Chapter 2
Band stopped mid-phrase. Violin screeched then died. String lights buzzed loud in silence. Ethan held whiskey glass in left hand, never set down, ice melting slow. My ears rang.
Lauren's hands still pressed over mouth. Silver bracelet caught light. Guests stared. White pillars glowed. American flag hung flat behind Ethan's shoulder. Floral centerpieces sat untouched. Wine glasses sweated.
Staff moved first. Young server in black vest pushed side service door open. Hinge creaked. Guests parted. Created narrow lane from dance floor to hallway. Band leader lowered mic. No one spoke.
Lauren grabbed my wrist. Fingers cold, tight. Nails dug in.
"Daniel, come on," she whispered. Voice broken. "Please. Not here."
Ethan did not follow. He stayed planted center right, navy blazer open, white shirt damp at collar. He lifted glass slightly, as if toasting us. Smirk gone. Expression flat, watchful. He wanted me to swing. Wanted scene.
My fist clenched. Knuckles white. I stared at Ethan's face, curly brown hair falling over forehead, light stubble shadowed under string lights. Whole room waited for punch.
I chose pull over punch. Chose Lauren's wrist in my hand over Ethan's jaw. Turned away from Ethan. That choice mattered more than speech.
Lauren pulled. I followed.
We moved through lane guests made. Shoes scuffed polished floor. I felt eyes on back, heard murmurs start low behind doors before we even cleared them. Someone coughed. Someone whispered, "is that true?" I kept looking forward.
Server held door wider for us. Warm ballroom air gave way to cooler hallway air. Smell changed from flowers and whiskey to mop cleaner and old plaster.
Hallway ran narrow, service hallway outside ballroom. Bare bulbs overhead, not string lights. Stacked chairs lined wall. Exit sign glowed green at far end. Door clicked shut behind us. Cut murmurs to muffle.
Lauren let go of my wrist. Pressed back against cinderblock wall. Light blue satin dress wrinkled where she clutched it. Thigh slit had shifted. She fixed it with shaking hands. Breath came fast, shallow.
Ethan remained inside with glass. Door stayed shut. He did not push through immediately. Gave us seconds alone, which felt worse.
I stood opposite her, light blue button-down shirt sticking to back with sweat. Hands empty, hanging at sides. Wanted to touch her, wanted to shake her.
"Did you hear him?" I asked. Voice low, scraped.
She nodded, eyes wide, tears spilling. "I heard."
"You lie to me every night?" I said. Used his words verbatim. Needed her to hear them outside ballroom echo.
She flinched. "No. Not every night. That isn't—"
"Is claim true?" I asked.
She pressed bracelet against mouth. Silver cold against lips. Shook head then stopped. Could not commit either way.
May you like
Hallway door stayed closed. Inside, guests murmuring grew louder, chairs scraping. Ethan's laugh did not come through. Only muffled voices. We were alone in service hallway, coats not yet retrieved, night air beyond exit waiting. Pregnancy claim hung unconfirmed between us. Public fallout waited behind doors. Ethan's presence stayed nearby, glass still in hand, not disappeared.
I looked at exit sign, then back at Lauren. Understood next words would decide if we walked out together or walked apart.
