger wave before darting in the car. Molly followed, and as soon as the door closed, she settled back, dropping the fake smile for a look that screamed, you fucked up.
“Your dad is pissed.”
Shit.
The whole drive, Molly pleaded the fifth while I tried to imagine and prepare for every scenario that could be waiting for me. I finally caved and opened my text messages, scrolling past anyone not listed as Mom or Dad. A chill ran down my spine when I spotted Bodie’s name. Pausing with my thumb over his message, I considered opening it, thinking it would be better to be prepared—to see any danger coming, but then I reminded myself that I was free. I refused to change myself because someone wanted me to think of them as dangerous. Bodie was nothing. He couldn’t hurt me anymore. I won.
Not even bothering to delete his name, I kept scrolling but didn’t find anything from my parents besides a single phone call from early in the morning.
I imagined they wouldn’t be happy, but they always supported me and my decisions—they always let me make my mistakes, and despite what Austin accused, I faced the consequences and did my best to clean them up myself. But this wasn’t like my usual antics; this wasn’t an individual consequence, and while most times, my decisions only blew up on social media and the occasional magazine, with Dad’s campaign, I knew it’d show up elsewhere.
That was the variable that had me on edge as I opened the door to their house.
My mom shot up from her perch at the edge of the stairs with a look of disappointment and warning. The combination sent an ominous wave through my veins. I slowed my steps and tried to smile. She looked just as casually put together as always in designer jeans and a blouse, her makeup done to highlight the same brown eyes as mine, her matching dark hair styled to perfection.
“Hey, Mom.”
She closed the gap and framed my face in her gentle hands. The familiar move comforted me, but the way she looked at me like she didn’t know me washed the comfort away. In all my years, I’d never made her question me, except that one time in high school when I started that bonfire party, and the cops came. Even then, her look had been more what the fuck rather than who are you.
I almost broke down crying again when she pulled me into a tight hug and whispered that she loved me.
“Come on. Your dad is waiting.”
“Do I have to? Maybe I can just escape to Mexico.”
“I raised you better than that. We don’t run.”
“I know,” I muttered but appreciated the reminder.