“Hayden, wait—”
They both fell silent when they noticed the scene playing out before them. Just ahead, silhouetted by the pink-streaked sunset, their best friend was down on one knee proposing to the other. Only, it wasn’t Daniel as they’d expected. Story smiled up at a dumbfounded Daniel from where she knelt on the boardwalk, holding up a ring box.
Hayden couldn’t stop the bubble of laughter that rose from her throat. She should have suspected her friend would take convention and knock it on its square ass. At that moment, she couldn’t have been more proud of her friend. Over the last two months, she’d transformed into someone who didn’t take no for an answer. A woman who made her own decisions and to hell with what anyone else thought. A little blond force to be reckoned with.
It occurred to Hayden then that she herself had turned into quite the opposite. Someone who followed her marching orders, didn’t make waves. If she did her duty like a good soldier and married Stuart, she’d never experience the kind of romantic bliss currently radiating from Daniel and Story. She’d never be loved. Would never love anyone back.
Her self-pity didn’t belong there, not when the person she treasured most in the world was experiencing her perfect moment in the sun. She hated herself for having that feeling. Hated her impossible situation. Hated the man next to her for making her feel things she might go the rest of her life without ever feeling again.
Hayden felt Brent watching her and turned. Somehow he managed to look as troubled as she felt. She felt moisture coating her cheeks and a jolt of surprise passed through her. When was the last time she’d cried? Her sophomore year of high school. She’d been laid up in bed after having her tonsils removed, woozy from painkillers. Beaches had come on and she hadn’t been able to find the remote control to change the channel.
Brent reached a hand out to swipe her tears away, but she jerked out of his reach. Fist clenched in midair, his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. She could tell from his expression that he knew her tears weren’t of the happy variety. “Hey. What’s going on with you?”
“N-nothing.” She swiped impatiently at her tears. “I was…I was just thinking about that movie Beaches.”
A single eyebrow rose. “That had to be the last thing I expected you to say.” He looked thoughtful. “Well, maybe not the last. If you’d said something about the Mets’ batting order, I might have fainted.” When she didn’t respond to his attempt at levity, he sighed, but thankfully he didn’t press, nor did he look at her with anything resembling judgment. “Why don’t you go back to the hotel? I’ll…tell them you went to find your camera.”
“Thank you,” Hayden managed, before taking off in the opposite direction from which they’d been walking, feeling Brent’s gaze on her back as she went. She was thankful for the reprieve. In her current state of mind, she’d only tarnish her friends’ happy moment.
Her intention had been to return to her room. Experience her first cry in a decade with a pillow pressed to her face. Instead, she found herself veering into the first bar she passed upon entering the casino. Before she’d even settled onto the barstool, she’d signaled the bartender.
“Tequila, please.”
Chapter Thirteen
Brent paced the hallway outside Hayden’s room, trying to hold on to his patience. After congratulating Story and Daniel, who’d been too enamored with each other to do anything but acknowledge him with a smile, he’d gone in search of Hayden. Obviously, he’d tried her room first. Then he’d checked the pool and every chick-themed store in the place. Explaining his bigfoot-sized presence in Bath & Body Works had been a real scream.
Why had he let her go off by herself, clearly distraught? He’d watched her standing there in the waning sun, tears streaming down her cheeks, her beauty and vulnerability knocking the breath out of him. Then it all changed. Her features clouded, her shoulders sagged. If his ill-advised comment just seconds before did that to her, he’d kick his own ass. He’d said it expecting her to come right back at him with a rejoinder as she always did, yet she’d abandoned the fight. She must know he didn’t mean it. Jesus, wasn’t it obvious how badly he wanted her? He could no more change his mind about her than he could fit into a child-sized leotard.
He heard the elevator ping and hoped like hell it was Hayden inside. Instead, two thirty-something women got off. Stumbling around a little, they were clearly tipsy. They both came up short when they saw him, bursting out laughing when one got brave and sent him an exaggerated wink. Brent sighed. Then it dawned on him where Hayden would have gone. Good thing he wasn’t a detective like Troy or the streets would be overrun with criminals.