“Get the fuck out of my house,” Richard growls. “Take your shit and go to that asshole’s wedding. Do whatever the fuck you wanna do. Please. See if I give a fuck.”

“Oh, I will! And just so you know, I’m going because I want to go, not because you’re giving me permission. Trust me. There is nowhere else I would rather be this weekend.”

“Yeah? Well I feel the same fucking way!” he roars, turning on his heel and disappearing into the hallway.

“Great!” I yell back, spinning around and marching toward the bed. Face a mess. Eyes still watering. Sniffling like crazy.

God . . . what just happened?

I pull myself together and make to leave. I begin frantically packing the rest of my things for the trip—my overnight clothes, my pillow, a few outfits—and even though Richard isn’t standing in the doorway anymore, I still keep at him as if he hasn’t moved.

“You’re taking everything out on me, like I’m the one who fired you. All week you’ve been giving me shit about it. I don’t deserve that. I deserve better than that! And you know what? I bet Reed would understand if I didn’t show up this weekend, because he’s an understanding person, but you’re not! You’re expecting me to choose between you and my family. That isn’t fair. It’s not fair. But you know what? I’ll choose. You want me to choose? I’m choosing right now.”

I step into my beige platform wedges, grab my clutch and keys off the night table, sling my duffle over my shoulder and march out of the room, fury in each step.

I pass Richard standing in the kitchen.

“Tell that fucker I said I hope she stands him up,” he mumbles behind whichever number beer he’s nursing.

Asshole.

“Tell him yourself next time you see him at work,” I holler out. “Oh, that’s right. You won’t be seeing him, `cause you don’t have a job!”

I reach for the doorknob with my chin tipped up. I ignore the tremble in it.

“Fuck you!” Richard yells.

My back snaps straight. I swivel my head around. “Fuck you!” I yell back.

Then I slam the door shut behind me, getting myself into the driver’s seat of my car before I break down again. With tears flowing freely, I back out of the driveway and head for Sparrow’s Island.

Single.

IT’S STRANGE HOW quickly one emotion can morph into another. And how it can happen so seamlessly, you don’t feel the change before it’s too late.

One second you’re upset. Sobbing. Hand to your mouth and heartbroken. And in the very next second . . .

You’re angry.

I leave the house crying. I pull onto the freeway with tears streaming down my face and all of my pain, every shred of it directed at Richard, but as I drive farther and farther away from that house, something changes.

The blame shifts.

Reed.

My hands grow tighter around the wheel. I become furious and filled with aggravation.

And I have every right to feel this way.

Yes, Reed hates Richard, he has for a while, and yes, he had reason to fire him—you can only be late so many times before any employer grows tired of it—but did he really need to go as far as to forbid me to bring him as my date?

God, that hurt. That hurt a lot.

Maybe not Richard—he seemed more pissed about it than anything—but it hurt me. Reed hating the man I love hurt me. It always did. I didn’t understand it, considering Reed never gave me a real reason for his strong dislike toward my boyfriend, but I ignored it. I got really good at ignoring unwanted opinions. I didn’t let it affect my relationship. Not with Richard or my brother. But this? I can’t take this.

Reed couldn’t cut me a break this one time?

They could’ve stayed clear of each other. I’m sure the beach is big enough. And who’s to say Richard would’ve even come with me? I don’t know if I’d want to attend my ex-boss’s wedding, but at least the invite would’ve been there. This wouldn’t seem like a deliberately hurtful move on my brother’s part. And Richard wouldn’t feel as if I was choosing sides. The invitation should’ve been left open. I mean, come on, I think it’s just common courtesy to invite your sister’s long-term boyfriend to a family event, no matter if you like him or not.

But Reed couldn’t be courteous. He couldn’t be understanding of my feelings for one second. He couldn’t stop and think about how banning Richard would affect me, and because of that, I’m angry.

But this is different than any other time I’ve been mad at Reed for something. Because right now, I’m angry on top of being hurt with him, a hurt I’ve been feeling for a while. This is a deep wound.

Probably the deepest I’ve ever had.

I arrive two hours late to the ocean front venue, and because I’m so wound up with frustration, I don’t feel any guilt for missing the rehearsal dinner and not giving anyone a heads-up about it. I don’t even feel the pain in my heart one would typically feel after a break-up.

It’s as if I’m on auto pilot. I’m programmed to only feel that anger now.

After getting my room key from the nice woman at the front desk and tossing my things onto my bed, I take off in search of my brother.

I need to yell at him a little. Express my opinion. Then I’ll feel better.

And shortly after that, I need to find some alcohol.

Then I’ll really feel better.

I walk around the resort in search of the Tiki Bar.