Runaway Bride’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #1)

13. Stella

13

stella

The smash room was exactly what I needed.

I felt powerful. Strong. A little violent, but in a good way. When I first took the mallet and swung it down on an old printer, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more fierce in my life. When it cracked into a hundred pieces, a noise escaped me that sounded like a beast in the wild.

There’s just one problem: It’s hours later, and I’m still mad. There’s still energy inside me that I don’t know what to do with. It doesn’t help that there’s a thunderstorm brewing, which somehow feels metaphoric.

Well, that and Duncan contacted me today.

So to say I’m ragey would be an understatement.

I knew who it was despite the call coming from an unknown 615 area code number. Something in my gut said it was him. But like a dumbass, I answered.

And then proceeded to roll my eyes for a solid ten minutes.

He asked where I was. I wouldn’t tell him.

He asked if we could talk. I said I didn’t have anything to say.

He asked if I’d consider forgiving him. I laughed at that one.

He said he was sorry. I didn’t believe him .

He asked if he could get any money back from the deposits. I promptly hung up.

And then I went and smashed shit. And the whole time I pictured me taking the bat to his balls.

Best therapy ever.

Then there was Emmett. Dear, sweet, man I don’t deserve, Emmett. I don’t know if he truly knew what to expect at the smash room, and at first, he just sat back and let me have at it. But pretty soon he got in on the fun.

And staring at him while he was swinging a mallet? It was not the worst sight to have. I might have thought a few times what it would look like with him wearing one of his tight white shirts, swinging an ax. I bet it would be manly. Rugged. Sweat dripping off his handsome bearded face.

Then, realizing that I was ogling at the man, I snapped myself out of it by throwing empty beer bottles against the wall. That seemed to do the trick.

I think Emmett knew something was off, but he didn’t push me and I didn’t say anything. Which is the best part of Emmett. He listens. He doesn’t talk to hear his own voice. In fact, if he could say nothing at all, he’d prefer to.

He’s truly one of a kind. And I can’t imagine being here without him.

Which is insane. Two weeks ago I didn’t know who he was. I mean, I guess I did, because I knew my brother had a business partner named Emmett. But I didn’t know he’d be the person who would be getting me through the hardest time of my life to date.

But he has, and I’ll never be able to repay him for that.

Cap…my own personal superhero.

I hear a low rumble of thunder as I start getting myself ready for bed. I’m grabbing a T-shirt and the boxers I might have not returned to Emmett as I hear a call coming through. My entire body goes solid for a moment before melting when I see Maeve’s name on the caller ID .

“Hey there,” I say as I head downstairs. Might as well make my nightly sweet treat while we catch up.

“How you doing?”

What a loaded question. “I’m hanging in there.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Lie.”

“I’m not.”

“Stella Leigh. You know I can tell.”

And she can. It’s one of her super powers. As the oldest daughter of the Banks clan, Maeve has always had a way about spotting the bullshit from a mile away. When we were kids, she always knew who was throwing who under the bus for whatever crime was committed. When I was in high school, she knew I was lying about a cheerleader sleepover when in fact I was sneaking out with my boyfriend. She wasn’t even living at home at that time. And in the bridal suite that fateful morning, I could tell she also thought something wasn’t right.

Maeve knows all, and I don’t know why I ever think I can get anything past her.

“I’m having good days and bad,” I say. “Two days ago was great. Yesterday was all right. Today was…both.”

And that’s as honest as I can be. Two days ago was my night out with Emmett. That night was as close to perfect as one can have. Yesterday was just okay. It rained for most of the day, so I stayed in the house. Emmett had to work but came over after, and we ordered pizza and watched a documentary about the JFK assassination. It was Emmett’s choice, and I found it fascinating that he chose that over an action movie. Based on Duncan and guys I dated in college, I thought that was the standard. Come to find out Emmett is somewhat of a self-admitted history nerd.

Buff and brains. The man really does have it all.

Then there was today, and no amount of time in the smash room can make up for the amount of rage and grief that occurred when I heard Duncan’s voice.

“That’s to be expected,” Maeve says. “I mean, it hasn’t been that long.”

One week, but who’s counting?

“It feels like it happened yesterday and also six years ago.”

“Also to be expected. But are you getting out? Or are you staying cooped up in that house?”

My mind runs through everything I’ve done since I’ve been here. I feel myself smile as I think back. Probably because Emmett is attached to every single moment.

“I’ve been getting out,” I say as I take my ice cream and go sit on the couch. “I’ve gone to the beach. Went shopping. Bought a new pair of shoes.”

“Of course you did,” Maeve says with a sigh. “What about meals? Please tell me you’re doing more than ordering Uber Eats every night.”

“Some nights yes,” I admit. “Some nights no.”

“Oh!”

I didn’t think she’d sound that surprised. Then again, I don’t even like going to the bathroom by myself in public.

“Look at you, trying new things. Solo dining is a big one.”

“Yeah.” The guilt is laced in my voice. I can hear it, which means I know Maeve can too.

“Stella…what aren’t you saying?”

I have two options here. Lie my face off, only for my big sister to call me out on it. Or I could just skip that part and tell the truth.

Ugh, I hate being a grown-up and doing the mature thing.

“I’ve…met someone.”

My admission stuns her silent. Or so I guess. She’s not replying, and I can’t even hear her breathe.

“Maeve? Are you there?”

“Did you say you met someone? As in a man?”

“Why do you assume it’s a man? ”

“Because if it was a girl or a gay you met at the shoe store, you wouldn’t have stopped talking. You wouldn’t have paused in the middle. You would have went on for five minutes and given me the full Stella FBI background check on them.”

Ugh. Damn Maeve and her damn know-it-allness.

“Fine, it’s a man.” I start to tell her about Emmett, but I stop myself.

Should I tell her it’s Emmett? I assumed we’d tell Simon we met when I got back to Nashville, but something right now is stopping me from admitting who he is to Maeve. Not because I’m ashamed, but because somehow telling Maeve about him—which is the same thing as telling the rest of my siblings, because she will report it immediately—will ruin what we have.

And selfishly, I want Emmett all to myself. At least while we’re in Destin.

“He’s staying nearby. Traveling for work. We saw each other on the beach and struck up a conversation. We’ve been to dinner a few times. That’s it.”

There. Perfect. Not any lies. Just not the whole truth.

“Stella…”

“Maeve, you don’t need to worry. I’m fine. Plus, it’s not like that.”

I mean, it’s not. Technically. So what if my eyes roam a little? Or I melted when his fingers held my chin delicately in his hand? Or that every time he calls me Tiger I have to stop myself from thinking that it’s anything more than friendly. Because it is. He’s said it many times. We’re friends. That’s it. I’m Simon’s little sister, whom he’s become friends with. That’s it.

“I’m not going to tell you how to live your life.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I’m just going to give you a warning.”

“I figured you were.”

I hear Maeve tsk through the phone. “You’ve been with Duncan for a long time. And before that, you never had a serious boyfriend. This is likely a rebound, and you need to know how to handle that.”

“This isn’t a rebound,” I defend. “Emme—we’re just friends.”

I flinch when I almost say Emmett’s name. Luckily Maeve didn’t catch it. “You say you’re just friends. But it only takes one night for a rebound. And you love hard, Stella. You fall fast, and that’s not how rebounds work.“

“I know how rebounds work.”

“I love you, Stella, but you don’t. You’ve never had one. They aren’t meant to catch feelings. They’re meant to be quick and fun and to help you bounce back. I’m just saying if you do, please keep that in mind.”

“I will,” I say. “Plus, even if this was something like that, which it’s not, I’m not in any place for a relationship. I’m going to need months to get over this, and probably a lot of therapy. The last thing on the to-do list is to catch feelings.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Maeve stops, and I have a feeling she wants to say something, but I’m not sure what else.

“Maeve?”

She lets out a big breath. “There’s another reason I called. It wasn’t just to catch up.”

“Oh.” I feel my stomach drop to my feet. “What is it?”

I put down the bowl of ice cream on the table. I have a feeling this is a smart, preemptive move.

“Duncan came to the house today.”

“He did what?”

“Yup. We were all over for Sunday brunch, which was rudely interrupted by your ex-fiancé banging on the front door.”

“The nerve,” I say. “He must have had ‘talk to the Banks family’ on his to-do list today because he decided to call me as well.”

“Really? What time?”

“I don’t know, maybe around noon?”

“Interesting. Because he arrived around one, demanding to speak with you. Dad answered the door and said you weren’t here. I know this because I watched everything from the hallway. I wasn’t about to miss that show.”

“Of course not. Tell me everything.”

“Well, after Simon stepped in and said you weren’t here, Duncan demanded to come in and check. I thought Dad was going to punch him.”

Now I’m laughing for real. The thought of William Banks, the calmest man on the planet, punching anyone is laughable. Though Dad still hits the gym. He could take him.

“When Dad blocked his entrance, Duncan started throwing a hissy fit. His last words were that the only reason he was coming by was to deliver papers to Dad on his intention of suing you.”

Did I hear her right? Suing me?

“For what?” I yell.

“Right? According to the filing, it’s for the emotional damage you caused with running out. And to recoup funds that he paid for the wedding he’s unable to get back.”

“Emotional damage? He was the one getting flogged! I’m scarred for life with that image on my head. And does he not remember the fact that he stole from me? From us!”

My breathing is heavy because I’m about to blow. Who does he think he is? I know I joked that I’d sue. But now…well, now I’ll sue for everything. Dad might be retired, but I know he misses practicing. And I’m a woman scorned. It’s a recipe for lawsuit heaven.

“It’s silly, and it won’t go anywhere,” Maeve tries to reassure me. “Dad’s on it and has informed the partners at the law firm. I have a feeling they will be talking to Duncan very soon.”

Good. I hope he loses his job and has to move back in with his mother. She can wash his fucking underwear.

“I’m sure he’s going to call you again,” Maeve says. “Don’t answer. Don’t interact. If you do, for some ungodly reason, say you can’t speak without your attorney present. Be on the safe side. Dad thinks he’s bluffing, but I had an eye on him and I don’t think so. He looked angry. Determined. I have a feeling this is going to get worse before it gets better.”

I rub my temple as I slide into the couch. “Thanks.”

Maeve and I say our goodbyes and as soon as I hang up the phone, I feel my head starting to pound. But not with a normal headache. No, this is my anger. I’m boiling from the inside out. I know I was worked up earlier, but this is a whole new feeling.

This is rage.

Fucking Duncan. I knew he’d pull some shit. But a lawsuit? The nerve. The audacity. The little dick syndrome of it all.

“Ahh!” I yell just as a clap of thunder hits outside. I watch a flash of lightning through the glass doors that leads to the patio area that faces the beach.

I need to yell. I need to scream. I need to let all of this anger out or it’s going to detonate inside me.

So I do what any midtwenties woman would do in my situation. I find the playlist aptly called “Female Rage,” blast it to full volume, and let myself out of the door and into the storm.

I don’t care about the rain. Or the lightening. In fact, I embrace them as I hold my arms out wide and start screaming about the smallest man who ever lived.