“For the hundredth time, it was an accident.”
He rubs the bridge of his now slightly-less-than-perfectly-straight nose. “Uh-huh. And it had nothing to do with the fake snake I put in your bed the night before.”
“If it did,” I say testily, throwing my phone, water canteen, and snacks into my carry-on bag between my legs, “it was subliminal. And you deserved it.”
Wrenching the car into park, Viggo turns and looks at me. “Listen, something I tell myself regularly, as I wait for my one true love—”
“Here we go.” I slump back in my seat and scrub my face.
“—is that someone’s romantic gain does not equate to my loss. Most of our siblings are happily paired off, and while I wish I was, too, I can be happy for them while I wait. Our time will come.” He sets a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Until then—well, more like for the next seventy-two hours—let’s be the untethered man cubs and have some fun. Got it?”
I sigh and throw open my car door. “Fine.”
Well. I’m intoxicated. Thankfully I haven’t veered into shitshow territory.
Though I think I might be on my way.
Stashed in a shadowy corner of the A-frame’s wide back deck, I’m outside the golden reach of countless twinkly lights strung overhead. A cool late-March breeze weaves through the small gathering, and as I nurse my who-knows-what-number beer, my gaze travels my family.
Mom and Dad sway to the music, eyes only for each other. Mom slips her hands through his copper hair, which is threaded with white, and smiles softly up at him. Dad’s eyes crinkle as he grins at her, wrapping his hands tighter around her waist.
They look so in love, and I love that my parents are still gone for each other, but I don’t need to see them kiss, which they’re about to. So I look away just in time and catch the oldest of us, my sister Freya, with her arms around her husband, Aiden’s neck—ack!—kissing him.
I shut my eyes briefly, and when I open them again, there’s Axel, next in birth order, swaying his wife, Rooney, to the music’s rhythm. He’s the tallest of us, which makes him gigantic, seeing as no one in the family is under six feet. His hair, chocolate brown like Viggo’s, falls over his forehead as he stares at Rooney, her spun-gold waves adorned by a crown of flowers. He kisses her forehead, eyes shut, his world nothing but her.
Then there’s Ren, so much like Dad, with his broad build and ginger hair, and just a little like Mom with her pale blue-gray eyes and sharp cheekbones. I try not to watch him make his girlfriend, Frankie, flash a rare wide smile and laugh as he whispers in her ear.
I was hoping I could count on my grumpy lumberjack-looking brother Ryder—with Dad’s feisty green eyes and penchant for provoking the woman he loves—to cut me a break, but even he’s being romantic. A heated grin plays on his mouth as his girlfriend, Willa, smiles up at him and sinks her hands into his dirty-blond man bun, tugging him down for a deep, hard kiss.
My sister Ziggy, the only one younger than me, sits happily curled up on a deck chair, a lock of long, red hair twirled around her finger, smiling to herself as she reads one of her thick fantasy romances. I know that look, her green eyes darting down the page, a fiery blush heating her pale skin—she’s being swept away by another dark-haired, sardonic villain who’ll somehow be redeemed and turn into a love interest by the end, if the past few stories she’s gushed about are anything to go by.
Among a few other close friends are Rooney’s parents, too. And though they’re divorced, they share what seems like an amicable dance between friends now, their loving gazes directed at their daughter.
In short, I’m surrounded by all kinds of happy endings, which is lovely…but also terrible.
“Okay.” Viggo plops beside me and swaps out my beer for a glass of water. “I didn’t know Axel was going to surprise Rooney with renewing their vows in front of their families and closest friends.”
I rub my chest, where it still aches with the knot of joy and sadness that’s been there since I watched them promise themselves to each other again just a few hours ago. “You told me it was only gonna be a party.”
Oh boy. My words are sloppy. I sound very drunk.
Focusing on my diction, I try to sound more sober as I tell my brother, “They already got married. It was just supposed to be a party.”
“I know, bud,” Viggo mutters, cupping my neck, an affectionate, steadying gesture that’s common in our family. Tipping back his beer, he takes a long pull. “But it seems our surly, silent oldest brother turned into a full-fledged romantic somewhere in the past three months and had the swoony idea to invite the most important people in their lives for an intimate gathering so they could share a wedding with us after all.”
I glance back at Axel, who’s holding Rooney. He kisses her so long, they stop dancing, until their rescue dog, Harry, bounds up and breaks them apart with a cheerful bark.
I shut my eyes again. “I’m happy for them,” I whisper.
“I know you are,” Viggo says. “It’s still hard to see though, and that’s okay. You and me, Ollie, we do nothing by halves. You fell in love, and you fell hard. Healing from heartache takes longer for big hearts like ours.”
As I open my eyes again, they land on Axel’s close friends, Parker and Bennett, who dance with their daughter, Skyler, nestled between them. That’s what I used to think I’d have with Bryce. What I dreamed about.
I know I’m young, and I know not everyone finds their forever-person when they’re a sophomore in college. But I was so sure I had. We had everything I thought you were supposed to—we talked easily and got along right away. Bryce was all play and fun, which balanced my brutally disciplined work ethic both on the field and in the classroom. It was easy with him, straightforward. Wasn’t it supposed to be easy? When did I miss the signs that my boyfriend was losing interest? That his eyes had started to wander?
My chest tightens as those unanswered questions, those obsessive worries, shout over each other in my brain until the familiar, anxious noise inside my skull threatens to make me scream.
I suck in a breath and exhale steadily, coaxing myself to focus on sensations around me—the cool air on my skin, the sound of soft music nearby. A trick my therapist taught me since I realized those “anxious days” I’d been having were every day, that anxiety wasn’t just a byproduct of my busy, high-pressure schedule, but a reality of my brain, my body, my life.
While I was learning to cope, while I started trying anti-anxiety meds, Bryce was my fun, lighthearted person. My happy place. I thought I knew that so fully, so completely. And then with one sweep of remorseless infidelity, down came the house of cards.
“I never wanna feel like this,” I mutter. “Never again.”
Viggo’s quiet for a moment. “I know. I don’t want you to either.”
I shut my eyes. The world’s starting to spin as I say to Viggo, “Why’s he have to play on the team and be in half my classes? I’d be fine if I could just…get away from him.”
“And to address that, my offer still stands.”
I snort a drunken laugh, blinking open my eyes. “While I ’preciate your offer to prank Bryce so bad he’d leave UCLA, I’m pretty sure two-thirds of what you have planned is felonious, and I don’t want you to go to jail.”