His Brother's Bride

“Why, Scott?” Blame had not yet replaced confusion. “Why would you do such a thing to yourself? It doesn’t make sense.”

It made hellishly perfect sense.

“I was in no state to stand, let alone drive,” he continued. “I told Paul that we’d promised you he wouldn’t drive, but he figured you’d be more mad at him for missing his wedding. He figured that if I slept for the three-hour drive home, I’d be sober enough by the time we hit Pittsfield for us to switch drivers.”

“That doesn’t sound like Paul.”

“He wasn’t going to miss his wedding.”

“Had he been drinking, too?”

“Not nearly as much as I had.”

“But he’d been drinking.”

He didn’t want to remember. Paul had been so happy, the alcohol and the excitement of his wedding freeing him from his usual restraint.

“Some.”

“Paul didn’t drink, either.”

She couldn’t think badly of Paul. Period.

“He was just happy, Laurel, happier than I’ve ever seen him. The guys poured him a shot or two and for once he threw caution to the wind and joined in the fun.”

“I wish I could have seen that.”

“Yeah.” He wished the memory didn’t have so much pain attached to it for him.

They both fell silent, but it wasn’t over yet.

“So he was hungover, too.”

“Not really.”

“Paul wasn’t used to drinking.”

Okay. So maybe Paul had been a little worse for wear.

“He’d had four hours to sleep it off.”

Laurel turned around, her back against the tree once more. Pulling her knees up, she wrapped her arms around them, rubbing her legs from her ankles to her knees, back and forth, slowly, as though easing a pain.

It was a pain that couldn’t be eased. Scott knew. He’d tried every way he could think of, but nothing worked.

“So you were sleeping when he hit that patch of ice.”

“Yes.”

A car drove by. Scott wondered where the occupant was going, and wished he were going there, too. Anywhere would be better than this.

“You said the seat belt broke.”

She’d heard that, too. All these years he’d comforted himself with the fact that she’d been in shock that morning, that it would all be a blur to her—nothing to haunt her nights the way his had been haunted.

Images of waking up in the car, hearing the sirens, the hissing of steam, the voices yelling outside his window. Getting out, stumbling around the car until he recognized that it was his car, wondering why he’d been so far from the steering wheel. Coming upon Paul’s body... Remembering where they’d been going. What Scott had done.