Chapter 2
The cold night air bites at my skin as I stumble out of the bar, the whiskey swimming in my veins and my wedding dress dragging across the damp pavement.
I don’t care where I’m going—only that I can’t go back. Not to Brandon, not to the chapel, not to the wreckage of what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
My chest aches, a hollow, gnawing pain that grows with every step I take. The weight of the betrayal is crushing. My mind keeps replaying the blonde’s smug face, her words like daggers: I’m pregnant.
I turn down a dimly lit alley, hoping to find some solace in the shadows. Instead, I hear voices.
“Well, well, what do we have here?”
I freeze. Three men step out from behind a dumpster, their faces obscured by the darkness but their intentions unmistakable.
“Nice dress,” one of them sneers, his voice dripping with mockery. “You lost, sweetheart?”
Panic sets in, my pulse thundering in my ears. I take a step back, but they close the distance, their leering eyes raking over me like I’m some prize they’ve just won.
“Stay back,” I manage to choke out, my words trembling.
“Oh, come on,” another one says, his grin predatory. “We just want to have a little fun.”
I turn and run, the train of my dress catching on something and tearing as I sprint down the alley. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my heart pounding like it’s trying to escape my chest.
I don’t look back. I can’t.
The street comes into view, and I make a break for it, the sound of their laughter echoing behind me. But then there’s a blinding flash of headlights and the deafening screech of tires.
Pain explodes through me as I’m thrown to the ground. The world tilts and spins before fading into darkness.
****
When I wake up, the first thing I notice is the smell—antiseptic and something faintly floral. The second thing is the sharp, throbbing pain in my head.
I blink against the harsh overhead light, my vision slowly coming into focus. White walls. Machines beeping. A hospital.
“Hey, you’re awake.”
The voice is soft, soothing, and unfamiliar. I turn my head, wincing at the ache in my neck, and see a man sitting by my bed.
He’s…stunning. Pale skin that contrasts sharply with his dark hair, tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt, and piercing blue eyes that seem to see straight through me.
“You hit your head pretty hard,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “But the doctors say you’ll be fine. Just some bruises and a mild concussion.”
I stare at him, my brain sluggishly trying to process what’s happening. “Who…who are you?”
“Harry,” he says with a small smile. “I’m the guy who almost ran you over.”
Oh.
“You’re the one who hit me?” I ask, and I can hear my voice cracking. Oh gosh, it’s miserable. So fucking miserable.
“Technically, you hit me,” he replies, his tone light. “You ran right in front of my car. But, yeah, I guess you could say I’m the reason you’re here.”
I don’t know whether to be grateful or angry.
“What were you even doing out there?” he asks, his expression shifting to one of concern. “And in a wedding dress, no less?”
The reminder of the dress—of everything—hits me like a punch to the gut. Tears well up in my eyes before I can stop them, and I turn my head away, embarrassed.
“Hey, hey,” Harry says softly, his hand hovering like he’s not sure if he should touch me. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s not you,” I mutter, swiping at my cheeks. “It’s…everything.”
He doesn’t press, just leans back in his chair and waits. Something about his presence is…comforting. Like he’s not expecting anything from me, just willing to sit there until I’m ready to talk.
“I ran away from my wedding,” I finally admit, and by voice is barely above a whisper.
His brows lift slightly, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods for me to continue.
“My fiancé…he cheated on me. With some blonde who showed up at the ceremony and announced she’s pregnant with his child.”
Harry lets out a low whistle. “Ouch.”
“Yeah,” I say, laughing bitterly. “Ouch.”
For a moment, we sit in silence, the beeping of the machines the only sound. Then Harry leans forward again, resting his forearms on his knees.
“Well, for what it’s worth,” he says, “I’m glad you ran.”
I blink at him, confused.
“If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met you,” he adds with a small, lopsided smile.
It’s such a strange thing to say, so unexpected, that I let out a surprised laugh.
It’s the first time I’ve laughed—really laughed—since this whole nightmare began, and it feels oddly freeing.
“Thanks, I guess,” I say, meeting his gaze.
His smile widens slightly, and I have to say, at this point, since the whole darkness hit me too hard, crushing my heart like a terrifying seizure, I feel a flicker of something other than pain.
