My brain shut down on everything she was saying, because hello, show time was thundering upon us and I needed to be okay. I forced a smile. “I’m good. This is normal pre-wedding jitters. I just need one more little bit of Jack and about five minutes.”

“Why I’m here,” she said, grabbing my empty glass, bolting off the ottoman, and gliding back to the mini bar. In seconds, she handed me the glass with another inch of smoky, smooth spirits.

I took it and downed it just as there was a noise on the other side of the door. I’m pretty sure the soothing burn making its way from my throat to my stomach was the only thing that kept me from looking for a hiding spot.

“I’ll see who it is. Probably housekeeping. I’ll get rid of them,” Drea said like the sparkling, awesome best friend she was. “Oh,” she said when she peeked out the peephole. “One of the good guys.”

She opened the door to her husband, Tim, holding up his key card and looking startled to have the door opened for him.

I let out my breath and tried to smile at him, the alcohol softening the edges of my anxiety. I loved everything about Tim Verne. He was, without a doubt, perfect for my dear friend—protective, unselfish, and indisputably in love with her. He made her laugh and would do anything for her.

When he saw me, he looked even more confused. “Hey?” he said, yes, as a question. “What are you doing here?”

I held up the empty glass. “Pre-wedding liquid fortification.” My smile was less assured now, on the wavering side.

Drea kindly didn’t mention that I’d been freaking the hell out, but the look she shot my way was filled with concern, letting me know I hadn’t managed to convince her I would be okay. That I was doing the right thing.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked her husband after planting a kiss on his jawline.

“Headache. I came up to get some ibuprofen.”

As Drea went to her bag on the desk and found what he needed, I slipped back into my thoughts, giving myself the final pep talk to stand up, walk out of the sanctuary of this room, head back down to the bridal prep room, summon up a confident smile, and marry Trey Gilbert.

Marry.

Trey Gilbert.

This is your life, Everly… Marriage is a long fucking time…

The warmth of the whiskey disappeared as cold fear froze the blood in my veins and flooded my chest with a heavy, paralyzing blackness that made it hard to breathe. I sucked in a breath, thankful Drea had gone into the bathroom for water and Tim was talking to her at the doorway, not facing me.

I had twenty seconds to get it together.