Is It Over Yet? E-Book

L.A. Witt

• Herausgeber: GallagherWitt Publishing LLC
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Rhys Powell and Derek Scott are divorcing. Mistakes have been made, lines have been crossed, and there’s no going back. Both men are exhausted and ready to move on.

But their daughter is getting married soon. In the name of not putting a damper on her wedding, Derek and Rhys agree to keep the divorce on the down-low and show up as the happy couple everyone still believes they are.

And between a roller coaster of a road trip and the love and joy surrounding the wedding… Derek and Rhys just might remember why they fell for each other in the first place.

Are they only kidding themselves? Or can a rekindled spark really light the way to forgiveness?

This novel is approximately 59,500 words long.

Leseprobe

Is It Over Yet?

L.A. Witt

Contents

About Is It Over Yet?

1. Rhys

2. Derek

3. Rhys

4. Derek

5. Rhys

6. Derek

7. Rhys

8. Derek

9. Rhys

10. Derek

11. Rhys

12. Derek

13. Rhys

14. Derek

15. Rhys

16. Derek

17. Rhys

18. Derek

19. Rhys

Epilogue

Also by L.A. Witt

Also by L.A. Witt

About the Author

Copyright Information

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Is It Over Yet?

First edition

Copyright © 2019, 2022 L.A. Witt

Cover Art by Lori Witt

Editor: Jules Robin

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact L.A. Witt at [email protected]

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-64230-037-6

Print ISBN: 978-1792999734

Created with Vellum

About Is It Over Yet?

Rhys Powell and Derek Scott are divorcing. Mistakes have been made, lines have been crossed, and there’s no going back. Both men are exhausted and ready to move on.

But their daughter is getting married soon. In the name of not putting a damper on her wedding, Derek and Rhys agree to keep the divorce on the down-low and show up as the happy couple everyone still believes they are.

And between a roller coaster of a road trip and the love and joy surrounding the wedding… Derek and Rhys just might remember why they fell for each other in the first place.

Are they only kidding themselves? Or can a rekindled spark really light the way to forgiveness?

This novel is 59,500 words long.

Chapter 1

Rhys

The suburban Chicago house I’d lived in for the past six years came into view, and my stomach knotted tighter. It was the same feeling I’d had on my way to a job I’d hated a lifetime ago, when pulling up to the building made me groan out loud at the prospect of another shift in that godforsaken place. Didn’t seem right to feel that way coming home, but there it was, same as it had been for the past two months.

By the time I pulled into the garage beside the familiar red Corolla, my jaw ached from clenching my teeth. Probably because that’s what I’d been doing every night this week at the same time. Ugh. If I didn’t move out of this place soon, my dental bills were going to be astronomical. That was a good enough reason to step things up, wasn’t it? So I didn’t grind my teeth to dust?

As if I didn’t already have a laundry list of reasons why I needed to get out of here.

With an ache in my jaw and a sour feeling in my throat, I collected my coffee cup, lunch bag, and briefcase, and got out of the car. On the way inside, I couldn’t help limping a little, which added to my festering annoyance. It wasn’t unusual for my leg to be sore by the end of the day, especially after I’d been coaching basketball, but it wasn’t doing much for my shitty mood. I couldn’t think of much that would, though. Nothing short of substances that would get me fired. Or maybe finding a note on the counter that said I moved out. There wasn’t a plant on this earth that would get me higher than reading those three sweet little words.

But unless my soon-to-be ex-husband had won the lottery since this morning, he was just as stuck here as I was.

At the door, I paused for a deep breath to steel myself, then went inside. The kitchen and living room were empty. Derek’s car was here, so it was a safe bet he was home, but he was somewhere else in the house. Good enough for me. If I was lucky, he’d stay that way long enough for me to wind down.

I went through my usual motions—cleaning out my lunch bag, rinsing the Tupperware dishes, checking the cats’ food and water, perusing the mail. For years this routine had soothed me. Helped me shift from work to home so I could relax. Not so much these days.

Our long-haired calico, Lucy, hopped upon the counter and chirped at me, and I managed to crack a smile as I scratched her back the way she loved. She arched under my hand and purred. I chuckled, and I didn’t even mind that she was kicking the mail everywhere as she strutted back and forth on the counter.

“Hey, sweetheart. You miss me?”

More purring.

I kept scratching and petting her for a moment, trying not to think about the future. Or the fact that Derek and I still hadn’t come to a custody agreement about the cats. They were littermates, and though they could fight almost as loudly as we could, they were inseparable. There was no “you take Lucy and I’ll take Chico.” When this was all over and we finally went our separate ways, someone was taking both cats, and someone would be living without them.

I scooped Lucy into my arms, and I hugged her tight, which just made her purr louder and my conscience burn hotter. Guilt had been a constant friend for the past few months, and every time I thought about either losing my cats or taking them away from Derek, I wanted to cry. As if I hadn’t done enough of that recently.

I’m so sorry, guys. I buried my face in Lucy’s plush fur. I fucked everything up.

The click of a door at the opposite end of the house made my spine stiffen. Lucy tensed too. By the time Derek was halfway up the hall, she’d stopped purring. As he cleared the corner into the living room, she wriggled in my arms, and I sighed as I set her back down on the counter. She jumped to the floor and trotted out of the room, probably to the office where Chico was likely watching birds.

I watched her go, fresh guilt gnawing at me. Things had really gone to shit when even the cats didn’t want to be in the same room with the two of us.

Without the cat to hold my attention anymore, I turned to see where Derek was headed so I could make my own escape. I still needed to change clothes anyway, not to mention take off my prosthetic and sit for a while to give my joints a rest. If he was going to hang out in the living room, then I could go into my bedroom or join the cats in the office.

But Derek wasn’t heading into the living room. He was coming into the kitchen. And from the way his gaze was fixed on me, he wanted to talk about something.

I swallowed. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Do you have a few minutes?”

I struggled to hold his gaze. He didn’t seem like he was looking for a fight. There was some tension in his features, but it didn’t read as hostility or anger.

I shifted my weight, wincing at the vicious ache in my hip. “Yeah. Do you mind if we sit, though?”

“Sure. Yeah. Living room?”

“Okay.” I followed him out of the kitchen, and we sat on opposite ends of the sofa. As soon as I was seated, I leaned down, rolled up my pant leg, and disconnected my prosthetic. Derek didn’t speak while I removed it; for all our inability to coexist lately, he was still in the habit of giving me a minute to get situated, particularly when I needed to kick off the prosthetic after a long day on my feet.

I leaned the prosthetic against the end table and sat back, releasing a relieved sigh. Everything ached, especially my hips, knees, and right ankle, and taking some weight off them felt so good. I might’ve even relaxed if not for Derek waiting a cushion away to have a conversation. Ugh. God. What now?

Schooling my expression, I twisted toward him. I stole a second just to look at him. There would come a time in the very near future when all I had left of him was pictures, and even with the constant tension hanging between us, it hurt to imagine not seeing him anymore. Seeing him like this hurt too. The dark eyes that had tongue-tied me on day one were cold now. Beside his eyes and mouth were lines that deepened whenever he smiled or laughed, and they were barely visible now. The near-black hair I’d run my fingers through millions of times, the soft lips I’d tasted more times than I could count, that spot on his neck where a single kiss could make him shudder all over—it was all out of my reach now.

Maybe it was time to take my sister up on the offer to come stay with her. I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could handle.

Forcing back my emotions, I tried to sound casual. “All right. What’s up?”

He mirrored me, pulling his knee up onto the cushion and drumming his fingers on his inseam. “Um.” He stared down at his hand. “So, I talked to Vanessa this morning.”

My gut clenched. Instantly my mind was filled with a million worst case scenarios. I’d expected him to have something on his mind about us, not about our daughter, and panic shot through me. Had something happened? Was she hurt? Sick? “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Everything’s fine.” He made a calm down gesture. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Okay. Good.” I exhaled, my heartbeat coming back down. It wasn’t unusual for her to call him, but the whole “we need to talk” thing had me on edge. “So…” I raised my eyebrows. Oh God, had he told her? Did he finally tell her we were divorcing? He’d been dancing around that for two months.

Derek cleared his throat, and to my surprise, he smiled, though he still seemed guarded. “She’s, um… She’s getting married.”

I blinked. “She is?”

He nodded. “Corbin proposed last night.”

“Oh. Wow.” I actually laughed because I was so relieved that instead of something horrible, he was breaking the news that Vanessa was engaged. “That’s great!”

“Yeah. It is.” He met my gaze, but then he broke eye contact, and his smile faltered.

How could a conversation be this much of a roller coaster after thirty seconds? Oh, right, because it was us and we were a disaster. A disaster our daughter still didn’t know about.

Derek took a deep breath and sat up a little. “Here’s the thing—they want to get married sooner than later. Corbin is going to be transferring within the next year, and he’ll probably deploy at some point. So they want to get all their ducks in a row quickly.”

I nodded. “Makes sense. How soon is soon?”

“They’re thinking February.”

I whistled. “Really not letting the grass grow, are they?”

He laughed quietly. “No. But it’s still three months away. It isn’t like they’re eloping next week.”

“True.” And why was this line of conversation making me apprehensive? Like it was going somewhere I really didn’t want it to go? I was thrilled for our daughter and her husband-to-be, but something about this discussion with Derek…didn’t feel right. After nine years together, I knew him, I knew his tells, and I knew there was more to this than just telling me Vanessa was getting married.

Chewing his lip, Derek dropped his gaze and watched his fingers drumming on his knee again. There was definitely something on his mind. Something he needed to say, but either couldn’t figure out how to or couldn’t quite work up the nerve.

“Derek?” I nudged. “What am I missing here? You’re happy about this, right?”

“Yeah. Of course. I’m… There’s just…” He closed his eyes. Finally, he met mine again. “Vanessa still doesn’t know about, um, us.”

I winced. In the two months since we’d decided to split up, we’d debated more than once when and how we should tell our daughter. The holidays were almost upon us, so that hadn’t seemed like the right time, and we’d agreed to keep a lid on it until after the New Year. She couldn’t make it out for Thanksgiving, and she was spending Christmas with her mom, so it wasn’t as if we’d have to play happy husbands right in front of her. Just keep up the illusion on social media and on the phone. Easy. Except for the part where it meant we’d had to keep it quiet from almost everyone else so no one accidentally let it slip on Facebook. And we were still stuck living together anyway because neither of us could afford to move out yet, so the whole fucking world thought everything was quiet on the home front. The closest we’d come to letting it slip was when a friend noticed our wedding portrait wasn’t on the mantle anymore. Derek had quickly said the frame had broken, and the subject had dropped. For now.

“Right,” I said. “So what does that have to do with her getting—” I tensed, then inclined my head. “Derek, please tell me you’re not going where I think you’re going.”

He looked at me plaintively. “It’s her wedding, Rhys. The next couple of months are going to be stressful as hell for her, and I’d rather all that stress be about planning her wedding. Not worrying about her dads splitting up.”

Closing my eyes, I pushed out a long breath through my nose. We’d been married for seven years, and even though our happier days seemed like a lifetime ago, I remembered the stressful months leading up to the wedding like it was yesterday. The thought of my parents dropping a bomb like that in the middle of all that chaos? Of trying to enjoy my damn wedding while I worried myself sick about making them be in the same room? Okay, yeah, I got what he was driving at. But…fuck.

Facing Derek again, I said, “I get it. I do. But then what’s it going to be after that? Wait until after her birthday? Let her and Corbin get settled at their new duty station? Sooner or later, we’re going to have to just say it and be done with it.”

The looks we were exchanging edged toward glares. A familiar tension rose in my chest: the feeling that losing my temper wasn’t far off. Neither of us was particularly volatile, but ever since things had gone down—ever since I’d fucked up and sent us down this road—we’d both been on hair triggers. A conversation about groceries could spark a fight, so something like this? Debating the prospect of keeping our divorce under wraps for three more months? Yeah, I could totally see this devolving into a screaming match in a hurry, and I could feel my own calm disintegrating under his acidic stare.

I broke eye contact and rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t want to ruin her wedding, okay? But I don’t want us to be miserable anymore either.”

He laughed bitterly. “I’m pretty sure that’s going to be a thing until we get rid of this place.”

I gritted my teeth, which still ached from clenching earlier. “Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t mitigate it where we can.”

“So what do you want to do?” His voice toed a very fine line between letting his irritation show and trying to placate me so this didn’t erupt into a fight. “If we tell her now, we’re both still going to end up at the wedding anyway.”

I swallowed, and in a weird way, I was grateful that in his mind, it was a foregone conclusion that I’d go even if we were divorcing. Vanessa wasn’t my biological daughter, but I’d been in her life since she was twelve. We’d always been close, and my greatest fear was losing her right along with Derek.

“We’ll both be there,” I said. “But which do you think is going to be harder? Staying out of each other’s way? Or pretending we’re still…” God, I couldn’t even say it. My throat tightened, especially when he flinched. Guilt burned hotter and shame burrowed deeper.

I can’t believe I did this to us.

But I did, and there was no going back, and now we had to decide who we’d be at our daughter’s wedding three months from now—blissful husbands or frosty exes.

Derek cleared his throat. “I’d much rather go separately and stay out each other’s way. But this isn’t about what’s easier for us. This is about her.”

I was the one to flinch that time. “And if we do put on the happy, married, united front at the wedding?” I looked in his eyes. “What about between now and then?”

He shrugged tightly. “We keep doing what we’ve been doing. Go to work. Live our lives. Stay out of each other’s way.”

I supposed there wasn’t much else we could do. So, despite the hot lump of guilt behind my ribs—or maybe because of it—I nodded. “All right. Just, um, let me know the dates. I need to make sure I have the time off work.”

“I will.” Derek sat up, and he hesitated like he was going to say something more but then apparently decided not to. He rose, wincing when his knee cracked. He paused for another awkward second but again let go of whatever was on his mind, and without another word, he walked out of the living room.

As soon as I was alone, I sighed heavily. From the moment things had started unraveling, it had been one thing after another. The realization that the cats couldn’t go with both of us. Sticker shock over how much this whole process was going to cost, and how strapped for cash we’d both be when it was over. The prospect of breaking the news to friends, family, and colleagues, which we still hadn’t done because he didn’t have the heart to tell Vanessa yet.

And now this.

I kneaded my stiff neck. The thought of continuing the charade—acting like my husband and I were still happily in it for the long haul—made my chest hurt, but what choice did we have? There were people who put aside mountains of differences and stayed together for years for their kids despite being miserable. If they could get through that, then why couldn’t I suck it up and knuckle through three more months? At least I knew there was an end in sight. The recovery from my accident had been a solid year, and I’d made it through that.

I could do this. I could make it through another three months of living with Derek and telling the world outside that everything was fine. I could get through one wedding pretending Derek and I still loved each other.

Especially since I wouldn’t be the one pretending.

Chapter 2

Derek

“Wait, wait, wait. Back up.” Maxine, my business partner and best friend, thunked her beer bottle down on the bar so hard I was surprised it didn’t break. “You guys are going to the wedding, but you’re not telling her you’re splitting up?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” I dug at the label on my own bottle. “Just doesn’t seem right, you know? Like, ‘Oh hey, congrats, you’re getting married. By the way, Dad and I are getting divorced.’”

She rolled her eyes and brushed a strand of auburn hair out of her face. “Uh-huh. Has anyone ever mentioned that neither of you can act your way out of a brown paper bag?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Derek.” She huffed. “Come on. Do you honestly think either of you—never mind both of you—can sell this? Pretend everything is fine between you? Because you can’t even hide it when someone asks about Rhys.”

“That’s not true. I can—”

“It is true. Your poker face is so terrible, it’s obvious you’re trying to have a poker face, and your husb—and Rhys’s isn’t any better.” Her forehead creased and her voice softened. “Do you honestly think you can convince your daughter to buy it? Which is to say nothing of her mother?”

I chewed my lip. Trust Maxine to see all the flaws in my admittedly shaky plan. Our daughter wasn’t stupid, and her mother could sniff out bullshit from a mile away. Damn. Maybe this whole idea was a mistake. “What choice do we have? This divorce is going to destroy Vanessa.”

“Like it’s already destroying her dads?”

I winced and drank some more beer because I was way too sober for this.

Maxine sipped her own beer. “Can I ask you something you probably don’t want to think about?”

I arched an eyebrow. “Since when do you ask permission before interrogating someone?”

She laughed softly. “Come on. I’m relentless but I’m not cruel.”

“Well, now I’m curious. What’s on your mind?”

“Do you promise you’ll hear me out? Not just shut me down?”

I shifted on my barstool, wondering if I should let this line of conversation continue. Curiosity really was getting the best of me, though, so I nodded.

She studied me for a long moment, absently working at the label on her bottle. “You’ve got, what, three months until your daughter’s wedding?”

“Thereabouts.”

“Okay. Well.” She looked right in my eyes. “Have you considered using that time to see if your marriage is worth saving?” Her hand went up, silencing me even before I realized I’d opened my mouth to protest. “It’s plain as day to anyone who knows you, Derek. You still love him.”

I dropped my gaze, a sudden lump in my throat making it nearly impossible to swallow. “Yeah. I do still love him.”

“So maybe you’re—”

“Max.” I shook my head and faced her again. “There’s no going back.”

“Isn’t there?”

“No. There isn’t.”

She pursed her lips. “Is there no going back? Or is there a lot of pride and hurt getting in the way of seeing if there’s a way back?”

Sighing, I reached for my beer. After a deep swallow that did nothing to dislodge that lump, I put the bottle down again. “He cheated on me.”

“Yes, he did,” she acknowledged with a slight nod. “And then you went and cheated on him.”

I winced, shifting my attention back to my beer. The bottle was nearly empty, so I flagged down a bartender.

“I know he hurt you,” Maxine pressed. “But it was a one-time mistake. It isn’t like he had an affair or some ongoing thing. He fucked up. Once.”

“Once that I know of,” I grumbled, drumming my nails and trying to telepathically urge the bartender to hurry the fuck up. “How can I trust him now?”

“The fact that he told you about it should say something.”

I scowled. Hadn’t I tried to tell myself the same thing in the weeks after his confession? That it must have been a one-time fuck-up, and he must have really felt terrible about it to break down and confess? It wasn’t like I’d suspected anything. That confession had fallen out of the clear blue sky as far as I was concerned, blindsiding me and turning my entire world on its head. If he hadn’t told me what he’d done, I never would have known, and we’d probably still be happily married now.

But he had told me. And the anger had boiled over. And one night I’d been so furious and hurt and betrayed that I’d gone out and done the same thing. Gone out and fucked some stranger until neither of us could take anymore, and when I’d come home, I hadn’t confessed. No, I’d thrown it in his face. Made sure he knew what I’d done and why I’d done it. If he’d wondered before that morning if I might forgive him, he didn’t have to wonder anymore.

“I can’t be with someone I can’t trust.” My voice barely carried over the bar’s background noise. “Rhys knew cheating was a hard line for me. He knew. And he did it anyway.” I shook my head. “It’s not so much that there’s no going back—it’s that I don’t want to go back.”

Maxine watched me, but she said nothing. A moment later, the bartender appeared with another beer, and I took a long pull from the bottle.

The truth was, I did want to go back. I wanted to go back to the way things were before the night Rhys had slept with another man. Our marriage hadn’t been perfect—was anyone’s?—but it had been good. I’d been content. Couldn’t have asked for anyone better to share my life with. If I could go back to that, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

But I couldn’t. No matter what we did or said or forgave or forgot, things were different now. We would never be the couple we’d been before he cheated any more than I would ever be the man I’d been before going to combat. To this day I didn’t know the who or the why, and I didn’t think I ever wanted to know. Rhys had cheated. End of story.

Maxine put her hand on my forearm, the cool contact startling me out of my thoughts. “Listen. Even if you can’t trust him enough to save your marriage, there’s no reason you can’t put this to bed enough to be civil. Especially if you have to live with each other for the foreseeable future.”

I rubbed my eyes. “That, or I need to find a faster way to get out of that house and on my own.”

She frowned. I could feel the frustration coming off her. One of the reasons we’d always gotten along so well was that neither of us sugar-coated things for each other. There was no bullshit between us. We told each other when prospective partners set off alarm bells, like when she’d dated that asshole a few years ago who’d turned out to be married. Or when her gut had told her my ex-boyfriend was a manipulative narcissist. Sometimes we were wrong—I hadn’t thought she and her ex-girlfriend were even remotely compatible, but they’d had three good years together before the girlfriend’s job had forced her to relocate, and the long distance thing had fizzled in a few months. They were still friends, though. I’d clearly been wrong about her.

Five years ago, she’d had second thoughts about getting into another long distance relationship. Once bitten, after all. I’d encouraged her to give him a chance because she was obviously into him and he was seriously pinging my nice guy radar. Now he was living with her and they were talking about getting married.

She’d been the one to tell me that if I really did have that much of a crush on my daughter’s junior high softball coach, then maybe I should see if he wanted to get a drink. That was exactly why she’d stood beside me as my “best man” both times I’d married him—first ceremonially, then legally.

So I could only imagine how hard it was for her to hold back right now. She knew me well enough to know that this wasn’t a good time to push me. There were too many raw nerves exposed. I needed time to think. To process. When I’d licked my wounds a bit more, she’d be ready and waiting to try again.

As I took another drink from the ice cold bottle, I couldn’t imagine changing my mind about this. This breakup was killing me, but it was a necessary evil. Rhys and I were done. Our marriage was over. The only thing left to do was move on.

And I wasn’t waiting three months to get started on that.

“What’s all this?” Rhys leaned on the doorframe and gazed around the garage, which was littered with cardboard boxes and plastic crates.

I looked up from a box of framed photos. “Just, um, going through some stuff. Getting rid of a few things.” Our eyes met, and I didn’t have to ask if he could read between the lines.

Sorting things out so it’ll be easier to move.

He broke eye contact and surveyed the mess of boxes. As he did, I thumbed through a couple more framed pictures, then stole a glance at him.

He must have just come back from a run. His sandy blond hair was dark with sweat and curling at the ends, and he had on his running prosthetic—the one with the C-shaped running blade instead of the usual foot attachment, plus his usual knee brace on the other leg. How he could go out in shorts and a tank top in November was beyond me, but cold never seemed to bother him, and I’d certainly never objected to the view. Not when it meant showcasing his broad shoulders, tattooed arms, gorgeous ass—

I tore my gaze away from him. There really was no point in ogling him unless I wanted to make myself feel worse. Which I didn’t. But still…

I glanced at him again because apparently I was a closet masochist.

Rhys cleared his throat. “Do you need a hand with anything?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks.” I gestured at some boxes stacked up against the wall. “That’s all yours, so I haven’t touched any of it.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything.

Awkward silence descended between us, and I hated how normal that was becoming. How I was getting so used to this twitchy, unnerving quiet with the man I’d married. Suddenly all the boxes in front of me were twice as urgent. The sooner I got things sorted into his, mine, donate, and toss, the sooner I could get the hell out of this house, this marriage, and this unending tension.

After the wedding, anyway.

“So. Um.” I muffled a cough and tapped my thumb on the edge of the box in front of me. “Vanessa set the date for February sixteenth.”

Rhys nodded. “Okay. I think that’s mid-winter break anyway, so I won’t need to get as much time off.”

“Oh. Good. Good.” I shifted my weight because I was suddenly wound tight with nervous energy. “The wedding’s going to be in Portland.”

“I figured. I’m assuming we’re traveling together for this?” His voice was soft. Not confrontational or snide. Maybe a little resigned and tired. “Are we driving or flying?” His eyebrows pulled together, and I could almost hear the unspoken plea: Tell me we’re driving.

I swallowed. The thought of a road trip together made me want to break out in hives, but Rhys was deathly afraid of flying. We’d never flown anywhere unless we’d absolutely had to. Under normal circumstances, he’d have assumed that would be the case now, but I supposed neither of us could take anything for granted these days.

“We can drive,” I said quietly. “Chicago to Portland in the winter—It’s probably about three or four days each way, assuming the weather doesn’t get too shitty.”

Rhys exhaled with visible relief. “We should probably bank on four days. It is February, after all.”

“Sure. Yeah. We can do that.” Tax season would be upon us by then, but Maxine had already insisted that she and our other business partner could cope if I needed a week or two for the wedding.

“You only have one daughter,” she’d said. “Don’t you dare stay here and work when you could be there celebrating her wedding.”

“I owe you one.”

“Oh, I know.” And from the wink she’d given me? She’d be holding me to it. Fine by me as long as I was there for my kid’s wedding.

Rhys took a deep breath. “You know, if we’re there as a couple, we need to be there… as a couple. Right?”

“What do you mean?”

He fidgeted. “Might turn a few heads if we have separate hotel rooms.”

Aw, Christ. I hadn’t even thought that far ahead. “Hmm. Yeah. It probably will. And actually, my sister said we could stay with her.”

“Mmhmm. So I guess we’ll do separate rooms on the road, and when we get to the wedding…” He waved a hand like he couldn’t finish the thought.

“Okay. We’ll figure out logistics later, but…sounds like a good idea.”