Page 11 of All In

“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I know it’s gotta sting.”

“Standing in front of all those people, looking like a damn moron when my stupid fiancé just leaves me there?” He scoffs. “If he didn’t want to marry me, he could have told me that at literally any point before I was standing there.”

Yeah, I feel like that’s the bare minimum. How do you just decide halfway through your wedding day that you don’t want to get married anymore? And more than that, how do you decide you don’t want to marry Harlow?

I pull into my driveway, then put the car in park.

Harlow’s staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed on my front door. “What am I gonna do?” he whispers, his voice going choked.

I hate hearing him in pain. It’s literally my worst nightmare. Knowing that Harlow is hurting and there’s nothing I can do to stop it is worse than any horror movie.

“Well, first, we’re gonna go inside,” I say, rubbing my thumb over the back of his hand. “And then we’re gonna wrap you up in a blanket burrito, and eat ice cream, and watch scary movies.”

He laughs again, but this time it’s hollow and detached. “You hate scary movies.”

Yeah, but I love you.

I clear my throat. “Anything for you, Harlow. You know that.”

“What kind of ice cream?”

“I have peanut butter fudge.”

It’s been our favorite kind since we were kids. I fully planned to drown my own sorrows in it when the wedding was over, but hey, it’ll work for Harlow too.

His lips curve into a weak smile. “Okay,” he whispers. “Let’s go in.”

Chapter 4

Harlow

It’s official. Josh is the biggest dickhead known to man. Truly. Actually. Seriously. I fucking hate him.

Kinda impressive how fast my switch flipped from love and marriage to hate and murder, but, hey. I have some fucking self-respect. At least a little, anyway. And being left at the fucking altar? Wild turn of events.

Plan the wedding of his parents’ fucking dreams, invite a bunch of people I don’t know or care about, and then leave me standing there by myself like an idiot? Unbelievable.

I’m sure pain and sorrow will eventually catch up with me, but right now? Right now I’m running on pure spite and anger. And a heavy dose of humiliation because, truly… “Who fucking does that?”

“An asshole,” Gray says, handing me a heaping bowl of ice cream.

“What the fuck?” I feel like that’s my mantra. Just a constant stream of it. “I need to get out of this fucking tux.”

The only problem is that my parents still aren’t here with my shit. Maybe they won’t come at all. I did tell them I wanted to be left alone. Maybe I should text them. I take a big bite of ice cream. Not that it even matters. I only have jeans and a sweater in my bag anyway.

I’d need to go home—no, not home; to Josh’s house—to get anything else. Fucking asshole. Ugh. He really does have some nerve.

Something lands on the couch next to me, pulling me out of my stewing, and I glance over, finding a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

“Thank you.” I stand up, placing my bowl on the coffee table, before grabbing the clothes off the couch. “Are you gonna change?”

Gray has already undone his tie and jacket, and he has his shirt untucked. Even like this, he looks… so put together. It’s infuriating. I bet my hair is a shitshow, despite the fact that I fixed it less than an hour before I walked down the aisle.

“Go change,” Grayson says, nodding toward the clothes in my hands.

With a sigh, I turn on my heel and head into his guest room.

I’m not sure Gray even uses this room except for me when I stay. I strip off my coat quickly and start working on my shirt. I unbutton it, trying to toss it quickly off me. It gets caught at my wrists, and I frown, then glance down. Fucking cuff links. Of course.