Chapter 33: Chapter 33

Bree kept expecting to get a phone call from someone letting her know that the wedding was off. Either Lilly--or Hank--or if things were really heading the right direction--Trent himself. But the closer it got to the time she was supposed to leave for the rehearsal dinner, the more she began to realize nothing had changed.

She’d done everything she could. She’d gone to Trent, proof in hand, showed it to him, poured her heart out, and it hadn’t been enough.

Perhaps she’d been wrong all along, and this entire time, the relationship she was dreaming about was all one sided.

With a loud sigh, Bree ran her hands through her hair. It all made sense. The reason Trent hadn’t called her after the kiss outside of the cabin wasn’t because he didn’t have her number or whatever bullshit she’d been telling herself. It wasn’t because they were at different colleges or because he was afraid he’d ruin their friendship. It was because he didn’t feel the same way about her as she did about him, but he didn’t want to tell her that and break her heart.

Tears threatened to run down her cheeks, but Bree held them off. She’d already spent so many tears on him. The idea of wasting more was just too much. He didn’t deserve it. And to think, this whole time, she’d been under the impression those little glances or subtle touches had meant something.

She’d been holding his hand at the beach, for crying out loud!

It would’ve been so easy to just pack up her things and walk out the door, but she wasn’t going to do that either. No, she’d come here to do a job, and now that she knew the truth, that Trent didn’t have feelings for her at all, she had to stay. She had to show him that he didn’t mean as much to her as he thought either. She’d stand up there and play the guitar, sing the song she’d written for him, and look him in the face, letting him know it didn’t mean anything to her either.

The fact that it meant more to her than she could articulate was beside the point.

Bree finished getting ready to go to the rehearsal. She was wearing a long dress with peekaboo sleeves and ruffles around the top in a light green that she knew looked great on her. No, she wasn’t a statuesque goddess like Monique, but she was pretty. And she would have no qualms about flirting with Dwayne or anyone else now that she knew the truth about Trent--that he had never really had feelings for her at all.

When it was time to go, she took several deep breaths and repeated to herself that she could do this, that she could do hard things, and this was just like anything else. Uncomfortable, sure, but doable. She picked up her guitar case and headed to the chapel, praying she was right and she’d get through the rehearsal and the dinner to follow without creating a scene.

On uneasy legs, she made her way down the path. The call of the seagulls, the crash of the waves, children playing in the surf--all of those sounds urged her to run to the beach, to escape. Yet, she kept walking, knowing she had to face him now or else she’d spend the rest of her life wishing she’d been strong enough to do so.

A lot of the wedding party was already in the chapel when she got there. The place was decorated with tropical flowers in turquoise and coral colors. A white runner went up the center to the stage where there were more flowers, some seashell decor, and the unity candle set up off to the side. There was also a piano, and in front of it, a stool with a mic for her to sing into and one set up for her guitar. That’s where she’d watch Trent marry Monica.

As she walked in, the two of them were sitting next to each other on the front row of the pews, whispering quietly. She looked emotional--sad, maybe? He looked irritated. For a moment, Bree thought perhaps she’d jumped to conclusions, and he just hadn’t gotten everything settled between them yet. Was it possible he was still in the process of deciding what to do?

No, it didn’t matter. If he really had feelings for her, there was no way he’d be contemplating marrying Monica. He would’ve went and told her where she could go and then ran to her hotel room--wouldn’t he?

“Oh, good. You’re here.” Lilly’s smile was tight as she approached down the aisle. “You can put your guitar up there.”

“What’s the matter?” Bree asked, hoping Lilly was okay. It wasn’t like her friend to have such a worried look on her face unless Monica was yelling at her about something.

She glanced over her shoulder at the “happy” couple and then looked at Bree. “Nothing.” She sighed and forced a smile. “Everything’s fine. We’re just waiting on Hank.”

“Oh. Where is he?”

“No one knows.” Lilly blew out a hot breath before she added, “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

Bree nodded and carried her guitar to the front, careful not to look at Trent or Monica. If either of them wanted to acknowledge her presence, they’d have to yell at her to get her attention. She was on a mission.

As soon as she set her guitar down, she turned around, still careful not to look at them. Since neither of them said a word to her, she walked to the back of the chapel and pulled her phone out of her pocket. Where was Hank? Was he okay? She prayed he’d answer because she was worried about him. He clearly wasn’t handling this situation well, and she thought if anyone else was likely to make a run for the airport, it was him.

Aware that Bree had arrived, Trent did his best not to look at her. He wanted to; he knew she looked gorgeous in that green dress without even turning his head that direction. But Monica didn’t need to know Bree had anything to do with his discovery of her cheating, nor did she need to know that he had feelings for Bree, that he’d been in love with her for at least a decade and wasn’t sure how he’d ever stop loving her, even if he did go through with the wedding.

Monica had made more promises in the last few hours than she ever had in the whole time they’d been dating. She had sworn she’d never, ever leave his sight again, if that’s what Trent wanted. He could trust her--she swore. It had only happened once. It was so long ago, she hardly remembered it. She’d been so drunk….

He’d given her the benefit of the doubt, though he wasn’t sure why. He wished he could get ahold of Hank to hear his side of the story. If Hank said something different, like it wasn’t that long ago, or it had happened more than once, he’d believe him. Monica had every reason in the world to lie to him, and Hank had none.

But he’d only gotten his friend on the phone for a few seconds before he’d hung up on him. All he’d gotten out was, “Hank, we need to talk. I know--” and Hank had dropped the call. Trent had tried to call him back a dozen times but gotten nowhere.

Then, he’d gone to talk to his parents. His mother had been honest like always, saying she’d never liked Monica and this was all the more reason why he shouldn’t marry her. His father had been a little more diplomatic, saying Trent needed to give it some thought. Of course, if he needed some more time, he should wait. He didn’t have to get married tomorrow, even if it did cost him a bit of money. He had money, after all. Money wasn’t the issue.

Monica was.

She’d lied and cheated. He didn’t know if he really loved her. He knew he loved someone else. Why was he still sitting here? He glanced around and saw all the people waiting for them to get started. Some would understand; some wouldn't. More people were on their way--coming in later that night or in the morning. What would those people think? He could pay them back for their travel expenses, but again, that wasn’t the point.

Everyone would want to know what happened, why he’d called it off. How embarrassing would it be to have to admit his bride was sleeping with his best man--and he’d had no idea? When people got a divorce, there were questions, but a simple, “We just weren’t getting along” was sufficient. In this case, people would demand details.

He heard a cheer go up in the back and turned to see Hank was there. Bree must’ve called him. She was the only one who could’ve convinced him to come. He looked like he’d been crying. Trent gave him a small smile, and Hank seemed to relax. Again, Trent should be furious with him. He should want to punch him in the face. He knew if Hank had slept with Bree, he wouldn’t ever want to speak to him again. But he didn’t care as much that Hank had slept with Monica--why was that?

He looked at the woman sitting next to him and knew the answer immediately. He didn’t love Monica. Maybe he never had. He ran a hand through his hair and turned to tell her he wanted out.

“Please, Trent,” she said through barred teeth, with tears in her eyes, before he could say anything at all. “Don’t do this. Not now, okay? Let’s talk about it again later. Okay? Let’s just… get through the rehearsal.”

Blowing out a deep breath, Trent nodded. The pastor was ready, and he stood, hoping to get this over with quickly so that he would have time to think. Marrying Monica just seemed wrong, but he had no idea how to get out.