Arla blinks at me. She doesn’t even notice the coffee chaos currently seeping into just about every inch of the small kitchen. I stare back, a mess just like the mug I dropped. I feel like that. Splattered. Broken. Shattered.
“You didn’t know?” she breathes.
“No, I didn’t know. We were just friends. I-I think you’re wrong. He didn’t love me. Not like that.”
“I’m not wrong,” Arla insists. “Jake knows Karsyn. He was the one who told me. I don’t think he’s wrong. I could see it too. He wasn’t totally transparent, but there were moments. I don’t think he betrayed you the way you think.”
“And you’ve waited ten years to tell me this?” I force myself to get moving. There’s a small sink and a dishcloth which is about to get wrecked. I grab it, wet it, and grab a roll of paper towels on my way back to the lake of java that needs to be cleaned up.
Arla sighs. She shuffles back and forth, her fuzzy purple bathrobe shifting like a big mop as she does. I consider tearing it off her and using it to clean up the spill, but decide against it. It’s probably her favorite and she’d probably kill me.
“I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t think you’d listen.”
“And so you’re telling me now because it’s going to make any difference?” I use half the roll of paper towels to clean up the coffee, which is still warm and fragrant.
“No. No, I know it’s not going to make a difference. I know you’ll still go home after this. I just thought that if you wanted to tell him that…that…”
“What?” I don’t glance up but my hand stills.
“That you’re sorry. That you wish it could have been different. That you don’t blame him or think he’s a thief, a cheat, and a liar—”
“Me? Tell him I’m sorry?” I scoff. “That’s never going to happen. I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry at all. Even if he didn’t steal my essay, he still took that scholarship when he didn’t actually need it.”
When I glance back up, Arla’s gnawing at her lip. I realize it’s time to drop it, because this isn’t what she needs to be talking about the morning of her wedding. I’m a shitty maid of honor, that’s for sure.
“Want to pour me another mug? I’ll try not to be a massive klutz this time.” I finish cleaning up the mess and deposit the shards of the dearly departed mug and all the sopping paper towels in the trash.
“Right. Sure.” Arla fixes me another mug of coffee and leaves it sitting on the lip of the counter, a safe distance from my hands after I go back to leaning against it, facing her. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just…I just want everyone to get along today.”
“We called a truce. Everything will be fine. I promise we won’t get in a wrestling match or a screaming argument walking up the aisle or at any time during your wedding.”
“He hasn’t moved on.” She throws that out there, and it’s like a second mug of coffee exploding all over my world.
I feel like my legs are going to give out and I reach and grip the edge of the counter. I’m about to ask her what the heck she means by that when the door rattles behind us and Cozzie, who has impeccable timing, rushes into the room like a ray of damn sunshine.
She’s dressed in yellow again, a golden hued tank and a pair of skinny jeans and black pumps. There’s something off about her face though. Something almost sad, but then she pastes on a glossy smile.
“Hey! Sorry I’m late!” Her eyes stray to the kitchen, where we already are. “Doughnuts! Damn, girl, you really know how to treat us right. I’m here now, so let’s turn on some music and get your ass ready to walk up that aisle.”
Arla melts at the words. She rushes out from behind the counter, cup of coffee in hand, her half-eaten doughnut in the other, and just like that, Karsyn is totally forgotten.
I paste on a smile too. This is Arla’s day and I’m not going to let anything wreck it for her. I’ll put on a happy face and get through it. It’s only one more day. Twenty-four hours and I’ll be gone. Home to visit my parents for Christmas and then back in North Carolina. Back to my normal.
It doesn’t matter that my life, my head, and, even though I hate to admit it, my heart feel like that coffee mug that’s currently laying in the trash can under the sink. Broken. Shattered. So far from being able to be reassembled into something whole.
What if she’s right? What if he didn’t mean to hurt me? What if he hasn’t moved on?
So what? So what if she’s right. It’s not like it changes anything.
“You coming?” Cozzie cuts into my thoughts. “Come check out this playlist I made last night. And bring me a doughnut.”
I slip away from the counter, my smile extra large, extra wide, and probably totally not believable, but neither Cozzie nor Arla notice.
One more day. One. More. Day. It’s not that hard. I can do it. I will do it. And I will go back home after because that bit of information Arla so casually dropped on me doesn’t make a difference. It’s too late. It doesn’t change anything.
God, this is going to be a long twenty-four hours.
Chapter 6
Karsyn
By the time three thirty rolls around and the limo gets to the hotel to take us to the beach for pictures, Jake is a sweaty, wrecked mess and the rest of us aren’t faring much better. Bryn and Trell are half drunk.
Bryn a little more than half. He literally swerves all over the place before he ducks into the limo. As it is, he smacks his head on the way down, grunts, and tumbles into the limo. Trell climbs in after him. The guy’s been shooting Bryn loaded looks all morning that I can’t decipher.
Whatever is going on with Bryn isn’t my business. I heard him talking to Trell this morning in the hall outside of Jake’s room. I was just stepping off the elevator and they didn’t see me coming. I heard Bryn saying something about how he and Cozzie had been fighting a lot. Not a surprise, considering they live together and they’re engaged. Trell was trying to talk him down.
Maybe that’s why he keeps stealing pulls off the flask he has in his tux. Jake is the usual nervous groom, but that probably has more to do with his parents than anything. He’s not nervous about marrying Arla. That’s all he’s ever wanted.
I make sure everyone gets their asses into the limo in one piece. We’ll be joined in an hour by Arla’s family and Jake’s family, which means a one-hour reprieve, thank fucking Christ. Not that I’m crazy about photos, but I’m even less crazy about Jake’s parents.
“I can’t wait to see her,” Jake says as he accepts the flask that Bryn so generously passes over. I watch him, but he only takes a short sip and passes it back.
Bryn tips the thing back and just about drains it, his throat working. Trell eyes him like I’ve been eying Jake. I hope to fuck whatever is going on with Bryn doesn’t manifest itself at the wedding. That’s the last thing Jake and Arla need. This day is going to be nothing short of fucking perfect for them. As the best man, that’s my duty.
Trell nudges Bryn in the side and Bryn nearly falls off the seat. The thing is shaped like the inside of a party bus, with all sorts of tacky lights and whatnot. The girls are getting their own limo to the beach and then I guess we’ll go in one after, though I’m not entirely sure.
I don’t actually care. What I care about is that Bryn looks pale as fuck, drunk as shit, and currently is leaning forward like he’s going to hurl up the copious amount of whisky he sucked back in Jake’s hotel room.
“Cozzie will be looking good.” Trell nudges Bryn again, like he can fix whatever is going on by being the world’s biggest dick. He’s trying to help. I can see that. Bryn grimaces. Obviously, it doesn’t matter what Cozzie looks like at the moment. That much is pretty apparent and I have to wonder what the hell is going on.
Like Jake and Arla, they’ve been together just about forever. They’re engaged. Whatever fight they were having must have been bad, because I’ve never seen Bryn look like he does at the moment. Lost. Morose. Out of place. On his way to getting completely obli
terated. I just hope he saves that shit for the reception and still manages to keep it together.
I flash Trell a loaded look. I’ve got Jake. He’s got Bryn. That’s the deal. He nods at me subtly, but of course I catch it.
“They’re all going to be beautiful,” Trell amends. “Arla will look like a queen, Jake. Damn, you’re a lucky man. She’s with you even though your mother is literally the worst. Not many women would put up with that. She’s a keeper.”
“She’s been a keeper since the minute we met,” Jake sighs, totally love struck. It’s actually sickening. He reaches up and tugs at his tie. He goes to run a hand through his slicked back hair, but I smack it away and shake my head.
“Pictures first. Don’t you fucking mess with that hair or that tux. You have a ceremony and half a reception to go to before you start looking like shit.”
“What about Breona?” Bryn slurs. “She going to look good too?”
“Of course. They spent all morning getting dolled up.” Trell laughs. “All three of them are going to look like queens. Too good for your sorry asses.”
“Whoa.” I thrust out a hand as the limo turns a corner and just about end up in Jake’s lap. He shoves me back against the window with a restraining arm. “Don’t include me in this.”
“Why not?” Trell’s dark brow arches.
The guy is too pretty for his own good. It’s beyond any of us why he’s still single. He’s dated on and off over the years. He’s tall, athletic, has a baby face, and the usual classic good looks. Women flock to him, and it only takes a single blink of his dark lashes over dark eyes to make them melt into puddles of goo, but he’s never shown any interest in dating anyone seriously.
“Why not?” I bark out a laugh. “We all know why not. Because unlike Cozzie and Arla, Breona hates me. We all stuck together after high school. Went to college together or at least stayed friends. Stayed in the area. Kept up with each other’s families like before. We were this close group in high school and we haven’t changed that much. She’s the exception. She left. She went off on her own to pursue her own stuff. She never came back.”
“She came back,” Jake corrects in a soft, no nonsense tone. “We just didn’t tell you.”
I sit back in the plush seat, completely stunned. “What the fuck?” I don’t even realize that I said it out loud until Jake blinks at me. Bryn and Trell exchange glances.
“She came back for Christmas here and there. Or to visit Arla and Cozzie. She’s been back every single year on and off since she left.”
Of course they didn’t tell me. Not one of them. They all kept it a damn secret and now I look like the brunt of a bad joke.
“What are you going to do about it?” Bryn smirks at me.
I’d like nothing more than to wipe that smug, drunk look right off his face, but I doubt that busted knuckles and bloody noses would look very good in wedding photos.
“Nothing,” I lie, because I’m not going to go into my desperate, rather pathetic plans of seduction. Not with these assholes anyway. They’ve kept this from me all this time. I know they were just trying to help, to spare me and all that nonsense, but it still stings.
“That’s bullshit,” Bryn snorts. “We all saw how you looked at her yesterday. And at dinner. She got up and left. You were gone for a long ass time too. We all noticed. What were you doing? Is there something going on that we should know about?”
“Is there something going on with you?” I shoot back. It’s a low blow and I know it, but my hands curl at my sides anyway. I might not have played football in high school or college, but I could hold my own when it came to scrapping with my friends.
“Stop,” Jake warns. “This is for Arla. This day. Don’t wreck it for her by acting like a bunch of asshole kids.”
“You ever going to pull your head out of your ass and get around to telling her how you actually feel, or are you just going to keep being pathetic? How does that feel, man, to pine away for someone for four years of high school and then ten years after?” Bryn goads me.
I have zero fucking idea why he’s being the dick of the century at the moment, but I’m done taking his shit.
“I didn’t pine away for her. Just because we didn’t date doesn’t mean that our friendship was any less important than what anyone else had. She left. I couldn’t stop her. I couldn’t make her see reason. I couldn’t change her mind.”
“So why don’t you try now? Or are you still too scared? If you want, I could have Cozzie relay the message. That you’re pathetically in love with her. That you’re all broken hearted and messed up and that even after a decade, you still haven’t been able to make it work with anyone else.” Bryn takes his flask out again, but Trell snatches it away.
“You’ve had enough,” he warns.
“You too,” Bryn slurs. “You’re just as pathetic as he is. Just doing casual shit here and there.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re busy with other things. Just because we don’t have a fiancé or a wife doesn’t mean a fucking thing,” Trell snaps. “You’re drunk. I’d advise you to shut your mouth before one of us shuts it for you. Our patience only extends so far.”
“You guys…” Jake warns again.
“At least Jake had the courage to go for it. He saw Arla and he took what he wanted. Tapped that when he was fourteen. The rest of you are just a bunch of pathetic, sorry excuses for—”
That’s about as far as Bryn gets before I lunge at him. I don’t bother to loosen my suit or anything. Trell gets in the mix right around the time my hands close around Bryn’s throat. Jake’s done playing mediator. The whole tapping it comment obviously was more than he could handle, and when a fist flies through the air, I realize it doesn’t belong to Trell and it sure as hell isn’t mine.
As the limo erupts in yells and grunts of pain, sweat and blood and curses, it occurs to me that each and every single one of us is fighting about a woman. There are four of us. And three of them. I don’t have long to process that before someone’s fist connects with my jaw, sending me sprawling backwards. I see stars, but I also see red and I push off the seat I just got flung against and spring back into the fray.
If I had a minute to consider the irony of the situation, I might actually sit back and laugh instead of joining in a brawny, testosterone fuelled brawl that from the outside looking in probably looks like a bunch of penguins going at it.
Breona Smyth has once again been my downfall.
Chapter 7
Breona
“What the actual fuck?” Arla just about never swears. She might not be a goody two shoes, but she doesn’t like foul language. To hear the f-bomb come out of her mouth shocks Cozzie and me into attentiveness.
Our gazes both snap to the limo that just pulled up beside ours. Arla was first in line, ready to greet her groom on what should be a happy, amazing, wondrous day. Instead, Jake tumbles out, followed by three more sorry assholes.
Their tuxes are a mess. They’re dishevelled. Worse, they’re actually bloody. It looks like they just crawled into a limo with a bunch of angry cats or a herd of ornery monkeys or something.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Cozzie says beside me.
Yeah. That pretty much sums it all up.
The photographers, a husband and wife team who were waiting by the beach with us and who snapped a couple shots of a nervous bride and her two glowing bridesmaids while they were waiting, let out shocked gasps like exclamation points to that summation.
Arla slaps a hand over her mouth. She doesn’t run to Jake to ask what happened. She stares down the four bastards with a murderous, horrified, haunted look. She’s about two seconds away from bursting into tears. She’s literally vibrating with anger.
I don’t know what I can do, but I have to try something. I’m the freaking maid of honor. I’m supposed to be the one who swoops down and saves the day. What I really want to do is take each and every single one of those idiots by their ears, granny style, drag them down the
beach, thrust them into the ocean, and tell them to clean the hell up.
I’m about to step forward and reassure Arla that this can still be fixed. That we’ll clean them up and comb out their hair, straighten their clothes and make the best of whatever the fuck went on in that limo on the very short ride from the hotel to the beach, when Bryn breaks away, bends at the waist, and vomits noisily. Not only do they need to clean the hell up, they need to sober the hell up. Or at least Bryn does.
Arla covers her face in her hands and bursts into loud, horrified, heart-wrenching sobs. Cozzie lets out a string of curses directed at Bryn, but she wraps her arms around Arla, and two seconds later starts pawing at her face and passing tissues from her purse in an effort to keep a two-hundred-dollar makeup session from going to waste.
The Mistletoe Wedding Page 4
