TWO RIVALS CRAVE ME

~MAREN HOLLIS~

People say heartbreak has stages. You cry. You heal. You move on. Mine never bothered with the order.

I didn't cry when Caleb left that night. And I've healed, technically—if healed means I can hear his name without flinching.

Barely.

But I'm not over him. Not even close. I'd rather die than admit that to him, though.

Right now I'm standing outside the hotel where my best friend, Sandra, is celebrating her engagement. She's the reason I found out Caleb was cheating in the first place.

She's also the first in our friend group to land herself a rich man—the kind of life I always thought would be mine if Caleb had stayed.

I told myself coming here wouldn't hurt. Wildly optimistic.

Something's already stinging in my chest. I'm older than Sandra, and she's getting married before me.

Such is life, I guess.

I shake the thought off and tug at the bodice of my amethyst gown. I'm here to celebrate my best friend, not feel sorry for myself.

Just as I reach for the hotel's glass doors, a horn blares behind me. I ignore it. Whoever's behind the wheel doesn't get the hint. It blares again, longer, more impatient.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Seriously?

I turn around, already annoyed, and spot someone waving through the tinted windshield of a dark GMC Yukon. I keep my hands at my side, frowning. I'm not close with Sandra's friends, and I barely know most of the crowd arriving tonight.

Who's waving at me?

Before I can curse the person out, the driver's door opens, and someone steps into the streetlamp's light.

It's Caleb. Freaking. Boone.

My breath catches.

What is he doing here?

I just stare, frozen. He looks exactly like I remember—maybe better, which feels like exactly the kind of cruel joke the universe would pull tonight.

My first thought goes straight to Sandra. If she dragged me here to force some sick reconciliation after I told her last night I still have feelings for him, it isn't happening. Not a chance.

I turn back toward the building, already planning my escape.

"Wait."

I freeze at his voice.

God. This is going to be a long night.

"You actually came," he says, closing the distance.

Did he plan this?

I turn to face him. He stops a few feet away. Same neat dark hair, same sharp jaw, and his amber eyes are somehow worse than I remembered—worse meaning better, which is deeply inconvenient given I'm trying my hardest not to fall apart in front of him.

I force my expression cold, arms crossing on instinct. "Look Caleb, I don’t have time for this. Whatever Sandra told you, forget it. I don't want the excuses. I don't want whatever apology you rehearsed on the drive over." I let out a short breath. "Let's just go back to ignoring each other. It worked fine for six months, didn't it?"

He looks around, genuinely thrown. "You think I'm here to apologize to you?"

"Then why are you here?"

"This is my engagement party." He says it flatly, like I'm the one being unreasonable. "I'm allowed to be here."

"If it's your engagement, why's it at the same venue as Sandra's?"

He bends down slightly to look at me, his eyes dropping to the pavement before he speaks. "Because I'm engaged to Sandra."

For a second I can't breathe. My lungs lock. I look at him, then at the car behind him, then back at his face. No. There's absolutely no way.

He laughs, a little nervous, reading my silence as shock instead of what it is. "I honestly didn't think you'd show up tonight."

I barely hear him.

I'm engaged to Sandra.

The words keep repeating in my head.

Sandra. My best friend. The one who sat on my kitchen floor while I sobbed over losing him. The one who told me, over and over, that he never deserved someone like me.

She's marrying Caleb.

My Caleb.

My head goes light.

The way she'd insisted I block his number right after our breakup, no explanation needed.

"Don't let him gaslight you, babe," she'd said, pouring me wine while I stared at the wall. "A man like that doesn't change."

It's obvious now, looking back. But I was so deep in grief, so grateful for her protectiveness, I never questioned it. I never realized she was clearing the board.

"Hey." Caleb's voice cuts through. He reaches toward me, then stops, fingers hovering near my elbow. "You okay? You look like you're about to pass out."

I look down at his hand. A new watch sits on his wrist — the same one Sandra posted about last month, the one she said was “a little something for my future husband.”

This isn’t a cruel joke. He’s actually marrying her.

I lift my eyes to his face. The edge from a moment ago is gone, replaced with something careful—like he already knows this is going to hurt me and has no idea how to soften it. He has no idea what she's done. Somehow that makes it worse.

I shove his hand away before it can touch me.

"Don't."

I turn and push through the hotel doors before he can say anything else.

The second the glass shuts behind me, the tears come, fast and hot. I don't head for the ballroom—I'm nowhere close to ready for a crowd. Instead I duck into the first quiet corridor I find, wiping my face hard. My chest feels too tight. The air feels too thin.

At the end of the hall, a door marked STAFF ONLY sits ajar. I'd never normally trespass. Tonight I don't care. I slip inside—a small storage lounge, two mismatched chairs, a stack of linens, a mirror, a half-empty water cooler.

Good enough.

I shut the door and lean back against it, letting my head drop back.

How could I have been this stupid?

Caleb had always been good to me. Thoughtful. Present. He'd shown me, in a hundred small ways, that he loved me—and my own insecurities still wouldn't let me believe it. Then Sandra started whispering doubts into that crack until I couldn't tell my own fears from reality.

And the moment we broke up, she was right there. Comforting me. Telling me I'd made the right call.

How did I not see it?

I slide down the door until I'm sitting on the carpet. I press my hands to my face, dragging in a ragged breath, trying to stop crying.

Suddenly, a soft, muffled moan comes through the door behind my head.

My hands drop. I freeze, holding my breath. What was that?

Another moan. Lower this time. Then a woman's breathless, familiar voice.

"Slow down... God, you're too big."

My whole body goes rigid. I know that voice.

Sandra.

My heart slams against my ribs. No. No way.

I scramble up, yank the door open, and step back into the corridor. The door across the hall is shut, and the sound is coming straight from behind it. I take a slow step closer and press my ear to the wood.

"Oh, fuck—"

I jerk back, breath going shallow.

Isn't she marrying Caleb tonight?

I stare at the handle. I know I should walk away. I know I should run out of this hotel and never look back. Instead my trembling hand moves on its own. My fingers twist the knob. The latch clicks, and the door swings inward.

The second it does, my eyes widen. My whole body locks up as my brain tries to process what I'm seeing.

Sandra's spread out on the leather couch, gown shoved up around her waist, head thrown back, hips raised. A man with broad shoulders, his back to me, thrusts into her like he's got something to prove.

My stomach churns. Part of me wants to scream, to pull out my phone and stream it to the entire ballroom, or storm over and tear her hair out.

Instead I stand frozen, one hand on the doorframe, disgust settling in my chest.

Neither of them notices me. Maybe it's the music pounding through the walls, or maybe they're simply too far gone to notice anything else. My fingers curl into my palms, nails biting into my skin.

"I'm coming," the guy groans, grip tightening on her hips as he thrusts harder.

"Inside me, baby. I need it." Sandra's voice tears out in a breathless scream, her hands gripping the couch cushions so hard her knuckles turn white.

My eyes drop to her left hand.

A familiar diamond ring catches the light—the same ring Caleb once showed me, the one that belonged to his grandmother.

The one I used to imagine on my own hand a thousand times.

Now it's on hers, while she screws another man at their engagement party.

Nausea hits so hard I nearly gag.

The man finishes with a low groan, shuddering against her without pulling out. "Yeah. Take it all, baby."

A few seconds later, he pulls out and sits back against the cushions. Only then does he turn toward the open doorway, and our eyes meet.

Everything in my chest stops.

My eyes go straight to his raven black hair, sharp jaw, the grey eyes, the wolf tattoo curling up his neck—details I haven't seen since the day he packed his bags and left our house.

My heart slams against my ribs.

He doesn't scramble for his clothes. He doesn't look embarrassed or caught off guard. He just studies my face for a long, silent moment. Then, unbelievably, a slow smile curves his mouth.

"Hello, Mae."

The old nickname in his deep voice knocks the air out of my lungs. My mouth opens, but the words stick in my throat. I swallow hard, forcing the anger to fuel my shaking voice.

"What the fuck."

My eyes snap to Sandra. "What is wrong with you? That's my stepbrother!"