Page 118 of Threaded Lies

“You hurt me.”

There’s the fucking gut punch I wasn’t expecting. Fire and brimstone are much easier to respond to. “I’m sorry you were hurt.” I brush my lips against hers and lean my forehead against hers.

“I meant what I said. All of it. Especially the trust part.”

“Me too.”

“I was calling off the whole marriage charade, Holden. That night at The Vine. I was going to tell you.”

My body jolts and chest constricts. “You were? You are? Because Chad, your mom, they’re carrying on like—”

“Yes,” she says, her lips whispering against mine. “I just need some time to right all the wrongs I’ve made personally before I announce it publicly.”

“Fine. Yes. Whatever.”

And as our lips meet again and our hands slide up and down each other’s backs, I get the nagging feeling that as much as I want this, it’s the worst possible thing for me.

When she was with Chad, I had no other option but to keep everything at bay—my feelings for her, the depths of the depravity I felt toward Rhett and Chad, the plans for the future that I wanted to see.

Now there are no restrictions.

Now there is nothing holding me back.

How horrible is it to be falling in love with the woman you’re going to destroy?

I’ll let you in on a little secret.

It’s royally fucked up, is what it is.

FORTY-EIGHT

Rowan

“To Rowan. The woman who was clearly holding out on us but who we still love anyway.” Caroline holds her glass up and we all follow suit—or at least Sloane and Victoria do because I sure as shit don’t feel good about any of this.

“To Rowan.” They lift their glasses while I politely sip mine.

“It’s not—it wasn’t—it’s a lot to explain,” I say.

“There is no need to explain shit to us,” Caroline says. “We’re your best friends. This is what we do. We rally around for support. We love unconditionally.”

“And we leave our questions for when you’re really drunk and can’t maintain a filter,” Victoria says so that we all burst out laughing.

“So, real talk here,” Caroline says and smacks a hand on my kitchen countertop. “Is the wedding to Chad off, then, because … your momma hasn’t canceled shit yet.”

I laugh nervously. “Um, I don’t think it matters if she cancels it now or next week. The deposits aren’t going to be refunded on the case of her daughter being a cheating whore.” I roll my eyes, oblivious to what the people of Westmore are saying about me, but educated enough to guess. Sloane reaches out and squeezes my hand. Her knowing glance holds much more weight than the rest of theirs. “It’s not like she’s talking to me anyway.”

“No?” Sloane asks, playing along like she doesn’t know.

“Nope,” I say.

“And Chad?”

My sigh is heavy and I hate that my heart is too. He knew this whole thing was a farce but at the same time, the way it came out was humiliating to him. If I could take one thing back, I would. “Chad was … he was Chad. Polite. Forgiving. Asking if I needed him to be a friend right now and if so, he could be that for me, but at the same time, I know he’s hurt.” I look down at my glass of wine. “I humiliated him. It’s not something to be proud of.”

“Jesus. He’s a saint,” Victoria says. “But just so you know, the men in this town might be thinking the cheating-whore part, but that’s only because they all wish they were Holden Knight. And the women? They might be saying that publicly, but privately they’re saying they can’t blame you for taking him out for a spin.”

I stare at her, blinking and processing. “Apparently Victoria does not need to be shit-faced to lose her filter,” I state the obvious, to which all four of us burst out laughing.