Best Man

by Katy Evans

  I stare at him. “Well, I…yes?”

  My voice is weak with indecision.

  He’s right. I’m so far into this, I hardly even feel there’s a choice anymore, even if…

  Oh, god.

  “Here’s the deal. Aaron texted me and told me to go with you and get the rings. That’s all. I have no idea why he wanted me to go in and get them. Maybe because he wanted me to protect you, or maybe because he knew you’d go all psycho if you saw the lube. I don’t know. I just did as he said. All right?”

  I hang my head, speechless.

  “And I also think the two of you have made your bed and are already drifting off to sleep in it. You made your choice. The invitations are out. The guests have arrived. Get it?” He shrugs. “So, that’s why, even if I did know something about Aaron’s extracurricular activities not involving you—which I’m not saying I do—I wouldn’t be telling you. It. Doesn’t. Matter.”

  The radio cuts to a mattress commercial with an annoying jingle. Outside, the snow pelting the car sounds more like hail. The car rocks back and forth on another gust of wind.

  Of course, once again, Dumbledore has a point. God, I hate him.

  “So get your ass up and let’s switch already,” he mutters.

  Right. I open the door a crack, but then the wind takes it and makes it fly wide open. Before I step out, I realize how serious things are getting.

  There are already a couple inches on the ground. The biting wind goes right through my leggings. Hugging my hoodie closed, I slip in my less-than-adequate flip-flops and nearly end up sliding onto my butt twice by the time I’m in the passenger’s seat.

  By then, I’m an icicle. I turn up the heat and direct the vents toward my face.

  God of Snow that Miles is, he takes his time, sauntering through the weather, and opens the door and slides inside in a leisurely way.

  “Close the door, for god’s sake!” I shriek at him.

  He does, pulling off his skullcap and shaking it. Now his hair is all staticky and his cheeks are red. It’s a good look on him. Me? I probably look as miserable as I feel.

  He gives me a once-over and smirks. “Flip-flops. You’re a piece of work, Bridezilla.”

  I press my lips together, willing myself to build that little wall between us and find a happy place.

  “And guess what?” He grabs the handle under him and shoves the driver’s seat all the way back. “I think you’re going to have the S-word for your wedding.”

  I don’t say anything, because I think Dumbledore may be right.

  Again.

  3:35 PM, December 6

  My phone has never been the greatest at holding a charge. I should probably be conserving its life, considering I left my charging cable at the resort and I’m only at fifty percent.

  But I can’t help it. The snow keeps falling, and I’m freaking out.

  I punch in a call to the man who’s always had my back. My big brother, West.

  West is a bit of an oddball himself, though no one can be as odd as Miles. West, like Miles, likes to do his own thing and never lets anyone tell him anything. But West works in L.A. for one of the movie studios. He’s one of the youngest and most successful producers in the city. He’s surrounded by phonies all the time, which he hates. But my brother is seriously the realest and most honest person I’ve ever known.

  I adore him beyond all comprehension. He always talks me down from the ledge.

  “Why the hell didn’t you send me, Dahl?” he asks before I can even say hello. “I would’ve gone for you.”

  I know he would’ve. He’s so gold-hearted. “I didn’t want to bother you. And I didn’t know where you were.”

  “Ah, shit, Dahl. You know you’ve got Mom climbing the walls. Dad’s about to have a heart attack.”

  I cringe. That’s the last thing I want to hear. “Well. We’re making pretty good time. I’m still shooting to be there for the rehearsal.”

  “All right. But don’t take any chances. I want you back here in one piece.”

  I look over at Miles, who is starting to drum his hands on the steering wheel. And no wonder. There’s a car in front of us going no more than twenty miles per hour, and we’re in a no-passing zone.

  I cover the mouthpiece and whisper, “Blow the horn!”

  Miles gives me a disgusted look. “No.”

  “This is just a freaking dusting!” I shout, as if the person driving the old boat of a Volvo ahead of us can hear.

  Miles puts his elbow against the door and leans on it, frustrated. Partly at the car in front of us, but probably mostly at me.

  I go back to my phone conversation. “So have you seen Aaron?” I ask hopefully, reaching over and trying to press on the horn.

  Miles swats me away before I can get there. “Don’t touch my wheel.”

  “Yeah. He’s worried about you, obviously. We all are. We want you back,” West says, and I smile. “But I’m sorry, Dahl. That was a prick move. Forgetting the rings and then making you go back for them? I almost kicked his ass.”

  I frown. My brother and Aaron are definitely on some shaky ground. They’re pretty different. “Don’t blame him. I was the one who wanted to go back for the rings. He told me not to.”

  “He was the bonehead who left them behind to begin with. After all your planning. Shit, Dahl.” He sounds frustrated, like he wants to say more but he bites it back with a hard clench of his jaw.

  God, but even when he says little, he knows just what to say. He’s one of the few people who gets how insane this wedding planning has made me, and how much work has gone into it. Aaron doesn’t. But to spend nearly two years of my life making every detail perfect, and not to be recognized for it…it stings. “Thanks, West. But it’ll still be fine. I know it. It’ll all work out.”

  “Yeah. I mean, Aaron and I might not see eye to eye, but I know how you feel about him. And I want you to be happy. I want you to have the day of your dreams, Peanut.”

  I laugh. He hasn’t called me that in years. “It will be. You’ll see.”

  I tell him goodbye and hang up, feeling so much more relaxed.

  But the second I do, Miles pulls his foot off the gas so we’re going less than twenty miles per hour.

  What. The. Fuck? We’re never going to get there if we go fifteen miles per hour the whole way.

  Before I can reach for the horn again, I see the red tail lights of a line of traffic, stopped up ahead.

  Exasperated, I reach over and manage to get closer to the horn this time, but he drapes his broad chest over the wheel. “I don’t care if you’re getting married tomorrow,” he warns. “I will break your fingers if you touch this steering wheel while I’m driving again.”

  Shooting him my fiercest scowl but properly scolded, I slump back in the chair like a sullen child.

  I guess he’s right. The traffic is nearly stopped, cars as far as the eye can see. Blowing the horn won’t do any good.

  4:30 PM, December 6

  This is a big problem.

  We’ve been in a non-moving line of cars for about forty minutes.

  Darkness is falling fast. Everything is a dismal gray. I can barely see up ahead, with all the snow blowing around. Red taillights, stretching out into oblivion, are occasionally visible in the whiteout.

  Miles drops his hand onto the brake, wrapping his big fingers around the knob. He rolled up the sleeves of his flannel as he drove, probably because I’m blasting the heat, since my toes are ice cubes. His forearm is veined and masculine and threatens to flash me back to the rest of his perfect body parts. They might be covered, but I have intimate knowledge of them, and having them this close is seriously a recipe for disaster.

  Why did I ever think this was a good idea?

  Oh, right. I never did.

  I should’ve done this alone.

  Or maybe I shouldn’t have done it at all. Why was I so insistent that everything be absolutely perfect?

  Cars have been steadily coming down the hill
. But going up isn’t happening. Next to me, Miles cranes his neck again to try to see what’s going on. “Why didn’t we stop to get something to eat, again? I’m starving.”

  “Because we hate each other and don’t want to spend any more time together than absolutely necessary,” I mutter, my foot up on the dash as I try to lacquer my little toenail. “Quit moving.”

  “It’s the wind, dumbass.”

  I know that. It still feels better to yell at him. Even though we haven’t moved in the better part of an hour, I can’t keep my hand straight because of the way the wind’s bouncing the car around.

  This is what I’ve been reduced to. Where today I could’ve gotten the whole-body treatment, now, I’m forced to take desperate measures. Which means, giving myself a shabby little pedicure in the passenger seat of my Mini. I had a dull file and some lavender nail polish, which is better than nothing. Tomorrow, I can wake extra early and get everything taken care of so I’m perfect for go-time.

  I’m trying to ignore the fact that even if we did the speed limit the whole way to the Midnight Lodge, we’d still end up there a half-hour late for the rehearsal dinner.

  As I finish with my pinky toe, my phone lights up with another text from Eva: Oh god. This is awful!

  I text back: It’s okay. It’s just a squall. It should end soon.

  Then I get a text from Aaron: Hurry back soon, babe. I’ll be ready. Can’t wait for tomorrow.

  I smile as I blow on my toenails. What was I so worried about, again?

  Then I look at the next text that came in from Eva: Sorry to break it to you, but your mom was just watching The Weather Channel in her room and says that the snow isn’t supposed to stop until tomorrow morning.

  What? I almost spill the little vial of nail polish I have on the center console, rushing to flip the radio station. I whirl the dial, not coming up with anything. “Can you find that station you listen to? Boredom 105? I need to hear the weather.”

  He snorts. “Forget it. We’re out of range for all the Denver stations.”

  I grab my phone and check the weather. Sure enough, for the town we’re in—someplace called, aptly, Desperation—it shows snow until seven in the morning. There’s also a blizzard warning in effect until six AM.

  Oh, fuck.

  Making plans to write a strongly worded letter to every weatherman in the metropolitan area, I throw my head back and groan. As I do, a sharp gust of wind rocks the car, sending a jolt of fear down my spine. Have cars ever been picked up on this mountain and sent airborne into the ravine? Specifically, little cars?

  I hope not.

  When the wind calms, I bang my fist on the armrest. “What the fuck! Move already!! Did you hear me?!”

  Miles just looks at me. “Hey. Headcase.”

  I pout. “It appears that it’s a little more than a squall.”

  “You don’t say.”

  Yes. Actually, I didn’t say. He was the one who’d been saying that. Memo to me: When the guy you’re traveling with is a genius and a wizard and has a history of never being wrong, listen to him.

  Chicken wire sure is looking good, right now.

  Hope dares to bloom inside me when the cars in front of us start to move.

  Yes. Yes. Yes. Keep it going.

  I wince when they suddenly stop. I should’ve known it was too good to be true. So we’ve gone about twenty feet in sixty minutes. At this rate, we’ll get to the Midnight Lodge when I’m in dentures.

  My toenails are now dry. They look awful, but they’re better than before. I start to file my fingernails. I keep them short because of my biting habit. At least they’re not bitten down to the quick and bloody, per usual. I’ve actually resorted to sleeping with bags on my hands lately because I sometimes bite them when I’m sleeping, and I wanted them to look good for the wedding.

  But like Miles says, they’re still awful.

  As I’m filing away, red and blue lights appear in the rearview mirror. A police car’s driving up the shoulder, followed by an ambulance.

  “Accident,” I sigh, saying a quick prayer for whoever might’ve been hurt.

  Miles drags a hand down his face and yawns. “Well, if they get it cleared out, we should be able to keep going.”

  “You think?” I check my phone. If we could perhaps go over the speed limit, maybe we won’t be all that late.

  “I don’t know.”

  “If we can get clear, and you gun it all the way there, we might not be that late for the rehearsal.”

  He gives me a skeptical look. “Seriously?”

  I nod.

  “So let me ask you a question. Do you know how weddings work?”

  I nod.

  “Have you imagined your wedding since you were a little girl?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Do you know how to walk straight and say the words I do?”

  Now, I know where he’s headed with this. “Yes, but—”

  “Then why the fuck do you need to rehearse any of that?”

  I grip the nail file like a weapon, aimed at him. “Well, obviously, because I need to know where to stand and how to proceed in and all that.”

  “So, you’d rather us die on this mountain trying to get to your rehearsal than accidentally stand in the wrong place at the altar tomorrow?” He scratches his temple. “Makes perfect sense to me.”

  I hate him. I really do. But I laugh for some reason—maybe to hide the fact that he pushes my buttons far more than I’m comfortable with. “You’re stupid. Besides, there’s not going to be an altar tomorrow, dummy. It’s a secular ceremony. And it’s my once-in-a-lifetime, so it has to be perfect.”

  He laughs as the fleet of emergency vehicles passes us and disappears up ahead, beyond the curve in the road.

  “Right. Too bad. Because if I were you, right now, I’d be praying that we get over this hill tonight.”

  My heart does a nervous little flip, though obviously, I am praying. “What do you mean? You just said it should be okay once we get past the accident.”

  “I was trying to keep you from stabbing me with that weapon of yours,” he growls, staring straight ahead.

  The cars ahead of us begin to move. We climb a little way up the mountain. In the lane with the opposing traffic, many cars start to pass by us. I hope that means that they’ve cleared whatever accident is up ahead. I start to applaud when we actually get over ten miles per hour.

  But when we get around the mountain, my stomach drops.

  All of those cars that are reaching the flashing lights? A police officer is directing them to turn around and head back down the mountain.

  I’d started to paint my fingernails, but now I’m curling my hands into fists, smudging the polish something awful. “No,” I whine. “No, no, no!”

  “Relax,” Miles mutters. “And put the fucking file down before you hurt someone.”

  I’m gripping it so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t become a permanent part of my body. I loosen my grip. “Do you think I’m ridiculous? Because I didn’t want chicken wire?”

  “Chicken wire?”

  “Yes. Aaron said I shouldn’t go back for the rings because it was only a symbol. He said we could use chicken wire. But I wanted things to be perfect, and…” I cover my face with my hands. “I’m an idiot.”

  “You can’t use chicken wire,” he mumbles.

  I twist my head to look at him, stunned. Is he actually, for once in his life…agreeing with me?

  “But I never would’ve been so fucking stupid as hell to leave my wedding rings at home. Not if it meant that much to me.”

  I stiffen my shoulders, because his words are like an ice pick to the heart. “What are you insinuating? That Aaron’s marrying me doesn’t mean anything to him?”

  He shrugs. “No. Just that he and I are different.”

  Right. I know that. Those differences are why I love Aaron, and I hate the man next to me.

  But I hate admitting that Miles is right. He never would’ve forgot
ten the rings in the first place.

  An officer is standing in the middle of the road, directing traffic. Miles pulls the car up to the officer and powers down the window. His tone of voice changes; he speaks to the officer like he’s an actual human. “Hi, any chance we can get through?”

  The officer shakes his head. “We’re not recommending it. Cars are sliding all over the road out there.”

  I clench my teeth. “Miles. If we have to turn around and go to Boulder, we won’t make it back for the wedding.”

  As the words are out of my mouth, I realize what I’m saying.

  I’m going to miss my own wedding.

  I start to shake.

  Miles looks over at me, drumming his hands on the steering wheel again. He’s probably nervous because he’s trying to be nice to the police officer, and it’s so unlike him to be nice to anyone.

  I’m so wired I can’t even blink. Behind us, cars are turning around and heading back towards Boulder, their headlights making arcs on my windshield.

  He points at me. “Listen. Her wedding’s tomorrow morning. At the Midnight Lodge? If she doesn’t get there, it’s going to be a pretty big deal. She has five hundred guests waiting.”

  The officer comes closer and shines a flashlight into the car, at me. I give him my most pitiful look.

  “No kidding. You two kids are getting married? Mazel tov.”

  Miles doesn’t bother to correct him. “You think it’s passable?”

  “You’ll probably be fine, if you go slow. There’s a bunch of yahoos on the mountain going too fast, a lot of stopped cars. Just take your time. I’ll let you through.”

  I clasp my hands together. “Oh, thank you!” I gush. “Thank you so much!”

  Miles rolls up his window and waves at him as he motions to another officer, and they guide us through the emergency vehicles, past an SUV that’s slid into a mangled guardrail.

  And just like that, we’re off again.

  After a few minutes, I have to say it. Begrudgingly, I mumble, “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “For telling the officer we needed to get through and not just giving up.”