Don't Kiss the Bride

I can’t remember the last time he called me Sparkles.

My stomach churns and burns, sending me to my nightstand to get some DGL tablets.

Everything hurts.

I light lavender-scented incense and put on my Pink Floyd playlist. I turn off my light and click on my galaxy projector night light that Jude surprised me with the day after we drove around and then went to the cliffs. He wanted me to be able to see all the stars at night whenever I wanted to. I almost smashed it the night he told me he didn’t want to date me anymore, but now I’m glad I didn’t.

I like having all these stars to make wishes on. Eventually, one will come true.

Dazed with emotion, I stare at the ceiling of stars and try to lose myself in them. I’m not sure how much time passes, or if I dozed off, but the chirping of my message app startles me back to consciousness, and I quickly grab my phone. Megan is with Erik, so it has to be Jude.

Unknown: Hi, sweetheart.

I frown at the glowing screen, knowing I’m not sweetheart, but wishing I were.

Me: I think you have the wrong number.

Unknown: Is this Skylar?

Me: Who is this?

Unknown: Your father. I want to say Merry Christmas. It took me forever to get your phone number from your mother. She wouldn’t tell me where you were or how to get in touch with you. I was hoping we could talk?

Oh, shit.

Chapter 41

Jude

I decide to go visit Uncle Al at his bar in Boston as a way to put space between me and Skylar.

My mood gets worse as I sit in traffic for over an hour with nothing to think about except that I wish I’d stayed home to watch a movie with her. When I finally get to the bar, I park my truck and walk down the street to a convenience store for some smokes and a pack of gum. Lighting up, I lean back against the brick wall of the side of the store and stare at my phone. I want to send her a text message. Something cute like we used to—but that will only make things worse.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a guy having a cigarette halfway down the alley. He tosses something into a nearby dumpster, and that’s when I notice another dude behind him, in the shadows, slowly creeping up behind him with a bat in his hand, raised and ready to swing. It takes me a few seconds to figure out what’s going on, but when I do, I act on pure adrenaline, run up behind him, and tackle him, causing his swing to go wild. When the bat glances the side of the smoking guy’s head with a thud, I wrestle the attacker to the ground. His punches are pathetically sloppy, and he misses me every time I duck to the side. I decide to put him out of his misery and land a fist square to his jaw. He puts his hands up to shield himself from my next punch.

“Lemme go, man. I don’t want any shit with you,” he says, spitting blood onto the sidewalk.

“Get the fuck outta here, asshole,” I say, “or I’m gonna kill you with your own bat.”

He slowly rises and runs toward the other end of the alley, and I pick up the bat and hurl it at him. I let out a low whistle as it flies and spins through the air, heading straight at him like a torpedo until it nails him in the back of the head.

“Woohoo!” I yell. “Nailed you, you bastard!”

“Fuck!” the guy yells, and he falls hard, then stands a few seconds later and staggers toward the alley fencing—scaling it and then disappearing.

Pumping with adrenaline, I turn and help the guy up who was almost just mugged. He rubs the back of his head.

“You okay, man?” I ask.

“Think so,” he says. “What the hell just happened?”

“That motherfucker tried to knock you out and mug you.”

“Shit.” He twists his neck from side to side and winces. “Thanks… for what you did.”

“No problem.”

“I was just standing here—”

I smirk. “You were standing in the wrong place. Not from around here, are ya?”

“Not really.”

He runs his hand through long, dark, wavy hair, checking his head for damage. Something about him is familiar, but I can’t place him.

“He didn’t hit ya that hard, I grabbed the bat as it was coming down. I think it just stunned you for a few seconds.”

“Good to know,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Fuck this night.”

I put a cigarette in my mouth and search my jacket for my Zippo. “You got a light?” I ask. “Think I lost my lighter.”

Nodding, he tosses me a box of wooden matches.

“Thanks.” My knuckles sting as I cup them around my mouth to light up my cigarette. I gotta stop punching people. “You need directions someplace? A ride? You look lost,” I say as the guy stands there, bewildered, looking up and down the alley.