The Forever Girl (Wildstone, #6)(49)

It was one of Caitlin’s most favorite things about him, actually. He adapted to everything life threw at him, fitting in seamlessly no matter what. Dancing was probably close to the bottom of his list of favorite things to do, and yet because Heather had asked, he’d done it.

He’d do anything for any of them, including being willing to lay his life down. Caitlin knew this because he’d done it.

Watching, she found herself smiling and relaxing for the first time all day, and it wasn’t because she’d finally suddenly learned to relax. It was because with these guys, she could take a deep breath. She could let herself go a little bit, even fall, because someone would catch her. She turned to Dillon, before remembering he’d left. She’d wanted him to mingle with everyone and become a part of them. It was important to her, more than anything, and the thought had her chest tightening again, because he wasn’t going to mingle, he didn’t care to. Which meant that he didn’t care how important it was to her.

She wasn’t his first priority.

Cake was.





Chapter 13


Maze’s maid of honor to-do list:

—Call the bakery to make sure the carrot wedding cake is still carrot.

Maze walked around the mock-up wedding reception with a trash can, picking up the last of the mess. Darkness had fallen, but the night was unseasonably warm, and she was sweating as she worked and thinking about taking a dip in the lake.

Heather had Sammie inside for a bath after getting cake . . . everywhere. Jace was on a run. Walker was in the kitchen handling the inside mess. Dillon hadn’t come back from whatever he’d left his own practice reception to do, and Caitlin had gone inside a little bit ago for aspirin.

Maze worried about the look she’d seen on Cat’s face after Dillon had left. She wasn’t glowing, but worse, she didn’t seem excited. Even Maze knew those weren’t good signs.

The bride was in trouble, and Maze hated that. Hated it and felt guilty about it. Maybe if she’d been in touch more, around more, she could’ve . . . what? Encouraged Caitlin to find a better guy? What right did Maze have to judge Dillon? He seemed fine enough. It was just that Caitlin deserved more than fine.

She deserved everything. She knew that Cat had to be missing Michael more than ever during this time, and ditto. But she needed to find a way to reach the old Caitlin.

When she finished cleaning up, Maze found herself walking down the small dock to think. She kicked off her sneakers and sat. The night was quiet around her, and she let out a long breath and as much tension as she could. But the sudden prickle of awareness at the back of her neck alerted her that she was no longer alone.

Sure enough, Walker came up beside her, hands in his front pockets, staring down at her, an unfathomable expression on his face. He was good at hiding his feelings when he wanted to. She admired that. But even more, she admired the fact that he had feelings at all, and how he was perfectly willing and able to share them—when he wanted, that is.

Apparently now wasn’t one of those times. “What?” she asked.

“I was putting the food away and saw you from the kitchen window. You looked like you could use a friend.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were friends.”

“Actually, I consider you one of the very few real ones I have.”

She sucked in a breath at that. Because in spite of everything, same. “We went years without speaking,” she reminded him.

“Real friends aren’t measured by time.” He crouched at her side and met her gaze in the ambient glow of the moon’s light. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Everything . . . “I guess sometimes it feels hard to be here with you all.”

“Maze,” he said softly, voice tinged with regret. “How long are you going to carry all the excess weight around? It’s got to be getting heavy.”

“Hey, everyone gains a little weight in their late twenties,” she quipped, purposely misunderstanding him.

But he wasn’t playing. Already barefoot, he sat at her side and tilted her face up to his. “You can’t joke this away.” He left his hand on her and studied her for a long moment. “You’re here because you want something.”

“Yeah? And what would that be?”

“Redemption.”

She stilled, because that was actually true. Not that it was ever going to happen. “Don’t you get it?” she whispered. “There is no redemption for me.”

“Exactly, because what happened that night wasn’t your fault.”

For a second, she thought he meant their wedding, and her heart skipped a beat because maybe he was going to tell her that he’d made a terrible mistake and missed her so much that he couldn’t go on without her.

But of course that’s not what he meant, and she didn’t want to talk about what he did mean. She moved to stand up, but he grabbed her hand. They played tug-of-war until she yanked free. “What’s your problem?”

“Actually, the question is what’s your problem,” he said, annoyingly calm. “You’re blaming yourself for Michael’s death. You’ve got the biggest case of survivor’s guilt I’ve ever seen, even though what happened that night wasn’t even your fault.”

“Of course it was!” she cried, tossing up her hands. “It was my impulsive behavior that started the whole thing. ‘Let’s sneak out,’ I said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ I said.”