No, I wasn't fooling myself. I liked him a lot, and the way he made me feel just by being in the same room as me, the way he made me feel when he touched me or kissed me, there was nothing wrong about that.

"Hey, what are you doin' sittin' all by yourself? Come dance with me! Where did John run off to?" Maisy grinned when she came to meet me half an hour later, pulling me onto the dance floor.

"He went home, didn't feel too great," I shrugged, trying to plaster on a smile as I fell into the fast rhythm. She was my best friend; normally I'd tell her everything, especially when I was upset, but this was her big day and I didn't want to start any problems for her.

So I danced with my friends for the rest of the night, John never straying too far from the front of my mind. I laughed and cheered as Maisy tossed the bouquet and smiled at all of the jokes that were made when I caught it.

I was getting good at feigning happy. I'd done it all year.

It was a little after midnight when I pulled Maisy aside and asked her if it'd be okay if I took off a few hours early to check on John. She seemed to realize then that something wasn't quite right but still I didn't elaborate.

"Is he okay?" she asked me in all seriousness.

"Yeah," I reassured her.

I called a cab before making my way over to the parking lot, where I sent John a text. I needed to check on him, to talk to him. What those women said wasn't true, I realized that now. It didn't matter what the hell they thought of me or what they thought of John. They weren't the ones dating him and they weren't the ones that were going to dictate how I was going to feel.

During the cab ride home I sent him another text, and when he didn't answer that one either I tried calling him.

It went to voicemail.

"Damn it, John," I whispered.

"Is everythin' alright, Miss?" the cab driver asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm just tryin' to reach my uh-somebody," I answered with a small smile, deciding to send him another text, despite the fact that it was making me feel like a clingy girlfriend. When we reached the ranch a few minutes later I handed him the fare and a small tip.

I stood in the driveway for the longest moment with my phone in my hand, staring down at all of my unanswered texts. His truck was parked where it usually was, but that didn't mean anything. He didn't drive to the reception, knowing he'd be drinking.

I really hoped he was in his loft and after a bit of convincing I decided to go see for myself, just to be sure.

Right now I was drunk. It was late and I was really drunk, and I was all alone. It was a terrible combination.

There was a reason I didn't like my birthday. Shit always happened on my birthday - actually, by now it was probably the early hours of the morning... so technically it wasn't my birthday anymore. I was another year older and come morning I planned on not having any recollection of what I'd done as a thirty-one year-old man.

On the nightstand my phone started to vibrate again. How many times now? I lost track after the fifth text and the third call.

Silently I picked up my phone, staring at the picture of her and me on my screen. I was an idiot for thinking that I could be somebody to her. I was oblivious and ignorant. I was so sure that somehow it could all work out, that we could be something great.

I poured myself another shot of whiskey and washed it down with another swig of beer.

There was a reason I was always alone.

I wasn't good enough. I wasn't great.

There was a knock on the hatch and I glared at the can in my hand, taking another swig of the bitter amber liquid. I didn't answer. I wanted her, there was nothing more in this world that I wanted more than Carly Atwood... but I knew if I let myself have her, the story wouldn't be a happy one in the end.

My story was never happy, it'd never been happy. It would all blow up in my face... and hers too. I couldn't do that to her. I couldn't hurt her.

I wasn't good enough for her. I'd never be good enough for her. She had her whole life ahead of her and I was just a poor, broken, drunk fool.

The hatch door opened and I silently swore at myself for not locking it.

"You don't wanna be around me right now," I told her dryly, glaring at a spot in front of me, not quite seeing what was there.

She didn't say a word. Instead, still in her dress and her high heels in her hands, she crossed the room and sat down next to me on the bed, looking at the beer in my hand with distaste. "How much have you had to drink?" she asked me, keeping her voice steady and calm.

"I don't know," I shrugged, a choked laugh escaping my lips. "Quite a bit."

"John," she whispered, reaching for my hand. I yanked it away.

"Don't," I told her, standing up and walking across the room, surprisingly steady on my feet. "They were right; I'm not good for you," I huffed.

"And you've decided that all by yourself, just like that?" she laughed, although there was nothing humorous about it. "What about me? Don't I get a say?" she asked, her voice breaking halfway through her sentence. A tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it away furiously, glaring right back at me.

"This is it!" I said loudly, gesturing frantically to my surroundings. "This is who I am! I'll only end up hurtin' you in the end. I won't do it."

"You already have!" she cried, tears streaming down her face now. She didn't make a move to wipe them away.

I slumped down on my shabby blue couch.

She stood up from the bed and took a step closer. For a moment we just looked at each other. She was still crying silently and it killed me to watch. I was the first one to break eye contact, looking down at the beer in my hands.

I heard her sigh as she closed the distance between us, sitting down next to me on the sagging couch.

"You're hurtin' me right now by pushin' me away... So don't, don't push me away... They're just words... People that don't know what the fuck they're talkin' about... I know who you are... and it's not this... So you can have your pity party if you want, I don't care, but I'm gonna be right here waitin' for you when you're done."

I stared at her. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back defiantly. "So have at it," she shrugged, brushing a few stray tears away and sniffing.

I glared down at my drink. I wasn't in the mood anymore.

"Carly..." I began, the anger I was feeling replaced by shame and defeat. She took the beer can away, setting it down on top of my mini fridge. "I'm not okay," I told her.

"I know," she whispered.

"I'm sorry," I murmured and, unable to stop myself, I touched her cheek, wiping away the tears I'd caused.

"They're just words, John. It's gossip. People will judge, it's what they do," she told me, taking my hand. "But I suppose maybe they've got a point though, if you think about it... When you're eighty, I'll only be sixty-nine... how scandalous!" she giggled through fresh tears.

I laughed, squeezing her hand.

I leaned in to kiss her but she pushed me back, an easy feat given my current state.

"Um, yeah, sorry babe, I'm not kissin' you when you're this wasted," she smiled, patting my cheek. "Come on..." she added, helping me to my feet and leading me back to my bed. She helped me out of my shoes and loosened the knot in my tie, slipping it over my neck. "Lie down... I'll get you some water and a couple aspirins... God, you're gonna feel so shitty in the mornin'..."

I've been trying to limited the author's notes, since I feel they sometimes break the feel of a story... but I just wanted to say I'm REALLY baffled by the amount of traffic I've been having on this story lately... I swear... 100 views in ONE DAY! That doesn't happen to me! Ever! I'm usually lucky if I get those in a month!

You guys are AMAZING and all of the votes and comments are the reason why I've been writing these chapters non-stop. Keep 'em coming if you like frequent updates! Remember too, votes are awesome but comments are better! :P