“Good thing Jane didn’t see him.”
“Yeah.” Her eyes dart everywhere, looking anywhere but at me.
We continue slow dancing to the music. “Is that the first time you’ve seen him since you left home?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she replies, her eyes finally meeting mine. “Is this your first time being back home since…?” I nod, feeling a tightness in my chest. Her brows furrow in concern. “You haven’t even seen your mom?” she presses.
Guilt churns in my stomach, and I shake my head. “No, I haven’t.”
She pauses, the intensity in her eyes fixed on mine. “Why not?” she asks. “Why haven’t you been back since you left?”
Not now. Not like this. “Gabi—”
“Why did you leave that night, Chris?” she asks, our steps coming to a halt.
“Gabi, please,” I plead, my heart pounding.
She shakes her head. “I thought I was your best friend.”
“You are,” I insist, holding her tighter. “No one else even comes close to what you mean to me.”
“Really?” Her brows knit together, a pained frown crossing her lips, and it rips my heart right out of my chest. “Then why won’t you tell me why you left me when I needed you the most?”
I inhale sharply. That fucking hurt.
I knew how much she needed me. After her mom died, Gabi was a wreck. She clung to me in her darkest moments, and I let her pull me into that darkness with her. But hearing her say I left her when she needed me breaks me.
I wanted to go back for her.
I really did.
“Everyone thinks we’re together.”
I stiffen, turning to look at Gabi. I blink a few times, caught off guard. “What?”
Her tongue runs over her bottom lip as she maintains eye contact. “My sister thought we were together, everyone here keeps asking if you’re my boyfriend, even my piece of shit father thought we were together.” I stop breathing. “And I’m tired of having to explain to everyone that we’re not.”
What the fuck is she saying right now?
My ears ring as I shake my head, looking up at her. “Gabi, what are you—”
“Why aren’t we together, Chris?” she interrupts, her eyes hardened.
My heart pounds in my chest. What the hell is happening?
She had a few drinks earlier, and I scan her features, expecting to see signs that she didn’t mean any of that. But her eyes remain steady, her lips sealed, and none of the usual signs of her being drunk are present.
Is she really saying this right now?
“Gabi—”
The music comes to a halt, and we glance toward the stage where Rachel’s mom stands with a champagne glass, tapping it lightly.
“Thank you for coming, everyone. I’m the mother of the bride…”
Gabi’s arms drop from my neck, and I reluctantly release her waist until she steps back. “I need a drink.”
I watch her turn away, heading towards the bar. I grit my teeth, wanting the day to end so we can finally be alone and talk about what the hell she meant when she said those words.
