And at the check-in table, I fall victim to something else. A name tag.

Parker Rhodes.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her married name in print. It shouldn’t be bittersweet, but it is, because if Parker has thoughts on the cardstock she fastens to her dress with a safety pin, she doesn’t share them. And even though it makes my insides twist and turn, what really guts me is that she’s got my jacket draped over her arm.

Parker reaches for my hand, and I hardly hold it back. Because what’s the point? My work is basically done. We’re married. We plastered our wedding all over the press. Soon she can file the paperwork.

But finally, I do shelter her hand in mine. Because I’m weak, not brave. I’m weak for her. Because I know she’s anxious.

Fitzy!

I don’t know where to look but I do know where to start. “Bar.” I lead Parker away from the direction she’s heading in. Apparently, a family alumni barbecue isn’t the place to go when you need a real drink. It’s wine and beer tonight.

I smile at the bartender even though inside, I’m grimacing. “A Sam Adams, please. And a chardonnay.”

Parker’s eyes bore into me, as if she expected me to have a glass of orange juice.

“What?” I ask. “It’s been a long two weeks, if you even care. And I’m sure it’s some sort of rite of passage to drink on your high school campus. Not all of us were able to sip vodka out of a Sprite bottle. Some of us had other things to worry about besides getting hammered.”

Parker winces and that should make me reel it in and apologize. But I push through, pretending to be brave, to show Parker I won’t fucking bow to her.

When the bartender places our drinks in front of us, Parker clears her throat. “Actually, could I please have a seltzer?” she asks him before addressing me. “What’s your problem? You’ve been nothing but cold the entire car ride.”

“I’ve been nothing but cold?” I ask. “Says the ice queen who wouldn’t even kiss her husband after not seeing him for two weeks.”

Parker pouts. “I told you⁠—”

“Right.” I wave my hand. “Your makeup.”

“Fitz, I’ve had a lot on my plate while you were away and⁠—”

“What? Taking care of a horse that’s already taken care of twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week? One you didn’t even have to work to pay for?” I sip my beer, hoping it will wash away the bad taste these words leave in my mouth.

“If you’re going to be an asshole, go right ahead.”

Parker takes the soda water, leaving the wine—and me—behind, and crosses the grass to hug Congressman Cam.

* * *