Endure (Evolve #4)

by S. E. Hall

  “Way to be on top of that, Whit.” Laney actually winces from the effort it takes to hide her condescension and I myself strain to keep in my laughter. “The size thing I get, but I didn’t realize there was a difference between coral and orange.”

  “Retweet Gidget!” Sawyer booms, flagging over a waiter.

  “Honey, not sure you can retweet something spoken, or texted, or basically… anything not tweeted,” Emmett explains sweetly, everyone at the table laughing at her umpteenth attempt to explain this theory to him.

  “Sure you can, I just did.” He shrugs. “Oh, hey.” His attention is now on the waiter at his side. “We’re gonna need a couple shots of Patron Silver for everyone, mucho pronto por favor. Two right there too.” He points to Bennett’s empty chair.

  “Certainly, sir,” the waiter responds in English, the language even I, lost in my own thoughts, know he’s been speaking all evening.

  “Why are we doing shots?” Evan asks, a leery side glance slung at his wife… who we all know talks more and even faster (I know, seems impossible) when inebriated.

  “Not because your woman is making our brains bleed with her fascinating lecture on the differences in the color wheel, if that’s what you’re thinkin’.” Sawyer laughs, blowing a playful kiss at Whitley. “We’re on vacation, why not?”

  “I’m down.” Zach high-fives Sawyer. “Bennett!” He turns in his chair and yells at her, cutting into her dance from across the room. “Say goodnight and get over here woman! Shots with your family!”

  No way she’d ignore that loaded directive. She’s quick to whisper a goodbye to her dance partner, accept his parting kiss to her cheek and rush back to her family.

  “Consider them as good as shot!” She giggles, doing some mini-shimmy thing with her upper body then dropping down into her seat.

  Apparently, I fail to hide my shift in posture, because Laney’s hand tightens on my thigh and she bends her head to place a soft kiss right below my ear. “I have no idea what’s going on with you, but please knock it off. We’re in paradise, with our best friends, for the wedding of the century if Whitley has anything to say about it. Whatever’s bugging you, it can’t possibly be bad enough to ruin all that, can it?”

  That’s the thing, I’m not exactly sure what’s troubling me, or why. And as luck would have it, Laney’s not the only one keen to my mood. Bennett, perceptive as ever, leans up to ask, “Everything okay, Dane?”

  “Of course.” I force a thin smile. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I don’t know.” The beautiful redhead, green eyes searching mine for the truth I’ve yet to decipher myself and she knows I’m not giving, purses her lips. “I can’t think of any reason. Not one that’d be logical, or fair, anyway.”

  There you have it; she’s Laney’s best friend for a reason. No dodging either of them when they smell trouble, hypocrisy, or just plain bullshit. Although, Bennett used to say things a little softer, the cynical edge to her new since… well, let’s just say she changed with the changes.

  Bennett senses my discontent, and she won’t be letting me out of an explanation for long. She may let it go right now in the interest of our audience, but it’ll resurface for discussion—when she deems fit. Not a second before, or after.

  “Shots are here!” Sawyer whoops, shattering the tension at the table. As the waiter places two shots in front of each of us, Sawyer lifts one of his in the air. “Get ’em up kids, Big Daddy bout’ to make a toast!”

  Big Daddy?

  Praise God that most of the other patrons have cleared out of the restaurant. Much like his filter, Sawyer’s volume knob is also non-existent.

  Laney elbows me, shooting me her unmistakable I’m in charge on this one death glare, and I begrudgingly raise up my shot.

  “A toast,” Sawyer begins, using his free hand to dig a piece of paper out of his pocket as he stands.

  “Oh, Sawyer,” Whitley interrupts with one finger held up daintily. “The written toasts are saved for—“

  “Whit, you’re as pretty as they come, woman, but there’s only one beauty that gets to boss me. Right, Emmy?”

  He’s lying; Presley turns the man to putty too.

  “It’s not very long, just let him.” Emmett uses a helpless smile to plead with Whitley.

  I’d never admit it out loud, but I’m kinda curious as to what he’s come up with myself.

  “Fine,” Whit huffs, lifting her glass with dramatic flair.

  “Now then, as I was saying.” Sawyer bugs his eyes out at Whitley, then turns to make direct eye contact with everyone else, one at a time. “To our Crew, the best fucking group of people a person could ever want to know, let alone have in their corner. No one or nothing breaks us. No one trespasses, especially lil’ punks named Ride Her, who I’m happy as hell to see wasn’t invited to dinner with us tonight. Anyway,” he clears his throat, “as another pair of our own come together in marriage, our circle, bond, only gets stronger. And I vow,” he waggles his eyebrows with a wolfish smile, “vow, see what I did there? To protect that circle and everyone in it with all I am. Cheers!”

  As each of us finish laughing and shaking our heads, we join him in tossing back our shots.

  “That was very nice, honey.” Emmett rubs his arm as he sits back down. “I don’t remember it going exactly like that when you practiced earlier, but you kept the ad-libs to a minimum, so all in all, it was lovely.”

  “Yeah, I changed unite to ‘come together.’ No need to get all fancy. And the vow thing, just hit me out of nowhere, while I was talking. BAM! Good, right?” He asks her.

  “Yes,” she bites back her snicker, unlike the rest of us.

  “What’s his deal with Ryder?” Laney asks me under her breath.

  “No idea, but I’m sure we’ll find out, way too soon enough.”

  I stopped “shooting” after the first two.

  Then again, I’ve always harbored some loner tendencies when it comes to a Crew bender.

  Which is why I’m the only sober one in our party, and by party, I don’t mean ‘how many in your party this evening, sir?’ as asked politely by a hostess. No, I mean, any crazier and it’d make a good pitch for “The Hangover 4.”

  Thankfully, a quick chat and “generous” handshake with the manager later, we have commandeered the service of two employees and private use of the patio, the moon and strung twinkle lights setting an ambience that has me wishing it was Laney and I alone here.

  I’m slowly nursing my Scotch, a bit more relaxed now, as I watch the show. The Crew women, especially when drinking and given free rein to the outdoor sound system, are some type of tropical storm all their own.

  And just like every storm is different, so are these drunk females. Kind of like… I chuckle to myself at the thought… those seven dwarfs my Disney girl adores. First, there’s Whitley— Dopey Drunk. She tried to do a sexy dance, on the table; Evan caught her mid-air when she cha-cha slid right off the side. Now she’s trying desperately to make Limbo happen, except no one will lay across two chairs for her… and she can’t figure out how to levitate them in the air, then lower them little by little, if and when they do agree. So basically, she’s just walking around in a half-backbend for no reason.

  Next, we have Sleepy Drunk, a.k.a. Emmett. I’ve watched her eyes close at least twice, but she springs back to life when anyone calls her on it, smiling warmly as she watches Sawyer enjoy himself. He’s offered to call it a night several times, but Em keeps insisting to stay. She really is amazing; for him, and in general.

  Laney is Happy Drunk, which makes me happy. She’s having a ball, dancing, laughing, meeting Sawyer jibe for jibe and dropping by my lap every few minutes to remind me how Horny Drunk is Happy’s close relative. She starts squealing in a pitch I seldom, if ever, hear from her when the next song starts playing. “Oh, my God, Whitley, it’s y’all’s song!” She springs from my lap and runs to Whitley, wrapping an arm around her waist, and motioning Emmett and Bennett over to join them with
the other hand. The four of them conjoin and start swaying together in a wobbly, uncoordinated line, belting out the words to what I recognize as Evan and Whitley’s wedding song; “Cowboy Take Me Away.”

  They all collapse in a snickering heap when the song, and caterwauling, are over, cheeks flush and each a bit out of breath.

  “You couldn’t have picked a better song,” Laney says in a breathless, dreamy voice. “Evan, your cowboy, taking you away to that gorgeous house in the country.”

  “Right? I love that house almost as much as him.” Whitley blows Evan a kiss.

  “I seem to remember days when you hated that house.” Evan laughs.

  “Never!” She jumps up and cocks a hip, hand propped there in indignation. “I just got a little, tiny bit flustered with all the work, and the heat. My God could it have been any hotter?”

  “No!” We all bark at once. The whole crew had left blood, sweat and a few tears on the threshold of the Allen home, everyone chipping in to build their two-story house on the land given to Evan by his lifelong friend Parker Jones. I swear it was at least 100 degrees every single day until the house was done. No sporadic thunderstorms, or God forbid, days of overcast. Had to be some sort of record.

  “It was well worth it. The perfect place for Evan, and you, Whit.” Laney gives her a one-arm hug and rests their heads together. “Evan always loved that piece of land, and Dale would be thrilled that he ended up there. The slice of country heaven was made for you two, to start a family, and be happy forever.”

  “Enough! No sappy shit,” Bennett snips, breaking up the moment and standing.

  “Here, here.” Zach lifts his beer in agreement.

  And that brings us to the last one: Grumpy Drunk. Bennett’s never been the grumpy one, but again, Bennett’s changed. More so than all the rest of us combined. Bennett used to be the one who looked at what others thought ugly and pointed out all the beauty we were missing. The whimsical girl who made optimism a habit. Not anymore.

  “DJ Laney, put on something fun to dance to or I’m out!” Bennett directs and Laney quickly complies. Drunk or not, Laney never passes up an opportunity to run the music. “Zach,” Bennett holds out her hand. “Come dance with me.”

  Once Laney finds a song she likes, she’s out there too, dancing right beside Zach and Bennett. And of course, Sawyer joins her just as Emmett drops in the chair beside me.

  “What are we gonna do with them?” She asks through a tired laugh.

  I turn my head and give her the same smile of understanding I’ve shared with her many times before, the two of us sitting back and watching the shenanigans of our counter-parts a familiar spot.

  “Same as always, Em. We’re gonna try to be the voices of reason first, and when that doesn’t work, have bail money ready. But above all, we’re just gonna love ’em.”

  “Sounds good. Sounds real good.”

  Trouble Always Finds Me

  She texted me three times; one hour, thirty, and finally fifteen, minutes ago. Then she had them ring our room, twice.

  Now, I’m gonna take a wild guess, and say it’s her pounding on the door. Yup, definitely her—the screeching, quickly nearing dog whistle decibel, which would be great if it did make it there… cause then I wouldn’t hear it—the defining clue.

  “Baby.” Dane laughs. “I think Whitley might need you for something.”

  “Hmmph.” I pout from under the pillow I’m smashing over my head. Obviously, I’m aware he’s not in the bed, and I don’t even have to look to know he’s also already freshly showered, shaved, dressed in some sort of sex personified outfit and he’s read the whole paper while he ate breakfast.

  Why are we not sleeping in on mornings we actually can?

  “Can you just answer the door and tell her I’m sick?” Not a total lie, my head and stomach currently fighting over who hates me more for quenching my thirst last night. “She drank a lot more than I did, how is she even up right now?” I groan.

  “Laney, it’s noon. And her alcohol intake wasn’t coupled with an already dire aversion to mornings. I’m letting her in, brace yourself, Sunshine.”

  “Laney!” My head literally. Splits. Wide. Open with her greeting. I highly suspect she may actually have a bullhorn in her hand. And is standing over me, rather than in the living room. “We’re gonna be late, get up! I should not be the only one worried about this wedding!”

  “Orange is orange, Whit! And from what I hear, it’s the new black too! The world’s gone mad I tell ya!” I wince; quickly realizing that yelling back may not have been the best idea. “You go pick whatever color you want, I don’t care, promise. Besides, I gotta check in with my parents before I do anything anyway. I’d only be holding you up with my challenged sense of style.” I start to rouse, tossing aside the pillow and cracking my eyes open inch by excruciating inch.

  “Your parents and I had breakfast together this morning and now they’re off doing a boat excursion tour,” Dane helpfully chimes in with that pompous ass undertone he thinks doesn’t make me want to strangle him as he heads for the door.

  “Where are you going?” I sit up and flinch, a stabbing jolt of pain searing through my temples.

  “Anywhere but here.” He pivots, coming back to lean over me, hands braced on the bed on either side of me, and gives me a chaste goodbye kiss. “I love you, and I can’t wait for the wedding, but I don’t need to be involved in every last detail. You know how much I enjoy a big, juicy steak?” I nod dumbly, still half asleep, my head feeling even fuzzier with this odd line of questioning. “Well, I don’t need to watch them go to the auction, buy, load, then butcher the cow in order to do that.”

  “Neither do I,” I hiss at him in gravely low irritation, hoping Whitley doesn’t overhear, and that he takes pity and doesn’t leave me stranded with Suzy WedsAlot.

  This only manages to earn his hearty laugh and another condescending forehead kiss. “Play nice, she’s worked hard on this wedding. Saved you a lot more pain than she’s inflicted.”

  “Didn’t we order the wedding package?”

  “We did. I’ll let you ask her about that. I don’t know how it all works.”

  “Apparently, neither do I.”

  “So grumpy when you wake up.” He laughs at me again and kisses my forehead. “I’ll see ya later, baby.”

  “Good luck,” I hear him mumble to Whit on his way out.

  “Do I have time—”

  “No,” she cuts me off, marching into my room and over to the dresser, flinging open drawers and hurling clothes across the room at me.

  “Well can I at least—”

  “No, hurry up, we’re already late. One of the first things Pablo told me was that he appreciates punctuality. You’ve ruined that!” A red flush blooms over her face as she stands with her arms crossed, foot tapping out the beat of a diva in distress. “It’s fine, I’ll come up with a believable explanation, and just pray he forgives us.”

  Oh, you have got to be kidding me! Are those tears welling up in her eyes? I roll mine clear to the back of my head as I hurry to change my clothes; as fast as my hung-over state will allow.

  I mean, God forbid we keep precious Pablo waiting.

  Not that we’re the ones paying him or anything.

  About two, if I had to guess, hours later, and I’m finally able to take a full, deep breath.

  I don’t know where anyone else is or what they may or may not have planned. No idea as to the whereabouts of my phone. Complete lack of concern what time it is or if a search party has or has not been launched in my behalf.

  Heaven. Just me, my poolside lounge chair, book I’ve yet to open, and a fresh drink on the table beside me.

  I’d managed to give Whitley “the slip” somewhere between ivory versus eggshell table linens and scurried like a wanted fugitive into hiding.

  Changed into a bikini, big, floppy hat and sunglasses in record time, I grabbed my romance novel and discretely made my way to the pool.

  And I’ve be
en right here ever since.

  The fact no one’s found me yet has to be some type of divine intervention; payback for the God only knows how many torturous questions I endured, with feigned interest and smile, from Whitley and Pablo. A dangerous duo.

  My theory is, Whitley’s using this wedding to unleash all the repressed energy she didn’t use on her own. She and Evan were married in Parker’s barn. Seriously, I have to contemplate between floating candles or gel votives longer than one debates whether or not to be an organ donor, but people sat on hay and strained to hear the Preacher over the horses whinnying at her wedding! It was beautiful though, and I thought it was perfect. But I now suspect it was more a sacrifice on Whitley’s part because it’s what she knew Evan wanted.

  And now I feel guilty for not indulging her enthusiasm with a little more of my own.

  And completely disappearing…that too. Very sorry.

  But not enough to get my ass up outta this chair. Let’s not get crazy or anything.

  Just when I flip over to my back, Karma rolls over me in the form of a shadow.

  Maybe if I lie very still, they won’t see me and go away.

  “You can save the sleeping act, it’s just me.” I let out a huge sigh of relief at the sound of Bennett’s voice and lift my shades. She’s standing over me, snickering to herself. “Are you hiding in general, or just from Whitley specifically?”

  “Sshh.” I frown, my expression as close to authentic chastisement as I can muster… since I’m a phony. “If you say it out loud, it actually makes me an ungrateful, shitty friend. So I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t hear you ask.” I close and re-open my eyes, shaking my head and squaring my shoulders, the official sign of a do-over. “Hey Bennett, how’s your day? Wanna catch some rays with me?”

  “Well,” she drawls, taking the lounger next to mine, as far from lounging as one can get without having an actual metal rod up their ass. “I have a better idea.” Ankles crossed, one foot flicking non-stop, she chews on the corner of her lip.