for his next fix?
He wasn’t meant for Stonecreek. He’d been a different person here, a punk kid he didn’t like very much. But he also had no idea how to be anyone else when faced with his past.
So where did that leave him?
He sure as hell wished he knew.
“Do you hate me?”
Maggie paused in the act of folding the last of the tablecloths that would have been used at her reception. It was nearly eleven at night, and the Miriam Inn’s ballroom was dark other than one dim bulb glowing in the entry, where Brenna Apria stood, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
“Does it matter?” Maggie asked, then placed the tablecloth on top of the pile with more force than necessary. Nancy Schulman, who managed events at the inn, had called her earlier to report that Trevor’s mom and grandma had descended on the venue and were scooping up the vases of flowers that Maggie and her bridesmaids had arranged and placed around the room the previous day.
The Spencers owned the inn and event center, and Maggie had recommended Nancy for the manager position after a nasty divorce nine months ago. Maggie appreciated that the woman still felt some loyalty, when Grammy had made it clear in a barrage of texts and voice mails throughout the day that everyone else thought Maggie was either crazy or downright cruel to have left poor, sweet, upstanding Trevor Stone at the altar.
Maggie hated to admit how much it hurt that people who’d known her since she was in diapers could turn on her so quickly, but she wouldn’t let it show. That was something she’d learned from her mother, who’d put on a brave front even when ovarian cancer ravaged her, metastasizing throughout her body.
She’d told Nancy to let the Stone women take whatever they wanted and that she’d clean up the rest after. Then she’d called the florist, the DJ and the photographer to personally apologize and assure them she’d pay each of their bills in full.
Even knowing they were getting their money, none of the vendors had been happy. Working the Spencer-Stone wedding was more than a regular job. The two families were practically royalty in the growing town, and Harvest Vineyards was quickly gaining a national reputation for its wine.
But the loss of visibility and free marketing couldn’t be helped. At least not by Maggie. It was rapidly dawning on her exactly what she’d done with her promise to Trevor about keeping the real reason she’d walked away a secret.
Now the woman she’d considered her best friend, who’d known about Trevor’s cheating, was standing here looking for what? Forgiveness? Absolution?
Maggie was fresh out of both.
“It matters. You’re my best friend.” Brenna walked forward, in and out of shadows, but Maggie could see how miserable she looked. Her dark eyes were red, her high cheekbones stained with the tracks of dried tears. Maggie didn’t care. Her own face was puffy from crying and even now, when she thought she had no more tears to shed, she could feel moisture prick the corners of her eyes.
She bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. “How long have you known?”
“Trevor promised he’d change,” Brenna insisted instead of answering the question, then broke off at the glare Maggie sent her. “That it was a onetime lapse in judgment. I wanted to believe him, and I didn’t want you to be hurt.”
“That backfired,” Maggie muttered.
“You have no idea how sorry I am.”
“You’re supposed to be my best friend.”
“I am,” Brenna whispered.
Maggie grabbed the tablecloths and shoved them into a cardboard box. “You were aware my fiancé was cheating and didn’t tell me. I caught him swapping spit with another woman minutes before the wedding, and you weren’t even shocked. Did you know about Julia?”
Brenna’s full lips pressed into a thin line. “I thought it had ended, but they were flirty at your engagement party. I asked Trevor about it, and he said I was overreacting. He told me I’d ruin both of your lives if I said anything.”
“Don’t you think it would have been worse if I’d ended up married to a cheater?”
“He told me—”
“You must know you have terrible judgment when it comes to men,” Maggie said through clenched teeth, unable to stop herself, even though she knew the comment was hurtful.
Brenna grimaced. “I know.” She picked up a stack of napkins and thrust them toward Maggie. “You can hit me if you want, like Griffin did with Trevor. I deserve it as much as him.”
Maggie stilled as unease snaked along her spine. She hadn’t admitted anything to Griffin, so it was difficult to imagine him defending her to his brother. And yet... “What do you mean Griffin hit Trevor?”
“Decked him in front of the pulpit. Mrs. Davis was standing just a few feet away. She said Griffin looked like he wanted to kill Trevor but only threw one punch. Apparently, Trevor has a nasty shiner.”
“Have you seen him?”
Brenna shook her head. “I also didn’t realize Griffin was back in town. I thought he said he wasn’t coming to the wedding.”
“He had a change of plans,” Maggie told her.
“You talked to him?” Brenna’s brows shot up.
“As I was leaving the church,” Maggie said with a nod. “He ended up giving me a ride home.”
Brenna’s sharp intake of breath was audible in the quiet space. “What does he know?”
Maggie bristled at the implied accusation in her friend’s—former friend’s—tone. “Nothing he heard from me. Trevor was the one who betrayed me, Brenna. I understand that, but it doesn’t change how hurt I am that you didn’t tell me what you knew.”
She walked to the far side of the reception hall, where they’d set up a table for the buffet line. Thankfully, after a few hours off her feet with an HGTV-watching marathon, her ankle felt almost normal again so she wouldn’t have to recount her embarrassing fall to Brenna. At one end of the long table stood a framed photo of Maggie and Trevor—their official engagement photo.
It had been taken just after Christmas, the two of them standing together on the bridge that spanned the creek snaking through the park in the middle of town. Snow covered the trees and their cheeks were rosy from the cold air. They looked happy. She’d been happy, or so she thought.
“I don’t know why I agreed to take the blame for canceling the wedding in the first place.” She lifted the picture off the table, gripping the frame so tight her knuckles went white. “How is it better this way?”
“It shows people that you were in control,” Brenna suggested weakly.
“They hate me.”
“No
