Baby LeBlanc and I haven’t had much time for each other between Thursday and Sunday. I passed her in the hall a few times, and every time I did, our fingers laced, or our shoulders brushed, or she would give me that smile. The one that she invented especially for me and didn’t give anyone else.

She was busy. Running back and forth with her sister to salons, spas, and final fittings was time-consuming. She looked so tired all the time, but held her head up. I tried to sneak into her room the night she came back to Todos Santos, on Thursday, but found Millie sleeping next to her.

Fucking Millie. Denying me from Rosie, even eleven years later.

I dutifully played my part at the wedding. Stood in a symmetric line with Trent, Jaime, Vicious, and my dad, Eli, who was a huge part of Vicious’s support system, to welcome the guests. The air was humid and the sun as angry as a PMSing teenage girl who’d just caught her boyfriend jerking off to a Demi Lovato photo. I sweated inside my five-grand, tailor-made tux and itched to grab a glass of champagne and toss it down my throat, but I wanted to keep my promise to Rosie. No more booze, at least until I conquered the need to drink to forget. I still smoked weed, but no more than one blunt a day.

For cold turkey was the number two reason why addicts fall off the wagon.

First reason? Heartbreak. I was trying to dodge that one, too.

With toothy smiles plastered across our shiny faces, we greeted fancy-looking ladies and rich old men. Trent looked a little better today, and Vicious beamed like he had just won the lottery. A needle of envy prickled my heart, not because of who he was going to marry, but for the fact that Emilia had agreed to settle down with him. Her sister, I had a feeling, was a more difficult creature to domesticate.

“Welcome.”

“Thank you for coming.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve met. How’re the kids?”

Blah-blah-fucking-blah. The stream of people didn’t dwindle. All I wanted was to get a glimpse of Rosie. I texted her earlier that day and wished her good luck, which was a stupid thing to say, because she wasn’t the one who was getting married. She said she had something to tell me, but that it had to wait until later.

And that was pretty much all I thought about until the ceremony took place on a hill overlooking the ocean.

I was standing by Vicious when the happy couple said their vows—along with Jaime and Trent, and watched Rosie from across the aisle beaming at Emilia with the kind of raw happiness you only see in kids. Glaring at her without any interruptions was my painkiller. She looked like a fucking angel in her elegant, Greek-goddess, pearl-white dress. A swan with ruffled feathers for hair, tied back into a messy French twist. She grinned at Millie and took the cherry blossom bouquet from her hands when it was time to exchange the rings. After the ceremony was over, I sauntered in the opposite direction to resist the urge to pick her up and kiss the shit out of her until her lips were raw and swollen. Instead, I plucked my phone out and started texting her, knowing that she wasn’t going to see those messages anytime soon. And let’s just say that I was feeling particularly blabby, because there was no other way to explain the shit my fingers came up with.

Dean

You’re fucking gorgeous to a fault, you know that?

Dean

Move in with me.

Dean

Seriously. Fuck everyone and everything. Let’s do it.

Dean

Dear Ms. LeBlanc, it’s your landlord. Regarding the rent reevaluation - I’m raising it by a trillion percent. Take it or leave it.

Dean

But seriously, Baby LeBlanc. Let’s fucking do this.

So much for making sure she knew I was staying sober. I sounded like a drunk fool.

After the ceremony came dinner. The seating arrangement meant that Rosie and I were sitting on the opposite ends of the table—fuck this and fuck my life—and even though she probably had already checked her phone, she didn’t answer me yet. That was fine. I had patience. She had time.

Actually, neither was true.

I didn’t have patience and she, predominantly, didn’t have time.

Trent got up from his seat to change Luna’s diaper and my dad slipped into his place in a second and clasped my shoulder.

“Beautiful ceremony,” he commented. I shrugged.

“Sure.”

“Are you enjoying yourself, son?”

Enjoying was a strong word. I was tolerating this event until it was time to go home and feast on my dessert. My girlfriend’s pussy.

Tucking my hands into my pockets, I leaned back. “Food’s good.”

“And I noticed you’re not touching the alcohol. Nice.”

“That’d be Rosie’s terrific idea. Seems to be working so far. Mostly, anyway.” I thought back to the time I accidentally answered Nina. “It’s for the best. The novelty of excessive drinking wears off just around the thirty mark.”

“Is she the reason you’re staying at Vicious’s?” Dad smirked, raising an eyebrow.

I had told my parents that I wanted to stay at the Spencers’ mansion on my first night in Todos Santos so I could be there for my friend, but that shit was as convincing as a virgin whore. I never did anything for anyone unless I wanted to. Especially for Vicious. So everyone assumed I had a hidden agenda.

“Maybe.” I wet my lips, my gaze searching for her perky butt and French twist through the sea of flamboyant ladies. I didn’t out us as a couple. Not yet. I wasn’t sure when and if Rosie was going to tell her sister, and even though I wanted to grab the mic and announce it to everyone, I had to be mindful of her feelings. But she was crazy if she thought I was going to indulge her for much longer.

“Why?” I asked Dad.

“You used to date her sister, right?”

“Senior year. For a semester and a half.” I took a sip of my water and slung my arm over the back of his chair. “Way over it. Both of us.”

“Evidently.” Dad jerked his chin to the happy couple, just as Vicious grabbed his bride and French kissed her, his tongue attacking her mouth, in what started as slow and seductive and quickly moved to the type of shit you needed to do behind closed doors. Jaime was there to slap Vicious’s back and remind him that two hundred sets of eyes were looking.

“Nina’s been calling me lately. More than usual,” I told Dad. He was the only one I spoke to about Nina. Mom was biased—she was way too protective of me—and all my friends were…well, in the dark.

Dad pursed his lips, furrowing his brows. “Why not give her what she wants?”

“You mean a ton of money and to cause me the nastiest migraine in the history of headaches? She wants six hundred thousand.”

Beat of silence. “Do you not want to see him?”

Eli Cole was a lawyer. A family attorney, to be exact. Cases like mine landed on his desk every single day. People like Nina dragged him in and out of court like a revolving door, so he knew exactly how messy things could get for me.

I tsked, my eyes still drifting over the crowd, looking for the person I did want to see, all the time.

“No. Yes. I don’t know. What the fuck is the point, you know? He is a part of me. He is not exclusively hers. But then…why reopen a closed wound? I think we’re better off without it.” I pinched my eyebrows together. “I really shouldn’t fucking have anything to do with him in my current state.”

“Are you in a bad place?” Dad had an edge to his question. I gave the question some thought.

“Not necessarily. I just think not everyone is father material like you.”

Dad nodded. “Whatever you decide to do,” he said carefully, “just remember that your mom and I will support you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said.

Trent came back with Luna in his hands, and I spent the remainder of the evening making her laugh.

I crawled into Rosie’s bed around midnight. Our flight was boarding the next morning, but spending the night apart wasn’t an option. She was fast asleep—after fussing around Millie all day, being the perfect bridesmaid, and even running to a Target on the other side of town to get Millie flip-flops—the same necessities Rosie swore by—because she was afraid her sister’s feet would blister.

Baby LeBlanc looked peaceful, tucked under a blanket with her mouth slightly agape. Her eyelids fluttered, telling me she was dreaming. She had her two inhalers, orange tube of pills, and weird vest still dumped on her nightstand. This told me she passed out before she had the chance to get ready for bed. I slipped into the space beside her and spooned her from behind, clasping her close to my chest. She still smelled of sweat and alcohol, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. She didn’t even take a shower when she got back home. My little savage.

“Dean,” she murmured in her sleep, and I hardened against her. It sounded more like a moan, but maybe I was hearing what I wanted to hear. We hadn’t had time to talk to each other all day, and I missed her like a fucking lung. Lungs. Her lungs were failing her every single day, and we were wasting days mostly apart. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could live without seeing her regularly, every day, at least a few hours a day. We couldn’t go back to what we were. To occasional elevator encounters, fake rent reevaluations, and light, meaningless banter that had no path anywhere worth going to.

“Dean,” she said again, her ass wiggling into my groin, begging for contact. I sucked in a breath through my teeth and pressed my cock between her ass cheeks, covered by nothing but thin, short pajama bottoms. I dragged it along her slit and let out a small moan myself. This time I wasn’t going to ride her without a condom. But she asked for me, so I sure as hell was going to give her what she wanted.

“Mmmm,” she groaned in pleasure in her slumber, parting her thighs a little to grant me better access. She liked it, so I took it as a signal to shove her bottoms down and stick my tip between the crack of her warm ass. Fuck. This girl. I cupped one of her tits and rolled her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, pinching it.

“Missed me, baby?” I breathed into her neck, not really expecting her to answer.