For the first time in my adult life, I had allowed myself to be involved in a situation that I couldn’t control or handle, and my stomach felt sick.

I glanced over at Thomas, and once again, I caught him looking at me. I finally walked over to him, and his shoulders relaxed.

I slipped my hands under his arms and curved them behind his back, pressing my cheek against his lower chest. “Thomas…”

He touched his lips to my hair. “Yes?”

Someone turned down the music, and Trenton walked over to Camille. He took both of her hands, pulling her to the center of the room. He knelt onto one knee and held up a small box.

Thomas pulled away from me and shoved his hands into his pockets, fidgeting for a second or two. Then, he leaned down to whisper in my ear, “I’m sorry.” He took a few steps backward and then quietly walked along the back wall, creeping behind the crowd, until he reached the exit.

After one last glance at Camille as she covered her mouth and nodded her head, Thomas pushed open the glass door just enough to slip outside.

Jim looked down and then over at me. “That would be tough for any man.”

Everyone cheered, and Trenton stood up to hug his new fiancée. The crowd closed in around them.

“Tough for you, too, I’d imagine,” Jim said again, gently patting me on the shoulder.

I swallowed hard and looked to the glass door. “We’ll see you at the house, Jim. It was so nice to meet you.” I hugged Thomas’s father and then hurried out to the parking lot.

My sweater did little to stave off the Midwest’s early spring temperatures. I wrapped the knitted fabric tighter around me and crossed my arms, walking along the sidewalk to the back of the hotel.

“Thomas?” I called.

A drunk man appeared from behind a beater Chevrolet that was older than I was. He wiped the vomit from his mouth and stumbled toward me.

“Whoeryou?” he asked, his words melded together.

I stopped and held out my hand. “I’m trying to get to my car. Please step aside.”

“Are you stayin’ ’ere, sweet thing?”

I raised an eyebrow. His beer gut and stained shirt didn’t scream catch, but he clearly didn’t see it that way.

“I’m Joe,” he said before burping. He smiled, his eyes half-closed.

“It’s nice to meet you, Joe. I can see you’ve had a lot to drink, so please don’t touch me. I just want to get to my vehicle.”

“Wishesyers?” he asked, turning toward the lot.

“That one.” I pointed in a vague direction, knowing it wouldn’t matter anyway.

“Wanna dance?” he asked, stumbling to whatever music was in his head.

“No, thank you.”

I sidestepped, but he caught my sweater in his fingers.

“Whereyuhgoin’ suhfast?”