“Shotgun!” Seth yells running down the steps toward Kevin’s truck.

And all I can do is sigh at the thought of being stuck between the two of them the whole drive back home, while my mind is consumed by a million and one regrets.

Chapter 28

“Wow, that looks so good, Murph!” Sarah gushes from where she’s sitting on the countertop, licking what’s left of the frosting from a big metal bowl.

“Thanks,” I say through a stifled yawn. My eyelids droop, my eyes burn, and my back is killing me, and it feels as if I haven’t slept in five excruciatingly long years as I stare at the finished product that is Nash and Anna’s wedding cake.

After enduring three hours of torture, wedged between Seth and Kevin while listening to Eminem’s entire discography on the drive home from Myrtle Beach, I knew I wouldn’t be able to wind down when they dropped me off at home. My mind was completely shot with emotion, and rampant thoughts raced through it, taunting me. All I could think about was how Harley just left me in South Carolina without so much as a second thought. But, at the same time, I racked my brain over why Nash was angry with me, as if I was the bad guy. The whole thing was doing my head in. When I got dropped off at home, the house just seemed even more empty than usual because at a time like this, all I want is my momma.

So, I left my bag by the front door, turned around, and came straight to the store, which is where I’ve been for hours working on the cake, which isn’t what I’d originally planned.

Black buttercream with a light smattering of gold leaf haphazardly sponged into the sides. I decided to leave it simple without any unnecessary accents, just some simple white orchids strategically placed throughout, with a few sparkly gems hidden within the petals.

“Do you think it needs more rhinestones?” I ask Sarah while slowly assessing and silently critiquing every part of the cake.

“Nope.” Sarah jumps down from the countertop, placing the dirty bowl into the sink before coming to stand beside me. “I think it looks perfect. You don’t want to go over the top. This ain’t no New York City.” She laughs to herself.

She’s right. I don’t want it to look gaudy. It’s perfect as it is. The longer I stare at it, the more I truly believe it may be my greatest work of art. I take my cell phone from my purse, and begin to snap some photos for my cake-dedicated social media account, but I stop when I can feel a heavy gaze set upon me, and I glance over my shoulder to see Sarah watching me.

“What?”

“Are you sure you’re okay with all this?” she asks, waving a hand in the direction of the three-tier masterpiece in the center of the room.

“What?” My brows knit together in confusion. “The cake?”