Where We Belong

“So am I!” I yell, slightly offended. “At least, I thought I was.”

“Yeah, but—” Harley stops to gauge me, hesitating momentarily. “I’ve never slept with the guy, Murph …”

I sigh heavily, my shoulders falling as I stare down into my empty glass. He’s right.

“I don’t know,” Harley continues. “He seems happy. Granted, I haven’t met the woman but from what he’s told me, she’s good for him. Maybe …” He trails off, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and glancing away. I can tell he’s battling with his words, his clenched jaw working overtime.

“Maybe what?”

He finally meets my eyes again, and there’s a sadness within his gaze, a resignation of sorts as he sighs. “Maybe it’s time you let him go.” Before any more can be said, he stands from his stool and moves behind the counter to serve a customer who’s just walked in from the street. He offers me a sad smile as he pours beer into a frosted glass, but it’s a smile I can’t return. Because, once again, he’s right.

You know how they say if you love something you should let it go, and if it comes back to you then it’s yours, and if not, well then it was never meant to be? Well, I call bullshit on that. If you love something then hold on to it for dear life, because once it’s gone, it’s gone for good. And suddenly you’re left sad and alone in a bar on Main Street, wondering where it all went wrong, crying into your second glass of whiskey at four o’clock in the afternoon.

While Harley busies himself with restocking the cold room behind the bar, I find myself thinking back to the day I met Nash Harris, back to when a 9-year-old girl first met the love of her life.

I’d never had a lot of friends growing up. For most of my life it had just been me and Momma. My father left before I was even old enough to remember him, but that was fine with me. I didn’t need anyone else. I’d always preferred my own company. I had a wild imagination and a love of books, so whenever Momma was busy with the bakery, I’d sit on the curb outside the store with my head buried in a book, makings friends in the characters I read about.

When I was 9, I started getting bullied by a kid at school named Billy Connor. He always tried to steal my lunch. It became second nature. I’d know I wasn’t going to be able to eat whatever Momma packed for me, so I’d stock up with an extra breakfast muffin in the morning, and hide it in my book bag for the afternoon when I was usually starving.

One day, I’d been clutching my NSYNC lunch bag as if it were my lifeline, walking through the school halls with my head down, desperate to make it outside safely without being intercepted by Billy and his band of bullies. But, of course, with no such luck, I was accosted in the corridor, slammed up against a locker with such force I dropped my lunch to the floor as I clutched the back of my throbbing head. But I’d expected it. I’d been waiting for it. I knew it was going to happen. What I hadn’t been prepared for, however, was Harley Shaw coming to my defense.

Harley had always been popular. Even in the bottom ranks of elementary school, he was the most popular guy in all our class. I think it had something to do with being so good at sports. Apparently, when you’re 9 years old, being athletic is the equivalent of being a rock star, and Harley Shaw was like the Justin Timberlake of Graceville Elementary. And he saved me that day, in more ways than one. He made Billy Connor pay for stealing my lunch by dragging him into the girls’ bathroom and flushing his head down the toilet until he begged for both mercy and my forgiveness, and he made sure he and his mean friends never even looked twice in my direction ever again. And they never did. Never again was my lunch stolen.

Still to this day I don’t know why Harley went out of his way for the dorkiest girl in class he’d never once spoken more than five words to, but he did, and I will be eternally grateful. Not just for saving me from Billy and his friends, but if he hadn’t stepped in that day I might never have felt that tug in my heart, that dip in my belly at the sheer sight of the piercing blue eyes of his very best friend when he’d swept in to ask if I was okay while Harley was busy making Billy pay. When he’d taken hold of my hand and led me to the school nurse’s office to get the bump on my head checked out, I knew, even at 9 years old, that I had fallen head over heels in love with a boy named Nash Harris.

“What the hell are you smiling at?”

I startle from my thoughts, looking up from my glass of whiskey to see Harley sitting beside me again, this time lifting a bottle of beer to his lips. I can feel my cheeks blush of their own accord, giving me away completely, and I try to hide my smile behind my glass as I look straight ahead at nothing in particular. “I was just thinking of that first day,” I admit. “Back in fourth grade when you flushed Billy Connor’s head down the toilet.”

Harley chuckles to himself at the memory.

“That was the day we all became friends.” I look at him, seeing him nod as he stares down at his beer with a faraway smile of his own, and I know he knows it too. It wasn’t just the day we became friends; Nash, Harley and me, we became family that day. It was the day my whole life changed.

Chapter 3

I stand in front of the mirror that hangs on the back of my closet door, staring at my reflection with serious contempt. You know when you’re hoping for a particular look, and you really think you’re going to pull it off, but then you see yourself and wish you’d thought things through better? Well, that’s me right now. I’d driven forty miles, all the way to Chelmer, to the Westfield because it has a Macy’s, and I spent a couple hundred bucks on my outfit for tonight. I wanted something sleek and sexy, sophisticated and elegant. Something not at all like my usual self. But contact lenses always make my eyes burn like hell, and I simply cannot get away with wearing a bodycon dress with hips like mine.

The first thing to go is the contacts. Straight in the trash. I’ve worn glasses since I was five years old and, unfortunately, they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. I tug off the constricting dress that feels like it’s suffocating me, and I toss it to the floor before rifling through my closet.

Finally, I’m dressed in a navy dress that sits mid-thigh and flares out from the waist, concealing my hips, thighs and butt. I team it with my shiny red Mary Janes to add a splash of color, and I wear my tortoiseshell glasses. Painting my lips a cherry red to match my heels, I leave my auburn hair natural, falling around my shoulders.

I look at myself in the mirror for a long time, taking in every little detail of my outfit. Unlike the look I’d been hoping for, it definitely isn’t sleek, sexy, sophisticated or elegant, but then, neither am I. And I can’t pretend to be someone I’m truly not. I’d never pull it off and it would only end in embarrassment. And tonight’s the night I’m meeting the woman who is marrying the love of my life. The beautiful, wonderful, perfect Annabelle Victoria Hutchins, at least that’s the impression I get from the social media profiles I’ve spent the best part of the last twenty-four hours stalking. She’s literally perfect, and beautiful, and everything in between. I can’t possibly risk embarrassing myself. Not tonight. Not in front of her.

I’ve had almost an entire day to come to terms with the fact that Nash is no longer mine, nor will he ever be mine again. And it hurts more than I could have ever been prepared for it to hurt. Last night was spent crying into a half-empty bottle of wine while listening to my Spotify playlist of saddest songs. I cried so many tears. And even now, with no more tears to cry, it still sits like a painful lump at the back of my throat.

I’m not sure how I’m going to be able do it: go there tonight to celebrate with them, spend the rest of the week making their wedding cake, and watching on Saturday as they become husband and wife while acting as if everything is fine when deep down it’s anything but okay, like a rusted blade slicing through my gut. But, when the doubt begins to get the better of me, I remind myself that first and foremost, Nash is my friend, and I owe it to him to be the happy and supportive Murph that I’ve always been. But it still kills me like crazy.

As I sit at my dressing table fastening a small gold hoop into each of my earlobes, I think back to the night I first realized I’d fallen in love with Nash Harris. I was only 14, but even at an age when marriage should have been the last thing on my mind, that was the night I thought maybe I would one day be the woman lucky enough to become his wife.

I woke with a start. My eyes flew open as I searched the darkness surrounding me. My heart raced without me knowing why. But when something hit my window, I breathed a sigh of relief realizing it was the tapping of the glass that had woken me from my dreams. Throwing my covers off, I crawled down to the foot of my bed, and pulled the curtains aside. I looked down to the front yard, gasping at the silhouette standing by the elm tree. His hood was pulled low over his head, covering most of his face, but I could tell it was him, and I knew immediately something was wrong. He hadn’t come here in the middle of the night since the last time.

Suddenly my heart felt as if it had climbed to the back of my throat. Jumping out of bed, I shoved my feet into my slippers, tiptoeing past my momma’s bedroom, hurrying as fast as I could downstairs. I stopped at the front door, holding my breath a moment before lifting the latch and pulling it open. The cool night breeze blew in from outside, shocking me, and I shivered.

“Nash?” I whispered through the silence, searching the front yard for him.

A shadowy figure appeared from behind the thick trunk of the elm tree, and I watched with a furrowed brow as he limped unsteadily through the darkness. When he came into the light of the moon, I couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of him. With a split lip and a black eye, he was hunched forward, clutching his side, his face distorted in pain with every step he took. He stopped on the porch in front of me, and I could feel my eyes prick with the threat of tears. But I knew it was my job to remain strong. He needed me. So, without saying a word, I ushered him inside, quietly closing the front door behind us before taking his hand in mine and carefully helping him upstairs.

Nash sat on the edge of the tub, his head bowed and his shoulders small and cowering. He’d taken off his sweatshirt, and when I’d first caught sight of the painful red welts lashed across his back and the purple bruises covering his ribs, I wasn’t sure if I should have woken my momma. I was terrified. I couldn’t be sure he didn’t need to go the hospital. But Nash pleaded with me not to say anything to anyone, so I didn’t say a word. I tended to him as best I could, as quietly as I could so as not to wake Momma. As I padded the open welts across his back with antiseptic ointment, I could feel a wayward tear trail over the curve of my cheek. I quickly wiped it away with the sleeve of my pajama shirt. I couldn’t let him see me cry.

“What did he do to you?” I whispered under my breath, unsure he’d even heard me.

“Belt.” Nash’s hushed voice was full of an uncharacteristic fragility that just about broke my heart. I closed my eyes a moment, an involuntary shudder coursing through me.

“I hate him,” he hissed between gritted teeth, flinching away from every one of my tender touches.

So do I, I thought silently to myself. “I’m so sorry, Nash.”

Nothing more was said between the two of us. I did all I could to ease his suffering, and he sat silently. He was so strong through the worst pain imaginable, and all the while my heart continued breaking for him. He didn’t deserve this. Nobody did. I wished I could help save him from his horrible daddy.

Nash and I lay together in my bed, side by side, staring up at the shadows cast from outside as they danced across the ceiling to an imaginary tune. I reached under the covers, finding Nash’s hand by his side, and without a word, I took it in mine, lacing my fingers through his, holding him tight.

“I’ll always be here for you, Nash.” My voice was a whisper, but the silence seemed to make my promise echo through the air around us.

Holding my hand so tight as if he couldn’t possibly bear to let me go, Nash rolled onto his side. He looked at me for a long moment, his mischievous eyes sparkling through the muted light of the moon seeping in through open curtains.

“One day some lucky guy is gonna come into your life and steal you away from me,” he whispered back, pulling my hand closer and enveloping it in both of his, holding it tight.

Never once breaking our hold, I rolled onto my side, facing him, our noses a mere hair’s breadth from one another. For a long moment we simply lay there, staring into each other’s eyes, our silence speaking volumes.

“Nobody is ever going to take me away from you,” I said in a hushed tone.

My eyes moved down to his lips. His perfectly pouted lips, glistening in the darkness. I was only 14 years old. I’d never been kissed.

Suddenly something unexpected came over me, something I knew he felt too. I’d never experienced it before, but out of nowhere my belly twisted low in my gut, and my heart stammered, thumping heavily in my chest. It was an unfamiliar feeling I didn’t necessarily dislike. Every day I had dreamed of my very first kiss, of Nash’s lips on mine. But it was just a dream. It was all a dream that would never come true, because this was real life, and happily ever afters were just in books.

“You’re my best friend, Murph.” Nash leaned in even closer, resting his forehead against mine. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I smiled, closing my eyes a moment, breathing him and his words in. Looking at him again, I blinked once, watching him so closely it was as if I could see straight through to his soul, and it was beautiful. “We’ll always have each other,” I whispered.

Nash leaned forward, pressing his lips to my forehead, and I gasped, not having expected such an intimate closeness from him. “Just the two of us,” he said so softly. “Forever and always.”

I looked up, meeting his eyes, and when I caught the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips, in that instant I knew everything in the world was perfect. Deep down butterflies swarmed in my tummy as I realized maybe—just maybe—one day, I would get my happy ending, after all.

The sound of a car horn pulls me from my past and I startle, shaking my head free of the reverie clouding my mind. My phone vibrates and I glance down to see a notification from Uber on the screen. Peering through the curtain I see a silver Toyota idling at the curb. With one last glance at my reflection, I exhale a heavy breath and collect my purse. And, with my heart a little heavier than it had been only moments ago, I know it’s time to face my past, now or never.

Chapter 4

Harrington Country Club is certainly not the type of place I frequent in my spare time. It’s the kind of place a girl like me just doesn’t belong. Women with handbags worth more than my car, dripping in diamonds and pearls, accompany men who exude wealth and stature. And, here I am in my old dress, wearing shoes I dug out from the very bottom of a bargain bin during the Black Friday sales at Nordstrom’s two years ago, smiling nervously at the club host as I walk through the grand entrance, scared I’m going to be asked to leave.

“Can I help you, miss?” the host asks, crossing the foyer to reach me in such a hurry it’s as if I’m trying to sneak in.

I straighten a little, squaring my shoulders. “I’m here for the Harris-Hutchins dinner party.” I lift my chin a little higher as if I’m the kind of woman who frequents the most exclusive country clubs every Saturday night.

“Certainly, ma’am.” The man nods and smiles down at me. “Just through the main hall, past the gentlemen’s lounge, and into the formal dining room.”

“Thank you.” I nod on my way past him, trying not to outwardly roll my eyes at the fact that this is the kind of establishment that actually entertains the idea of a gentlemen’s lounge.

The formal dining room is even more exquisite than the foyer, and I’m rendered speechless when I walk through the double doors. A perfectly planned maze of beautifully decorated tables fills the space, complete with candles, fresh flowers, and fancy silverware. Soft music resonates throughout, accompanying the sound of gentle voices murmuring amiable dinner chitchat. As much as I try to pretend as if I do, I certainly do not belong in a place like this.

“Murph!”

I stop mid-step, looking to my right and breathing a sigh of relief to see Nash through the sea of pompous country club members. And, for a moment, I’m left breathless by the sheer sight of him. He looks incredible. His sandy hair is a little messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it all day. His azure eyes seem to illuminate the otherwise dim light of the room, sparkling beneath the low-hanging crystal chandeliers. He’s dressed in a navy suit that looks as if it was made to fit only his body. I’ve never seen him look so put-together, so grown-up, so handsome.

“Murph, over here!” Nash yells out again, chuckling this time as if I’d not seen him.

I come to, snapping myself out of my daze. His hand is in the air, beckoning me over and that same boyish grin I fell in love with years ago beams as he waves me over.

“Hi.” I smile awkwardly, approaching the long table set up in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the eighteenth hole lit up like Christmas, providing a spectacular backdrop.

Nash makes his way to me and, before I know it, he has me wrapped in his arms. He holds me so close I can feel his breath fanning over the sensitive skin at the base of my neck and, again, I’m breathless, speechless, and everything in between. The things this guy is capable of doing to me without really doing anything, I swear he might just be the death of me.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispers, pulling back and holding me at arm’s length. “You look beautiful, Murph. Real beautiful.”

I roll my eyes at his compliment, feeling my traitorous cheeks blush.

“Come.” Nash takes my hand in his, holding it tight. “I want to introduce you to Anna.”

My heart falls at the mention of her, as if somehow in the last three minutes spent rapt in everything Nash, I’d forgotten the reason I was here. I try desperately not to let my smile fall but, when I’m led to the striking blonde woman I remember from my social media stalking session, tentatively standing from her chair, looking from Nash to me and back again, the overwhelming happiness I felt just moments ago has all but disappeared.

Is this some kind of sick joke?

She’s the epitome of beautiful. Even more beautiful than the photos on her Instagram. In fact, beautiful doesn’t even cut it. She’s tall—at least five foot ten – plus however many inches the stiletto heels she’s wearing are. She’s thin, with an enviable amount of cleavage on display. Her skin is luminous, soft and flawless; it’s as if she’s actually glowing from the inside. Long blonde hair that shimmers like glitter and she’s dressed in a slinky red dress that hugs her strategically placed curves. I can’t help but stare at her while realizing every one of my fears have been confirmed; Anna isn’t just everything I’m not, she’s everything a girl like me could never be.

Immediately I feel as if I pale in comparison to a girl like Anna Hutchins, and I really want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. Being in the same room as someone so sickeningly perfect, so naturally charming, is definitely not good for my already dwindling self-confidence.

“Anna,” Nash begins, looking down at me with an endearing smile I suddenly want to slap right off his face for reasons unbeknownst to me. “This is Murph.”

“Oh my goodness.” Anna beams, covering her smiling mouth with each of her perfectly manicured hands. “I can’t believe I’m finally meeting the infamous Murph.”

I stiffen a little. Infamous? What does that even mean? What am I, some kind of funny story he likes to tell all his new rich college friends about? I eye Nash dubiously but he just grins down at me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “All I do is talk about you, and Harley of course, and everything we did growing up together,” he explains, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.

“I’m so happy to meet you.” Anna smiles, apparently over her sudden shock of coming face-to-face with my apparent infamy. Ducking down to my level—which is humiliating in itself—she wraps her arms around me in an embrace I can’t say I’m all too comfortable with. I hesitate a moment before reluctantly lifting a hand and patting her back a few times, feeling as awkward as possible. I’m not usually one to hug a stranger and, let’s face it, she’s a stranger; I don’t care how tightly she has my best friend wrapped around her dainty little finger.

“Harley!” Nash yells from beside us, and that’s my cue to pull away from the slightly overbearing Anna, straightening my dress as I glance at Nash who is, once again, holding his hand in the air.

“Hey, man!” he calls out.

I turn to see Harley approaching and, for a moment, I find myself actually stunned. What the hell? He looks good tonight. Surprisingly so. I’ve never seen him so dressed up. Wearing a pair of neatly pressed khakis and a white button-down, which helps to accentuate his athletic build and tan skin. Even his chestnut hair is perfectly styled away from his face, instead of in its usual disarray.

I’m shocked. His look tonight is in stark contrast to his usual ripped jeans and End Zone T-shirt he wears every day at the bar. Hell, he even wore his damn football jersey to prom, complete with a sequin bowtie. The guy has never looked like this before, and I find myself unable to tear my eyes away from his as he smiles, flashing his dimples and all. He oozes charisma as he weaves his way through the table maze.

Reaching us, Harley throws his arms around Nash, and I force myself to look away from him, my eyes flitting to Anna who is watching the boys’ exchange with an adoring smile, her perfectly straight white teeth glistening. Everything about her annoys me. I can barely contain an eye-roll. I force myself to turn away from her to stop the annoyance from consuming me from the inside out, and my gaze shifts to Harley once again. On closer inspection, I realize perhaps he isn’t as put-together as I had initially thought, the Men’s Warehouse tag poking out from the back of the starched collar of his shirt proves that, beneath the façade, the usual Harley is still there in all his glory, and I bite back a grin.

“Hey, Murph.” Harley offers me a smile.

“Hey,” I murmur in return, again forcing myself to look away from him. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe I just need a drink. I begin searching for a waiter, craning my neck over the sea of country club diners as Nash and Harley continue talking with one another, but then I overhear Nash introducing him to Anna, and everything stops.

“Harley, this is Anna, the love of my life—”

At that, I snap my head back to look at them, my jaw gaping at his words. The love of my life? As if his words aren’t bad enough, I’m forced to watch on as he offers her the most adoring look, and it’s heartbreakingly obvious just how enamored he is of her. My hands ball into fists by my sides and something unexpected comes over me, something I hadn’t been prepared to deal with tonight. As I watch Nash slap Harley’s shoulder, introducing him, the words are like hot lava as they burn their way up the back of my throat. I couldn’t even stop them if I tried.