Leon

Back at the ranch, more guests have begun to arrive for the wedding. Over the course of two hours, I'm reintroduced to aunts and uncles from Liz's side of the family, and her grandparents embrace me with bone-crushing hugs. And, by the time all of these reintroductions are finished, my left cheek is full of different shades of pink, plum, and red lipstick. There's so much that I need to aggressively scrub my cheek over the kitchen sink just to get the shit off.

"The whole idea of wearing blush stems from putting it on both of your cheeks," Tenille jokes as she refills a bowl of potato chips.

I continue to scrub my face with a damp cloth. "Shut up, Ten. Why the hell didn't they bombard you with hugs and kisses? Christ, it's like they were targeting me."

Tenille sighs and tosses the empty bag in the garbage under the sink. "Because Liz's family adores you. It's a scientific fact."

I cock an eyebrow at her. "Everyone loves me."

Snorting, she grabs the cloth from my hand and wets it again with warm water. She also adds a little dab of blue dish soap to it. Gently, she begins to scrub my face. I flinch, wishing I would have been smart enough to add soap – I think I've removed the first layer of my skin already. It feels raw and stings a little each time Tenille makes a rubbing motion.

"Do you know how self-absorbed that sounds?" she asks. There's a small line between her eyebrows as she concentrates on my cheek.

"I wouldn't call it self-absorbed," I shrug. "I'm simply relaying the information I've heard. Liz always used to complain about people loving me."

Lowering her voice, Tenille asks, "Have you had a chance to talk to Eliza yet?"

I want to tell her the complete truth about why I'm here, but knowing Tenille, she'd probably lose her shit on me. "I did," I reply, fully aware that she's referring to my mom.

"And?"

"It hurt her," I sigh. "A lot. Liz loved my mom – she was there for her when her own parents neglected her. There were lots of tears and hugging." 

When Tenille is satisfied with my cheek, she sets the cloth down and steps back to admire her work. She then hangs the cloth up to dry.

"Thanks," I say.

"No problem," she replies, leaning against the countertop. Her face takes on a solemn look as she readjusts her ponytail. "I can't believe your mom passed away. It's terrible. And while I feel nothing but empathy for you, it's almost worse for Eliza. At least you got to see your mom, right? You got the closure you needed. Eliza didn't – the last time she saw Crystal was before you guys moved across the country. She never even got to say goodbye."

For a moment, we hear nothing but the murmur of people talking in the other room and the sound of the dishwasher running. At one point, Tenille grabs a potato chip from the bowl and pops it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. While she picks at the chips, I filter through the thoughts that are running around in my mind. I can't count the number of times Liz stayed over at our house when her parents were working through their now-permanent issues. Or the times Liz thanked my mom by holding her weight around the house; she would cook and clean and drive me to golf lessons after she got her license. Hell, Liz did more than I ever did around the house.

But I know there's no possible way that my mom didn't realize how much Liz appreciated her hospitality. Mom died knowing just how much Liz loved her, that I can guarantee. Even so, it makes me feel even worse about not bringing my best friend to Newfoundland to say her goodbyes. Mom may have had the closure, but Liz certainly didn't. "My mom knew how much Liz loved her," I whisper to no one in particular. "And I hope Liz knew how much my mom loved her."

When Tenille doesn't respond to me, I glance up to make sure she's okay and not crying again. She's not, which is a good thing right now. That being said, something is off with Tenille. She's acting distant. Distracted. She's staring off into the doorway to the kitchen and twirling her hair around her finger. It's almost as if she's pondering something.

"Hey," I say. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing."

I walk over to her and lean against the counter so our shoulders are touching. I cross my arms. "You're acting distant, Ten. You're either stressed or you have really bad period cramps like you did when we were teenagers. What's up? Do you need me to get you some of that peppermint essential oil?"

She gives me a rough shove. "I can't believe you have the audacity to actually talk about my period like that."

"Hey," I snort. "You used to complain about them all the time. You're lucky I'm not some asshole that views the natural cycles of a woman's body as something disgusting – how many times did I run down to the convenience store to grab tampons, chocolate, and ibuprofen for you and Liz?"

A small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Okay, point taken." She pauses and then sighs. "I don't have any period cramps. I'm worried about James and Eliza."

"Why?" I frown.

"Because of their argument at the cliffs today, Leon. They haven't spoken since. And James left the moment we got back – no one has seen him since."

"So?" I ask. "Couples fight all the time. It's only natural."

Tenille shakes her head. "It's not just the fight. It was her tone and the way she acted. And James? He's never been a controlling person and now he's trying to tell her what to do. Things have been off for a few days now. I don't know what's going on with them, but I'm beginning to worry. I...I don't think they're as happy as they seem."

I ponder her words for a moment. What she's saying is true – they haven't talked at all and it's almost been seven hours since we got home and James still isn't back. He tried to use work as an excuse, but we all knew that was bullshit. Especially Liz, who has been very dependent on alcohol; she's been switching back and forth between tequila and rosé. I know it's a little selfish of me but I feel a gleam of hope in my gut. Maybe, if I'm lucky, something will happen between Liz and James that will prevent them from going through with this wedding. That way, I won't feel so guilty about still loving her and wanting to tell her.

"Whatever, though," Tenille says. She shakes her head and lets her hand fall from the strand of hair she was playing with. "Maybe I'm just overthinking all of this. Couples do fight all the time, as you said, but, yeah..." She trails off and shakes her head again. "I'm going to take the chips out for everyone to pick at. Maybe Eliza can sop up the alcohol in her system with them. She's hammered."

Tenille picks up the bowl of potato chips and shoots me a sympathetic smile before she exits the kitchen. I wish I could stop her and tell her my deepest secret. I wish my dad were here to give me the extra shove I need.

* * *

By the time midnight rolls around, everyone has gone to bed except for Liz. James still hasn't returned and it's beginning to send her into a fit of anxiety – even with the alcohol coursing through her veins. For the past twenty minutes, I've been trying to calm her down. I've coaxed her with food, bribed her with kettle corn, and even said I'd tuck her into bed for old time's sake. So far, nothing's worked.

"You don't have to worry about him, Liz," I say as I sit down next to her on the couch. "I'm sure he'll be back in the morning."

Although, there is a part of me that's hoping he doesn't come back. 

Liz grabs a handful of chips and stuffs them in her mouth. "I don't care about him coming back." Some crumbs fall from her mouth and onto her lap. I brush them off of her jeans and let them fall to the ground, silently promising Tenille that I'll vacuum tomorrow. "I want to tell him I hate him for trying to own me. For trying to tell me what the hell I'm supposed to do. Seriously, Leon. Fuck him. Who the hell does he think he is?"

Her words catch me by surprise. I thought she was worried about him and that her reaction was based on anxiety. But it seems as though she's furious with James. Who would've thought?

Biting back a smile, I rest my hand on her lower back. "Liz," I say softly. "As much as I would love to see you lose your shit on him, I can't let that happen. People can say some pretty nasty things when they're drunk and be entirely unaware that they don't actually mean what's been said. So why don't we get you to bed? Things will be better in the morning when you've slept off the alcohol and had some time to measure your thoughts. It'd be best if you talked to James tomorrow."

For a moment, she contemplates my words. I'm positive she's going to deny my solution and wait until James returns instead of waiting and letting the alcohol run its course. I'm taken by surprise again, though.

"Fine," she sighs as she leans against me. "Take me to bed."

The way she's worded her comment brings back old memories from the night at Saint-Sangster Rock. I definitely did not want to hear those words under these circumstances, but it's hard to not react in such a way. For a split second, I relish in these memories and let old emotions drown me. I remember the way she moaned my name when she came undone. I remember the wicked things her mouth did to my body, and the way I trembled beneath her touch.

I don't let these memories continue on for too long, though – I do have to take care of Liz. She's drunk and she's going to need a glass of water, some Advil, as well as some sleep. 

Getting to my feet, I help Liz up and carefully guide her up the stairs. It's surprisingly easy to get her to her bedroom on the second floor. I try to not feel disgusted when I see the large canopy bed in the bedroom she's been sharing with James for a couple of months or so. I try to not imagine what exactly they've done in this bed. It's none of my business. But even with my best efforts, I can still feel the aggressive jealousy building in my gut.

Liz doesn't even bother to get changed or brush her teeth before she collapses on the bed. When she does so, her fingers are still intertwined with mine and she almost tugs me down to the bed, too. Glancing down at her, I can't help but dwell over her natural beauty. Her blonde hair is fanned out across the crisp sheets below her. Her body is curvaceous and a piece of art – from the curve of her hips to the elegance of her collarbone. And, despite the fact that she's drunk and reeks of alcohol, my heart stutters each time her lashes flutter against her delicate cheekbones.

"Lay with me," she murmurs.

I glance at the open door behind me, torn between comforting her and leaving. If James were to walk in on me comforting her...Well, I don't think things would go very well. As much as I want to spend time with Liz, I shake my head. "I should probably go downstairs. Get some sleep, Liz. We can talk in the morning."

Her eyes snap open and, just as quickly as she flopped down onto the bed, she sits up. "Why?" she pouts. "I want you to stay here."

"I don't think James would," I point out.

"Who cares?" she snorts. "He was an asshole today. Fuck him."

"True," I admit, my mouth curving upward. I love Liz's filthy mouth. "But he's your fiancé. Imagine how he would feel if he saw us sharing a bed."

Her frown deepens. "We wouldn't be doing anything – just cuddling."

I smile to myself, remembering all the people who used to tease us about having sleepovers together at such an old age. Back then, I didn't understand why they thought we were doing more than hanging out. But now I do. If anyone saw Liz and I in bed together at this age, their first thought would definitely be something more than cuddling.

"Come on, Leon," she whines. "For old time's sake."

Again, I shake my head. I don't trust myself to lay down beside her and still be able to control my emotions; I'm scared I might do something I'll end up regretting. Something that would make everyone under this roof hate me.

Stumbling to her feet, Liz throws her arms around me and pulls me flush to her body. "Then I'll cuddle you here," she murmurs into my chest.

I chuckle to myself. Drunk Liz is a fun version of Liz to hang around with, that's for sure.

"Liz," I murmur. "You need to sleep off the alcohol, okay?"

She nestles closer to me – if that's even possible. "I could sleep standing up."

Drunk Liz is highly amusing, but I can't handle having her this close for long periods of time. The urge to shove her down onto the bed and kiss her until she's gasping for breath is driving me insane. I want to feel her nails dig into my shoulders as my tongue memorizes the taste of her mouth, as my hands memorize the shape of her body. I want her more than I've ever wanted anything on the planet.

"I'm sure you could," I reply. I push her away and guide her back down to the bed. "But you should really go to bed. If you don't sleep this off, you're going to be in bad shape tomorrow." My words are a partial lie. Even twelve hours of sleep couldn't shake the killer hangover that will greet her in the morning.

Liz climbs back to her feet and stares up at me, her drunken eyes full of wonder. "Leon?"

"Yeah?"

"Lean down – I have a secret to tell you."

When I do, she mutters words about just how much she hates me being taller than her.

"Enough complaining," I joke. She's probably going to do something to get back at me for telling her what to do, perhaps something silly or prank-like. "Get on with your little secret."

Liz takes my face in her hands, a lopsided smile on her face. "I've missed you," she whispers.

And then, she tries to kiss me. 

I turn my head away just in time, her lips hitting my cheek. Resting my hands on her shoulders, I push her away. "Liz. You're drunk. Don't do something you'll regret."

She shoots me an exaggerated pout. "Leon."

Longing punches me in the gut. Of course I want to kiss her. I want her all to myself. 

But I can't.

Instead, I help Liz to bed, shutting the lights off and leaving her in the dark.