Page 1 of Shades of Grey & Gold

Chapter One

Max

“Ididn’tknowPatrickwas getting married,” says Becca, my best friend, low and soft, from her place at my desk in front of the pile of unopened mail; each word feels delicate, like she knows they might fall and shatter across the floor, not unlike the wine glass that splinters under the pressure of my grip and fractures into the sink.

“Shit,” I mumble, staring down at the white farmhouse sink that I picked during the kitchen remodel. Drops of red blood mix with the leftover water in the sink and run across the shards of glass reflecting the light in the kitchen.

Becca is at my side and already has a bag in her hand, scooping glass into a paper towel and into the bag. “God, Max, don’t hurt yourself over it. Do you have a first aid kit down here?” She talks fast, like she knows I can’t really hear what she is saying. She’s still talking, as I turn, gripping the white towel in my hand, walking towards my desk.

My ears feel like I’m underwater.

Married? I mean, I know we haven’t been together for three years but… married? Why did he even send me an invitation?

“I don’t know, it seems cruel and unusual,” Becca’s voice comes back into focus along with her bouncing rainbow-dyed blonde hair as she appears in front of me. I realize I asked that question out loud, not in my head.

I sit in my fluffy white chair and she kneels in front of me. In the full-length mirror across the room, I catch a glimpse of us—my brown hair piled on top of my head, leggings too big, eyes red. And Becca, even shorter than my 5’3” frame, with her big brown eyes behind pink glasses, kneels on the floor of my office like she’s defusing a bomb. She kind of is.

My red golden retriever, Bart, looks up at me from his place on the couch, contemplating his involvement. He lays his head back down, apparently deciding Becca’s got it.

“It’s in that drawer,” I nod to the bottom drawer of the desk. “The first aid kit.”

She opens the drawer and takes out the little clear box, grabbing an alcohol wipe and some gauze.

“Let’s see it.”

I move the towel from my hand to reveal a small two-inch line that’s turning redder with blood.

“Doesn’t look too deep, should be okay.” Becca rips open the alcohol wipe, swipes across my hand, and presses the gauze down while she grabs a bandage from the box. “You didn’t… know?” I meet her eyes and realize she is blurry from the tears in my eyes. “I’ll take that as a no.” She sighs.

I blink a few times and wipe my eyes with my other hand.

“This is dumb. I shouldn’t be upset; it was over three years ago.” I shake my head and push the bandage down on my hand and wipe my eyes again with the towel in my hands. “I just don’t know why he would send that to me.”

Patrick Ellison.

My last serious relationship.

My first real mistake.

I was twenty when I met him.

Twenty-six when I finally crawled out of the wreckage.

Patrick was a twenty-three-year-old second-year law student, working at his father’s firm with a hand-me-down Rolex and glossy, expensive black shoes. We fell in love in that first year. Well, I did, anyway. We saw each other off and on until he graduated law school and accepted an associate position at his family’s firm. Then, he wanted a serious girlfriend to attend events with him, be around his family, and I was still hanging on every word. Six months into year three of the law degree I’ve wanted my whole life, he finally convinced me to drop out and work at his father’s firm. And while I worked in a job that I genuinely enjoyed, in a relationship with a man who said he loved me, Patrick screwed his secretary, two interns, and God knows who else…

So, I left.

And I took all those stupidly expensive shoes Patrick bought and made me wear while working outside his fancy office and sold them. Because that’s what scorned women do.

Now here I am. Twenty-nine and eyeing my thirties next year. With no law degree, a bandage on my hand, and a broken wine glass in the sink. I don’t want to revisit it all. Because why in the world would Patrick send me an invitation to his wedding?

“Want me to burn it?” Becca wags her eyebrows, a glimpse of excitement in her eyes because she would gladly set this city on fire to make things even slightly less shitty, and she knows I’d do the same for her. “I know this dusty, old house has a working fireplace.” She slaps her legs, stands up and scans the room for the fireplace.

She walks back into the kitchen and picks up the invitation and stares at me while she walks slowly back in my direction. “You tell me what you want to do. We could RSVP yes and screw up their guest count by not going, or RSVP no and send them a glitter bomb gift.” A giggle slips out of me with a smile as Becca’s fingers trace the white lace paper.

“Let’s read it, and then decide, I guess?” I sigh, knowing if I don’t know the details, I’ll just go looking for them tomorrow.

“‘We cordially invite you to celebrate the love and marriage of Brenda Stipes and Patrick Ellison, culminating their…'” Her words drift off to silence and my eyes dart quickly to her face.