Tough Luck Hero

She might not be able to remember last night, but her memories of him shirtless in the hotel room were still way too vivid for comfort.

He was...he was everything a man should be. Broad-shouldered and lean. A chest and stomach so defined he looked like he belonged on the cover of a men’s magazine, making other men feel insecure about their lack of abs.

Except, in order to be on a men’s magazine he would have to be waxed bare. And Colton was not.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. She did not need to be pondering his chest hair. Or his muscles. Or anything at all except the predicament they were in.

The drive to the airport seemed interminable. She could only hope they would be able to get seats far, far away from each other on the plane.

Of course, that turned out not to be the case. When they arrived at the airport check-in the very helpful, very friendly man at the counter offered them a free ticket exchange, and a bump up to first class. For the newlyweds, he’d said, overly cheerful.

Why was it that today of all days they were experiencing the height of customer service everywhere they went?

She was so accustomed to people not giving a damn, and in this situation she would have preferred it.

But no. Everyone was doing their best to make sure that Colton and Lydia got to spend as much time together as possible.

Still, she thought ruefully, as they sat on the small plane waiting to take off and the stewardess poured champagne into a real glass, it could be worse. She lifted the bubbly to her lips, needing a little bit of a crutch to boost her for the journey.

“Your attempt at a hangover cure?” Colton asked, nodding toward her glass.

“At this point there’s no making it worse, really.” Her head still hurt, in spite of the coffee.

“Don’t drink too much,” he said.

“You’re not the boss of me,” she muttered.

“No, but when you start drinking you find it difficult to keep your hands off me.”

She scrunched her face. “Colton, me being a little bit buzzed is the only way we’re going to make it through this flight without me doing you serious bodily harm.”

“So you’re saying there’s a happy alcohol medium you’re reaching for?”

“Yes. Totally sober I would like to strangle you. Completely trashed I apparently...” She let that sentence die as her face heated. “But a glass of champagne or two might just take the edge off.”

“The edge? Because I’m so horrible.”

“You aren’t horrible.” She looked down at her glass. “You’re...you know...well, you’re you.”

“That’s very informative, Lydia.”

She gritted her teeth. “You’re high-handed. A bit bossy.”

He laughed. “That’s funny coming from you.”

“I already know I don’t want to know why you think that’s funny,” she bit out, determined to ignore him now.

Thankfully, the flight from Las Vegas back up to Portland wasn’t terribly long, and she busied herself answering texts thanks to the onboard Wi-Fi. Though she wasn’t entirely certain answering those texts was any less uncomfortable than making conversation with her groom.

Because people wanted explanations. And in all honesty, she couldn’t give them one. She didn’t have an explanation.

She breathed a sigh of relief when the plane touched down, but that was short-lived when she fully realized that they now had to make their way back to Copper Ridge.

Their town was too small to have its own airport. Which meant they had to make an hour and a half drive over to Portland’s whenever they wanted to go anywhere.

“We have to rent a car,” she said, feeling extremely persecuted.

“I’ll handle it,” he said.

“I know you’re a West, Colton,” she said, following after him. “Success leaks from your pores, lightning from your fingertips and all that hyperbole. But I do have my own money.”

“Yes. I know you do. Don’t worry about it. Why don’t you hang out? Spend some time admiring the carpet, I hear it’s famous.”

“No, the carpet they ripped out was famous. This carpet isn’t famous.”

He lifted a shoulder, his expression one of supreme disinterest. “I only caught part of the news story.”

“The carpet was the Grand Marshal in a parade,” she continued, because she knew about it and he didn’t. And it felt important to exert superior knowledge, even if it was about an old airport carpet and the general strangeness of the Portland area.

His eyebrows shot upward. “We really need to get the hell out of Portland.”

They were sorted into their rental car quickly and on the road only a half hour later. They headed out of the city, taking a winding two-lane road that led to the coast.

“I haven’t been on a road trip in a while,” she said. “Well, not since we went to the airport yesterday.”

“But we had a driver,” he pointed out. “That isn’t the same.”

“True. So,” she said, taking a deep breath, “what...are we going to do?”

It occurred to her then, now that the earlier fog was wearing off, that she and Colton had never actually had a conversation when they were alone. They were usually in groups, or standing somewhere where they had friends nearby. Because they never willingly interacted. It was always circumstantial. Always something they had to partake in to be polite. Definitely not something either of them would ever do on purpose. And now they were trapped in a car together.

Now they were trapped in a marriage together.

Lydia’s heart started beating faster. Her palms were sweating. She was officially starting to panic.

Then suddenly, a hysterical bubble of laughter exploded from her lips.

“Something funny?” he asked.

“All of this,” she said, the words coming out as half a screech. “We hate each other. And yet...we’re married.”

“I still don’t think it’s very funny.”

“It’s hilarious,” she said. “Made even more hilarious by the fact that we made it impossible to fix this. Because we texted the whole world. And even then...if we were anyone else...it wouldn’t matter, would it?”

“Maybe not.”

The hysteria subsided, and suddenly she felt just...much less. Much less everything. Small and weak sitting next to Colton. Unsure of what to do with what had happened. Unsure of how to cope with the reality of the situation they were in.