Staying on Course (Finding our Way 2)

We are almost to the door, still smiling, when Liza finds a way to ruin my mood again.

“Bryce, you need me to pick you up?”

I stop walking and look at him. He hangs his head and takes a deep breath then turns to her. “No, Liza. I’ve got it.”

“Okay, see you in a few hours.” Satisfaction seeps through her tone.

In a millisecond, my unease returns.

*****

It turns out the problem with Shawn was that he needed help for alcohol abuse and suspicion of drinking on the job. Bryce explained as much as he could that Shawn’s wife had recently left and took their two-year old. She was filing for a separation. A lot of people were concerned and hoped he only needed some help coping.

Bryce left me in bed at one-thirty am Friday morning to go and confront Shawn and start the process to get help. He couldn’t tell me much more, except that he wanted to follow the rules and procedures to the ‘T’. It would consume his time until they decided the next steps.

I haven’t heard from him, except short text messages, since he left two days ago. Nate says he’s basically living on the base, working through this, so I have tried to be understanding. My mom and Michelle know what’s going on and have done everything to keep me occupied. I’ve tried to stay positive, but it’s a losing battle. All I can think of is Bryce working closely with Liza for endless hours. It’s obvious they both have an interest in this guy and his well-being, but no doubt she’s enjoying working with him alone. It’s stupid and selfish of me, but I can’t get rid of the sick feeling that’s settled in my stomach.

The only time I really felt like myself was when Shana found me on the field before the game. We hadn’t seen each other in forever, but she did acknowledge she received my internship application personally. I congratulated her, and she was coy, not talking about the engagement.

When she walked up, patting me on the shoulder, I turned and jumped into her embrace. Quinn joined in, and the three of us twisted and twirled until a throat cleared behind us. I looked over her shoulder to see a seriously HOT Professor Grant in jeans and a black turtleneck, his glasses gone and a few days’ growth on his face. Quinn and I said hello as Shana stepped into him, sliding an arm around his waist.

The minute she did, the sparkle from her hand caught my eye and I gasped. The largest and most ornate wedding ring set was shining off her hand. She blushed a bit but didn’t try to hide it. Instead, she took his hand to show a platinum ring as well. Then I knew why she was so tight-lipped. She eloped.

“Holy Shit! Congratulations!”

“Told you, if he put a ring on my finger, I couldn’t marry him fast enough.”

She hugged me again, promising we’d talk soon. I told her our moms were in the stands, and she promised to look for them. Quinn and I were surprised when the game was over and we saw our moms, Shana, and Professor Grant on the field walking toward us. The women were deep in conversation with hands flying and loud laughter.

We stood around and talked a while longer until we were forced off the field. My apprehension returned when I got to my bag and saw no missed calls or messages from Bryce. Only a message from Nicole about our wave to them during a TV shot. I tried him one more time, but the call went straight to voicemail.

This morning, I pasted a smile on my face and attempted to seem excited about shopping. Since this was an impromptu visit with short notice, Quinn was only able to get us one appointment scheduled. But a few other places recommended we ‘drop in’ because someone could probably help us.

Admittedly, it could have been my attitude, but the first store has nothing at all that remotely interests me. Neither does the second. By the third store, the three other women are losing patience with me. Quinn yanks me into a dressing room and shoves my phone in my face.

“Look at these!” she demands.

I scroll through my photo album of the last eleven months. Pictures of Bryce and I fill most of them, and I take a deep breath, realizing my misery is unjustified.

“I’m being an idiot, aren’t I?”

“Yes! He’s working, Devon. WORKING! Our moms came all this way with fucking stars in their eyes. This is important to them. Hell, this is important to me. Picking out your wedding dress shouldn’t feel like a funeral. Get a fucking grip. Give us today, let go of the insecurity, and snap out of this funk.”

I lift my head and meet her angry stare. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

I nod and walk back to the small waiting area where Michelle and Mom are flipping through magazines. Instead of coming right out and apologizing, I try to lighten the mood.

“You ladies think this place has any champagne? I’ve always dreamed about trying on wedding dresses while drinking champagne.”

Mom’s head snaps up, and her lips curl into a small smile. “If they don’t, I’ll go buy it. Anything to make this day memorable.”

I crush my lips together hard and swallow down the lump in my throat. She watches and then reaches across the small space, patting my hand.

“Did someone say champagne?” The attendant comes in, clearly eavesdropping.

“We certainly did. I think we’re ready to get started if you have time,” Mom answers.