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“Oh—my—God.”
“Macie, tell me! Someone! You, Rachel?” I said, looking at her.
She just stared at me in disbelief like Macie was still doing. Then, we all looked toward the driveway when we heard a car’s engine crank. It was Riley. She’d exited through the garage to get to her Camaro, and now, she was leaving. Macie, Rachel, and I ran toward her, waving our hands for her to stop, but she sped off anyway, spinning her tires.
“Rhys, you ignorant, stubborn ass!” Macie yelled, shoving me backward. “I’m who’s getting married! That’s why we went to the florist!”
I looked down at the ground and shook my head, feeling nauseous. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Mr. Martin. Mrs. Martin was standing beside him.
“I’m sorry, sir. Ma’am,” I said, getting choked up. “I thought Riley decided to marry Chad. I wanted her to tell me to my face.”
“Rhys…” Mr. Martin began. “Riley isn’t marrying Chad. She’s still wearing the engagement ring you gave her because you’re who she wants and still loves with all her heart.”
I turned around, took a few steps away, and covered my mouth because I couldn’t hold back my tears. Then the Martins, Rachel, and Macie came up to me and hugged me.
After I regained my composure, I looked at them, so embarrassed. “I’ve made such a mess of all of this with Riley,” I told them, shaking my head at myself. “I let my pride and my insecurities blind me.”
“I don’t think you’re blind anymore, Rhys, so what do you want to do?” Mr. Martin asked.
“Marry your eldest daughter, sir.”
“Then go get her.”
I took a deep breath, nodded, and ran to Black Betty parked in front of the Martin’s house. Then I sped off like Riley had done, headed toward Main Street. When I reached it, I didn’t know whether to turn left or right because I didn’t know which direction Riley had gone. My blinker came on by itself a moment later, guiding me to turn right.
Rosalie.
CH 47 - #stay
Rhys
Song: “Highway Don’t Care” by Tim McGraw
(feat. Taylor Swift and Keith Urban)
RILEY HAD LEFT Cypress Hills, heading west, and Rosalie continued showing me where I needed to turn. When I reached I-20, I pushed on the gas, searching for Riley’s car somewhere ahead of me.
I tried calling her several times, but she didn’t answer. She just kept sending my calls to voicemail. When my cellphone rang, I jumped and looked at the screen. It wasn’t Riley. It was Jackson.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“On I-20, outside of Longview.”
“No sign of Riley?”
“Not yet. Brother, I really fucked up.”
“It’s going to be alright. You’ll get Riley back. She loves you.”
“God, I love her too. More than life. Hang on! Hang on! I think I see her!”
I sped up even more, trying to catch up to a silver Camaro in the distance. I was going well over the speed limit and still struggling to reach it, so I pushed on the gas even more, weaving in and out of traffic. Finally, I got close enough to the vehicle to read the license plate: RXR4EVR. It was Riley.
“I found her, Jackson! I’ll call you back!”
“Okay!”
I’d just glanced to my right, seeing the exit sign for Loop 281. The second I looked back at the interstate, a flood of brake lights hit my eyes. Then I saw why.
