Of all the stupid, impulsive things I’ve ever done in my life, flying off to New York to chase after Celia has to rank number one on the list. Stupider, even, than lying about the fact that I had a fiancee in the first place. Stupider than convincing a woman I’d met at the bar to pretend to be my betrothed. Stupider than every other stupid decision.

Because this time, I’ve really blown it.

If there was any chance of Trent forgiving me, it’s gone now. If I don’t show up to the wedding today, if I don’t at least make an effort to apologize about Celia, he’ll probably just cut me out completely. Tell Mom that he tried but that I’m still the irresponsible liar I was ten years ago.

I press the phone against my ear. I can hear Celia crying softly on the other end of the phone but I have no idea what to do about that right now.

“Listen, I’m going to hang up now,” I tell her. “I’m going to call the airline, see if I can get another flight out this morning. If I can get something fast, I can still make it in time for the wedding.”

“Okay,” Celia whispers. “Jace, I’m really…”

“We’ll talk about it later.” I don’t mean to cut her off, but I’m already thinking about how I’m going to get back to Chicago in time. I’m already doing the math in my head — the wedding isn’t until three. Factor in the time difference, and I have plenty of time to get back there. Right?

“Okay,” Celia says again. “I’ll let you go then.”

“Hey,” I say, before she hangs up. I stare wildly around the hallway outside her apartment. I have no idea what to say to her right now. “I’ll keep you posted, okay?”

“Thanks.” Her voice is barely a whisper, and when she disconnects the call, it’s almost as if she just faded away.

I lean my head against the door of Celia’s apartment and then punch my fist against the wood.

“Fuck!”

The word echoes through the empty hallway. I hear a door open behind me and a little old lady with curlers in her hair pokes her head out. She glares at me.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “You ever just have one of those days?”

Her frown intensifies and I shrug in apology before stuffing my phone into my pocket and heading back towards the elevator.

As I ride back down to the lobby, I try to work out a plan. I’ll find a coffee shop or something, somewhere I can make a few calls. Hell, maybe I should just go to my apartment. At least I have beer there. And I could check on Steve, make sure my buddy from the bar has been feeding him okay.

I’m just stepping out of Celia’s building when my phone rings. I glance down at the display, thinking it’s going to be her again, but it’s a Chicago number.

Trent.

Shit. I have no choice but to answer it so I jam the button and press the phone to my ear, ducking into an alley so I’m away from the traffic and can hear better.

“Hey,” I say hesitantly. I have no idea what to expect.

“Where are you?”

“What do you mean?”

Trent huffs out a breath. “I mean, where are you? We were all going to get ready together. There’s a photographer coming at noon.”

Shit.

“Uh, I went out to get a haircut. I thought you were pissed at me?”

Trent sighs again. “I am pissed at you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you here. You’re my brother, after all.”

“Right.” I swallow.

“Look, just text me when you’re back from your haircut or whatever. I’ve got a shot of Jack Daniels with your name on it.”

I smile. “Sure. Yeah, sure, man, I will. Won’t be too long.” I hope.

“Good.”

I hang up the phone and shake my head. Now I’m really determined to get back there in time for the wedding.

I don’t want to bother going all the way back to my apartment, so I duck into a little cafe and call up the airline, the same one that had been able to get me out here so quickly last night.

Unfortunately the woman on the other end of the line tells me they don’t have any flights until the evening. I do the math and realize that even with the time difference, I’d get back to Chicago too late for the wedding.

“Are you sure there’s no way you can get me on an earlier flight?” I beg.

“I’m sorry, sir. You could come out to the airport and we can put you on standby, or you can try another airline. Otherwise the evening flight is the only option.”

I disconnect the call without saying anything and then slam my phone down on the table. Half the skinny assholes in this stupid hipster cafe glare at me. God, I hate this city sometimes.

I look up another airline, and try them, and then I try a third and a fourth. Everyone I talk to says the same thing: nobody has available flights until the evening.

I hang up after the sixth airline lets me down. It’s starting to look like going out to the airport and trying to get on standby is my only option, but given how airlines overbook these flights these days, I’m not very optimistic about that option.

Still, if it’s my only chance, I’ll take it.

I text Celia to tell her I’m going to head back out to the airport and try to get on standby. I don’t hear anything back right away, but maybe that’s for the best right now.

I step out of the cafe and am about to try to flag down a cab when a thought crosses my mind. A stupid, ridiculous, impulsive thought — but impulsive seems to be my middle name these days.

I stick my hand out and a cab pulls up almost immediately. I hop into the back seat.

“I’m going to need to make two stops,” I tell the driver. “First to 47^th Street. Then the airport.”

I have to get to this wedding — but there’s something else I need to do first.