My Best Man Loves My Bride-To-Be

Graham's POV

My girlfriend, Natasha Bishop, helped my best friend, Devon Hart, into the front passenger seat first, her movements practiced and natural. When she came back for me, I cracked my eyes open.

"Natasha, why'd you help him first?"

She paused and glanced down at me. "He's way more wasted than you are. You can stretch out in the back. It'll be more comfortable."

I nodded. Her logic made sense. But for some reason, it still stung.

I dropped my gaze, pretending the alcohol was hitting harder, and pulled her into a tight hug. "Natasha."

She looked up at me. "Yeah?"

"If you ever cheat on me, I'll kill the guy."

She laughed softly, like humoring a drunk who was being dramatic. "Then I'd rather you didn't. You'd end up straight in prison. I still want you around for the rest of my life."

I didn't say anything. I just closed my eyes, my throat so tight it ached.

When the car neared an intersection, someone darted across the road, and Natasha slammed on the brakes. My forehead slammed against the back of the front seat, hard enough that everything went dark for a second.

Her arm shot out instinctively to brace Devon. Only after he was steady did she glance up at me through the rearview mirror.

I squeezed my eyes shut, not even brave enough to figure out whether she was worried about me or just making sure I was still asleep.

By the time I came to, the car was parked outside Devon's apartment complex.

Natasha got out and helped him out of the passenger side. I pushed my door open and trailed behind them.

The hallway was quiet, nothing but our footsteps echoing off the walls. I kept a few paces back, telling myself over and over that I was reading too much into things.

Then Natasha pressed her finger to the smart lock, and it beeped open.

I froze.

Devon leaned down and kissed her. The two of them stumbled backward into the apartment, tangled together. I didn't need to see anything else.

Through the half-open door, Natasha finally looked up.

Something snapped the second she saw me, and she shoved Devon away. "He's drunk. I was just helping him inside for you."

My eyes drifted to the smart lock. "And the fingerprint? Was that for my sake too?"

She went quiet for a beat. "A client switched up a wedding order. I had to drop off samples at his place a few times."

"And the kissing? Was that part of the job deion?"

Devon cut in, panicked. "Graham, don't take it out on her. This was all my—"

"Since when, Devon? Since when do you get to speak for my girlfriend?"

Natasha reached back and pulled Devon behind her. "Enough. This has nothing to do with him."

I looked at her and nodded slowly. "Right. It's got nothing to do with him. I shouldn't have followed you up here, shouldn't have seen any of it, and shouldn't have asked."

Panic flickered across her face. "That's not what I meant."

"I've been making excuses for you the whole way here," I said, shaking my head. "I'm done lying to myself. We're over."

I turned and walked away. Quick footsteps echoed behind me, and Natasha grabbed my wrist, her palm burning hot.

"Graham, don't say things you don't mean. We've been together eight years, not eight days," she said. "The wedding attire's picked out, and the venue's paid for. The wedding is in three days. You were up until dawn last night editing our wedding video."

I stopped.

That video was a surprise I'd been putting together for months, going to all the places that mattered to us and secretly filming clips.

From our old campus to street corners, from snow-covered fields to the beach, eight years pieced together one frame at a time.

My throat tightened.

For a second, I almost asked her, "Natasha, can you end things with Devon? Right now, right here, can you just end it?"

But before I could get the words out, Devon's voice came from inside the apartment. "Natasha… I…"

She let go of me. "His stomach's probably bothering him. Let me go check on him."

She took two steps toward his apartment, then turned back and grabbed my hand, like she was afraid I might actually leave. "Graham, wait for me downstairs. We'll talk as soon as I'm done here."