What I Should Have Done ✓

Chapter 32

As I was changing in one of the upstairs bedrooms, I kept turning it over in my mind, but couldn't make sense of it. Why had he broken up with her? Because of me? As much as I wanted it to be true, it wasn't. He had seemed comfortable around her, smitten even. The ornate mirror reflected the image of me turning in my figure-hugging, not-too-short midnight blue lace dress. It looked even better than it had at the department store where lucky me had found it on the clearance rack after Christmas. Had he perhaps been too comfortable? Or had the ultimatum she had given him about our friendship shaken him? There was no point in speculating, this was useless.

Andrew and Laura were right, I needed to talk to John. Never mind that I had no idea what to say to him. I descended the stairs and my eyes scanned the grand salon which was still steadily filling up with people wearing all sorts of proper-but-dull black and gray suits (the men) and all sorts of too-tasteful two-pieces with or without funny hats (the women) as if they were going to the next royal wedding.

And there he was, placing the last of the wooden folding chairs in the back close to the wall to which the tables had been pushed. About seventy chairs were positioned in two blocks of seven rows leaving the aisle between the two sections free for the wedding party to walk down. Only paying enough attention to the other guests to not bump into them, I made my way across the room.

When I was close enough, I hissed his name. He turned around and met my gaze with his steady hazel eyes before giving me a wide-eyed once-over.

"You sure clean up nicely, Grace."

I ignored the way he slightly choked on the compliment and stood up straighter, even though it warmed my belly. Two feet in front of him, I came to a halt and took a deep breath.

"What's wrong? Has Aunt Betty gotten into the champagne already? I swear, no family festivity is safe from her," he joked.

"You broke up with your girlfriend?" I gasped.

Seriousness settled into his features. "Who told you? My mom? Laura? Wait—it was Andrew, wasn't it? I swear, if this weren't his wedding..."

"It doesn't matter who told me. Why wouldn't you tell me? We're... friends."

John snorted. "Are we? Because we haven't talked in weeks. You completely shut me out on the drive here, too. And anyway, it's not that I didn't want you to know, on the contrary: I've been wanting to tell you for weeks. But I wanted you to hear it from me when at the right time."

"Then when was the time going to be right?"

I had meant for it to sound nonchalant, but failed spectacularly. To him, on the other hand, that tone seemed second nature, or even first.

"Earlier when I wanted to talk to you and you stormed off."

I'm so stupid. This was what happened when you went into a fight unprepared. Only it was beginning not to feel like a fight at all when he lowered himself onto one of the folding chairs.

"Are you about to do that again?"

I held my breath for a few seconds, then let it stream out evenly. "No, I'm listening." Tired from the back and forth, I sank down on the chair to his right that he patted.

"I guess what I want to say is," he began after a moment, "I wish you'd finally dump Liam." What? Of all the things he could have said, that's what he chooses to tell me? "Not because I sympathize with him or whatever, but because I hate"—he spat the word out—"seeing you with him. Every time I hear you make plans or you touch his arm or, God forbid, every time he kisses you, I want to peel him right off you. The fact that you're still with him—it drives me up the wall because I know you're not happy. And I know you could be. With someone else. With me. Because your feelings for me are not unreciprocated."

Probably in the expectation that I would interrupt him or storm off after all, he had barely breathed throughout his speech. Only I hadn't interrupted him or run off. My mouth was slightly ajar, my eyes were glued to his mouth which had a minute ago spouted the most romantic confession I had heard in a long time.

When he didn't see a reaction from me right away, he continued: "It's so fucking hard for me to talk about what you mean to me, but I've been mentally rehearsing for days so I could tell you, and now it's out." The bounce of his knee made his chair squeak. Is this a dream? Would I wake up if I pinched myself? Did I want to find out?

"Okay, you're going to have to say something, because I'm freaking out over here."

I must have looked like a deer caught in headlights, but for the first time since I'd met him, John Jay also looked genuinely nervous. He fidgeted with a button on his waistcoat, opening and closing it repeatedly.

Finally, I swallowed heavily. "I can't break up with Liam." Shame pushed my voice down into a lower register and my eyes fixed themselves onto my own fidgeting hands.

Insecurity marked his voice. "Are you... do you not want to be with me? If you don't—I mean, tell me and I'll leave you alone. Immediately."

Answering that question would have incriminated me, so the glance I shot him instead said 'that's not it'.

"Then why, is he blackmailing you?"

That earned him a dirty look. "No."

"In that case, yes, you can break up with him."

I looked up long enough to narrow my eyes at him.

"The situation's a lot more nuanced than that." I've tried, twice, and he didn't let me.

"It's really not. I'm single and you're unhappy with your current boyfriend and we like each other. I don't understand the problem."

Agh, why was his argumentation so compelling? Maybe because he finally likes me back. Was it this simple and I just couldn't see it?

"Liam is... good."

Wow, even to me, that sounded astonishingly lame.

"Wow, that's an awful reason."

Placing my elbows on my thighs, I buried my face in my palms and took slow and conscious breaths. Too much, too sudden, too unexpected. Then John's hand slipped to the nape of my neck and the carousel in my brain instantly stilled. My eyelids fluttered shut and I relaxed into the lazy patterns his fingertips brushed against my bare skin. Goosebumps emerged on my arms.

"Sorry," he said softly, "that was uncalled for. I don't need an answer right this second."

His gentle touch shot rays of heat into my body that went straight into my now flaming cheeks and ears. The gesture was public, even if it felt intimate. The volcano of stuffed-down emotions in my torso didn't care and erupted anyway. The lava shot up inside me, spewing burning liquid over every part of my insides until my whole body felt like it would overheat.

He'd never touched me in public. That had been a message we hadn't been ready to send. Hugs didn't count, but even they carried varying meanings depending on the situation. 'Good night' when he would walk me back to my room, 'I'm glad you came' when I would show up at a soccer party, 'You're safe' after the Rugby Guy incident. His touch in this moment seemed to deliver an emotional rather than a verbal message. And I heard it loud and clear. My stomach was in knots. Peeling my left hand off my face, I cautiously placed it on his right knee without looking up and drew tiny circles on his dress pants with my index finger.

Right then an audio feedback followed by a joyful string quartet piece sounded from the speakers beside the arch at the front. I sat up immediately and John dropped his hand to my shoulder blade. The music signaled for everybody to find their seats for the ceremony to begin.

He cursed and patted his chest for the ring in his inner suit pocket, finding what he was looking for. "I gotta go. We'll pick this up later, okay?" Then he added with a smirk: "For now you can swoon over the dashing best man. Don't drool too much."

My eyes almost rolled to the inside of my head, but my heart still beat in my throat. "You're so full of yourself, John Jay. Go and be the best best man they've ever seen."

Before turning around, he winked at me one last time,then jogged to the front where Andrew was already impatiently waiting for bothhis best man and his bride. I took a few seconds to collect myself, then stoodand spotted my aisle seat in the left block toward the back.