he had me pinned on the ice, since we were enclosed in his bathroom as I tended to his wounds. I haven’t felt this needy and alive even when Wes made love to me the few times I’ve seen him this week. It solidifies my original reaction. Today is going to be a complete disaster.
“I’ll drive,” Drew offers in the thick silence.
“You don’t have to. You’re generous enough to do this when I’m sure you have better things to do today—”
“But you need me. That’s what friends do. They drop everything else to help someone they care about.” He leads me across the street toward his large, silver SUV, opening the passenger door for me.
I pause, meeting his eyes. “Thanks for being so cool about this. Not just today, but with everything. With letting Alyssa and Charlotte be my flower girls, even though it might be during the Stanley Cup.”
“There are more important things in life than hockey. You’ve always been more important than hockey, Brooklyn.”
Staring at him, I consider his response, then blow out a breath as I duck into the car. I want to believe him, but too many painful memories resurface, reminding me that his words aren’t true, that I’ve never been and never will be a priority to him.
Chapter Fifteen
DREW
“You must be Ms. Tanner,” a voice says as we step into a small boutique on Newbury Street. The hustle of the city has disappeared, and we’re now surrounded by nothing but quiet interspersed with low-level classical music.
A petite woman stands from an ornate wooden desk, the wall behind it showcasing black-and-white prints of brides in extravagant wedding gowns. She’s slender, and the combination of her chic business attire and blonde hair pinned into a low bun makes her look every part the professional stylist the clientele here on Newbury Street want.
“We were worried whether you’d show. My name’s Judy.” She holds her hand out to Brooklyn and they briefly shake. “I’ll be assisting you today.”
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Brooklyn’s voice is soft and apologetic. There’s something so musical about the lilt in it. I’ve always thought her voice to be pacifying, but lately, I’ve found it even more soothing. “We hit traffic and had trouble finding a close spot, so we had to park at the Common.” Brooklyn looks back at me, and Judy notices me for the first time.
“Ah, I see you’ve brought your groom with you.” She lifts a brow, assessing my appearance, her nose wrinkling in displeasure.
I scan my wardrobe—jeans with frayed hems, a white t-shirt that’s seen better days, and sneakers with worn treads. With the college hockey season at an end, I no longer work on Fridays and had planned on catching up on everything I’ve avoided the past few months…until Molly called insisting I bring over the bouncer and swing from when the girls were babies. Now I can’t shake the feeling it was a ploy to force Brooklyn and me to spend the day together.
“It’s a bit unusual, but I guess more brides are breaking from tradition these days.”
“Oh, no,” Brooklyn corrects quickly. “He’s not the groom. Drew’s a friend. More like a brother,” she adds, her cheeks turning pink.
Judy looks at her with skepticism. I wonder if she can sense our history is much more convoluted than that. “Typically, the bride brings her mother or maid of honor to help choose, but I suppose it doesn’t matter since Mrs. Bradford stopped by last night and pre-selected dresses for you to try on. I have your room all prepared.” She spins, heading from the reception area.
“She what?” Brooklyn’s frozen in place, obviously taken aback by this news.
“Yes.” Judy stops in her tracks, looking back at us. “Oh, don’t worry.” She smiles, surveying Brooklyn’s oversized sweater and jeans tucked into worn boots. Her expression is similar to the distaste the saleswoman showed Julia Roberts’ character in Pretty Woman when she tried to go shopping. This boutique is on the higher end, but I hate the idea of anyone looking at Brooklyn like she’s not important. “She requested to be charged for the cost of the dress, as long as it’s one she selected,” she assures her, mistaking her surprise for concern about the price. “The dressing room is this way.”
Brooklyn remains in place for several more moments, then shakes her head. Her eyes losing what little excitement they had, her shoulders slump. “Of course,” she mumbles, shuffling behind Judy and through a large showroom, me close on her heels.
Racks fill