The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,57

He asked me for a napkin, saying please and thank you, and our fingers brushed.

He was so clean-cut. Neat around the edges. Preppy. Well-mannered.

He wore khakis and polos and boat shoes like they were his uniform.

He was studying finance and minoring in international business. He listened to NPR and stayed current on world news.

He could be charming and influential on his best of days, and at the time, he seemed safe.

Brooks Abbott was the anti-Royal Lockhart.

And maybe that was the best thing about him.

My broken heart was sold the first time I saw him, and I was convinced those green eyes were going to mend my broken heart.

“Ma’am, you about done in there? There’s a line.” A woman’s voice precedes a knock on my stall door. I’m occupying one of only three, and I’m sure Brenda’s outside freaking out that I’m not there when we’re about to take the podium.

“Coming right out,” I call back.

I wash up and stare in the mirror. My lipstick has faded, most of it left on Royal’s mouth after that earth-shaking kiss in the foyer. I rub them together, trying to redistribute the color, and head out.

The lights have been lowered, and a spotlight is pointed at the stage. A man in a gray suit is fussing with a microphone behind a wooden lectern.

And I still don’t know what I’m going to say.

The room has grown louder. There are easily a couple of thousand people here, and it sounds like they’re all talking at once.

If I listen closely enough, I can pick out Brenda saying, “Where’s Demi? I need Demi.”

A cool sweat glazes my forehead, and my fingers go numb at my sides. I can’t stand up there, in front of all these people, and feed them some bullshit about the miracle of love and how I always knew Brooks would pull through and how I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with that amazing man.

I’m not a bullshitter. Never have been. Never will be.

Brenda floats through the crowd, her eyes scanning for me.

And this is when my fight or flight instincts choose to kick in.

Talk about timing.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m racing toward the exit, everything around me a blurred whir of people and drinks and sounds and lights against darkness.

“Whoa, whoa. Demi, where are you going?” Delilah snags my arm when I’m a good fifteen feet from freedom.

“Brenda wants me to give a speech.” I’m breathless. I don’t know if it’s the anxiety or the near sprint I just did in heels.

Delilah sticks her tongue from the corner of her mouth and wrinkles her face. “Ew.”

“I can’t stand up there, in front of all these people, and tell them how much I love Brooks.”

Delilah’s lips twist and scrunch at the corner. “All right. Go. I’ll cover for you. I’ll tell her you got sick.”

Throwing my arms around my little sister, I whisper, “Thank you” into her ear and bolt out the door.

Twenty-Nine

Demi

* * *

Brooks stares at the mounted TV in the corner of his hospital room. My heels click against the soft tile, and his head slowly careens in my direction. His face lights when he sees me, and his arms reach for me.

I place a palm up, and stop several paces away from him.

“Demi,” he says. “Aren’t you supposed to be downtown?”

His speech is better now. A bit slow and slurred, but it’s all there, becoming clearer with each passing day.

“You look pretty.” His gaze drinks me from head to toe and he smiles. “If only I wasn’t nursing a broken pelvis.”

I ignore his comment and take the seat by his bed.

“I wanted to ask you something,” I say.

“Yeah?”

“What do you remember about the week of the accident?”

I watch his face twist, like he’s trying to concentrate really hard, and he stares into his lap at curled fingers.

“Not a lot, Demi. I’m sorry,” he says, taking his time.

I place my head in my hand, resting my elbow on the arm of the chair. Crossing my legs toward him, I scoot closer.

“Really try to remember, Brooks. I know it’s hard. But I need you to try. If there’s anything . . .”

He shakes his head, licking dry lips. “I can’t, Demi. I’ve tried.”

“Our engagement is over. You ended it, and I really need you to remember so you can tell your Mom.”

Brooks’s crestfallen expression would break my heart in two if it wasn’t so focused on all the reasons I needed him to corroborate this.

“I remember