Best Man

by Katy Evans

“Well. It’s against my better judgement.” His jaw is tight. “And I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it because I think I’d rather slide off a cliff than have to spend the night with you in Boulder.”

  I scowl at him. “Same.”

  He grunts like he’s happy with the agreement.

  The car feels like it doesn’t have any traction. It’s slipping over the snow-covered roads, and there are no tire marks here to follow.

  “I guess we should go slow,” I tell him, rubbing my hands together as he revs the engine to get us up the mountain.

  “I get it. I’ll go the fastest slow that I can.”

  I smile. Maybe I don’t hate him all that much.

  5:46 PM, December 6

  Well, things were good for a while.

  But not long enough.

  When Miles said he was going to go fast, I should’ve realized that term was relative. Miles is careful and calculating. He’s slow and decisive. He’ll never be a race car driver.

  For the hundredth time, I imagine reaching over and stomping my foot on the gas pedal. But he’s just as possessive of the pedal as he was of the horn.

  I never should’ve let him have the wheel.

  The good? We haven’t slid once. And it must be slippery out there, because there are cars all over the shoulders, pressed against the guardrails at unnatural angles.

  The bad? We are still at least four hours away from the lodge.

  The radio is all static, so we don’t have that. Without my car charger, my phone only has about thirty percent charge. Not that it matters, because I can’t get a signal up here, anyway.

  So the really bad? I’m stuck up on this mountain with nothing but Miles to keep me occupied.

  Welcome to hell.

  “Does your phone have a signal?” I ask him, sighing.

  He sucks on his teeth. “I don’t know. Let me check,” he mutters, his voice leaking sarcasm.

  Okay, I should give him a break. It’s not the easiest drive in the world, and he definitely shouldn’t be peeling his eyes off the road to check the phone in his pocket. The Mini’s headlights cut a light about ten feet ahead of us, and the snow steadily keeps falling. There has to be at least eight inches on the ground now, and it’s showing no sign of slowing. He looks relaxed, but he always does. He’s always had that stoned-out look about him. I’ve never seen him get excited about anything.

  Well, once I did, but I’m not thinking about that night anymore.

  We’ve been driving for a half hour without seeing another soul. I know this route. It’s usually busy. I’ve driven in about a dozen times, especially lately as I’ve been working out plans for the wedding, but I’m not even sure where we are because it’s so dark and visibility is nil.

  When I see a sign for the Overlook Pines Rest Stop, I sigh. That’s so far from our destination, it’s not even funny.

  Suddenly, our slow pace feels like a snail’s pace.

  “Can you just step on it a little bit?” I rock in the passenger seat like I’m on a racehorse, as if that’ll help us pick up speed.

  He rubs at his eye. “I think we should take a break at this rest stop.”

  I glare at him. “What? No!”

  “Yeah. I all but slid the whole way down that last hill. I had no traction at all. You should have chains on your tires. We’re not going to get up the next one. I’d rather wait out the storm someplace warm, get some coffee…instead of getting stuck in this car.”

  I start to hyperventilate. “You’re saying…you want to give up? You’re telling me I’m going to miss my wedding.”

  “No. I’m not saying that. This is farther along than if we’d turned back. If we wait in the rest stop, the plows might come through in the morning and we can leave then. You’re wedding’s not until…when?”

  How does he not know this? He received the hand-written, embossed invitation like everyone else, didn’t he? “Eleven.”

  “Yeah. So, plenty of time.”

  I shake my head vehemently. I have a hair and makeup artist arriving precisely at eight AM to beat my unruly locks and tweeze my wild eyebrows into submission. The spa stuff was just the precursor to the real work that needs to happen before I can walk down the aisle. “No, it’s not. You don’t get it. I missed the spa day. I have to get myself ready. If I breeze in there at ten forty-five, I’ll look like crud!”

  He doesn’t deny this fact. “But my point is, you’ll make the wedding. It sure beats lying dead in a ditch somewhere.”

  I picture the whole scene. Me, rushing into my wedding with my crazy, frizzed-out locks, my bush-woman brows, like some wild woman. The pictures that we’ll show our grandkids, attesting to the fact that Grandpa married a cavewoman.

  “No,” I mumble, “I want Aaron to look at me and go, ‘Wow,’ not, ‘What the hell is that?’”

  “You mean Aaron the Oblivious?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  He doesn’t answer and doesn’t have to. Unless I go in there brandishing a keg or stark naked, Aaron probably won’t notice.

  Still, with the incongruous image of Aaron’s horrified face still marinating in my mind, I shake my head. “No. We need to get there. No stopping.”

  He lets out a tortured breath, along with something that sounds like Bridezilla.

  Really? So he’s going back to that old standby insult again? I can’t take it anymore. “Listen to me, you fucking absolute shithead. I’m not a Bridezilla. This is the single-most important day of my life. Aaron is the most important person in my life. I want to look good for him. Do you understand?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  I cross my arms. “Of course you don’t. I forgot who I was talking to. Have you ever cared about anyone other than yourself? I mean, you’ve never even dated anyone.”

  He narrows his eyes. “I’ve dated.”

  “Really? How long was your longest relationship?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Yeah. You’ve hooked up, is what you mean. That’s all. Have you ever had a repeat engagement? Hmm?”

  I study his face, outlined in the dim glow of the dashboard. He runs his tongue over his top teeth. “Sure I have.”

  “Right. With who?”

  He turns away from me so I can’t see his face. I wait for the answer.

  He doesn’t speak at all.

  “Admit it. You can’t know what I’m feeling right now because you’ve never attempted to look good for anyone. You’re lucky you’re hot, or else you’d never get any tail at all.”

  He grins. “You think I’m hot?”

  I bite my tongue. My face heats. Did I just say that?

  “It doesn’t matter, though,” I quickly say, hoping to cover up for that slip. “You act like your normal asshole self, and most women can’t stand to be near you. You drip your opinions and your ego all over them and make them rue the day they ever met you.”

  He swings his head toward me, taking his eyes off the road to sweep his gaze over me. I see something different in his eyes. He doesn’t say a word, but maybe I’ve pricked that outer shell, because he looks…incensed.

  So incensed, I have to look away.

  For the first time, I think I might have gone too far.

  There’s an arrow for the rest stop to the right. The top half of the sign is draped in snow so it just says STOP EXIT. The lines of the road are hidden under ten inches of snow, and the tire tracks of cars that came before us have been swept away by the wind, so it’s hard to tell where the road is.

  When he starts to veer off toward the exit, I grip the door handle. I point. “Hey. The road is that way.”

  He nods. “We’re stopping so we can switch. If you want to get back to the lodge tonight that bad, you drive.”

  “Fine,” I say, forcing my chin up. “Bring it on.”

  He thinks he’s so smart. Well, I can drive as well as he can. Probably better. This way, we can stop pussy-footing around and really make up some time.

  I’ve
never been to this rest stop, because I’ve never run into weather like this before. It’s not much of a stop. There’s a giant, empty lot and a small, square brick building in the corner, lit by a single streetlamp. A sign that says Restrooms is all but hidden by the snow.

  “Why is there no one here?” I wonder. Surely there are other people waiting out the storm.

  “They all had the sense to go back to Boulder.”

  He draws the car to a stop in the middle of the lot. “Beautiful,” I mutter, bracing myself to open the door to make the switch. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  He points to the building. “Mind if I use the facilities?”

  I roll my eyes. “If you must.”

  He puts his skullcap on and throws open the door, letting an icy gust of wind and snow inside. He says something before the door slams, but the wind is too loud.

  I decide I’m not going out there in my flip-flops, so I carefully climb over the console, which, in my itty-bitty car, involves the movements of a contortionist. By the time I get there, he’s still making his way over to the building, trudging through shin-high snow, his flannel’s collar pulled up around his face.

  I lay on the horn.

  He doesn’t turn around, just holds his middle finger up and out to me. I see it, silhouetted so nicely underneath that one bright bulb in front of the building.

  What an insufferable ass. I can’t believe I actually told him that I think he’s hot. I’m surprised he’s getting snow on his boots when he should be using his inflated ego to float to the restrooms.

  As he disappears into the building, I think about the other thing I said to him, about him being repellant to women once he opens his mouth. I’d never seen him that pissed. Yeah, maybe it was harsh, but it’s true. If it bothered him that much, he could change. How hard is it to be kind sometimes? It doesn’t even need to be always. God knows I’m not perfect either, but still.

  He can’t possibly know what it’s like to care about a person the way I care for Aaron. The first year I was with Aaron, I’d seen different beautiful women leaving Miles’ frat-house room, doing the same walk of shame I’d done after my first frat party, every single night. After Miles graduated, when we’d meet up, it was the three of us getting together at a restaurant or bar—Miles never brought along a female friend. Even when we’d invited him to the wedding, we’d added a Plus One to his invitation, but he didn’t even add a Plus One to his RSVP.

  A lone wolf. That’s him. The kind of guy who’ll probably be single for the rest of his life.

  A complete and total asshole.

  No, that’s not right, I realize, as I think of the GREs.

  It was in March, almost two years ago, prior to the incident that nearly ended Aaron and me for good. Miles had come to town, and since I’d just turned twenty-one, we were all drinking at Gritty’s, a local bar I was finally able to go to. I lamented to Aaron that I should probably take the GREs and try to get into the Master’s program at CU, because I wasn’t sure my degree would get me anywhere. But I didn’t know where to start, especially with the math section.

  Miles told me that he’d taken them a few years ago when he’d gone back for his MBA, and would tutor me if I needed the help.

  I was blown away by the offer. He was so busy with his job, or so I’d thought. I figured he was doing it because he absolutely loved to flaunt that big old brain of his around. So I didn’t read too much into it.

  I always knew Miles was smart, but that was how I learned he was a genius. He and math went together like peanut butter and jelly. He could work out complex equations in his head, coming up with the answer before I’d even finished reading the problem.

  He’d meet me in my dorm, and we’d sit in the common area. He’d driven all the way out from Denver to help me. All we’d ever do was talk math. But Miles was the talk of the all-female floor. Whenever we were together, girls would show up in the common area to gawk at him and try to catch his eye, especially when I told them all he wasn’t my boyfriend.

  He never bit. He was almost businesslike when it came to those meetings. Once, one of the girls tried to flirt with him as he was leaving, but he shut her down.

  Later on, Aaron told me that Miles had gotten perfect scores on all three sections of the GRE. I didn’t even know that was possible.

  For the record, I didn’t get a perfect math score, but I did do a lot better than I would’ve if I hadn’t had the help.

  Not only that, Miles has always been a prince of a best friend to Aaron. I remember once, at the end of my freshman year, we’d all gone to a party at TKE with the sole purpose of stealing some of their things, which was what the seniors did. While Aaron really got into the game, being the fraternity president, Miles wasn’t interested. The plan was for me to distract the TKE guys by playing Asshole with them, while Aaron and some of his other brothers lifted the goods.

  I’d played the card game, but unfortunately I’d lost so terribly that I wound up so drunk I could barely stand up straight.

  The last thing I remembered that night, as I’d drifted off on the common room couch, was hearing Miles talking to one of the TKE brothers. The brother had said, “And who do we have here?” in a lilting way, like he wanted to get into my pants, and Miles had replied, “My best friend’s girl. Touch her, and I’ll break your fucking fingers.”

  Hmm. Maybe I was just a little too harsh to him. He volunteered to help me. He’s not all bad.

  I’m still thinking of the way he’d looked, with his glasses on, nose buried in a book as he tried to help me with an equation, when he appears in the doorway of the rest stop and starts trudging back to me. Of the way he smelled; clean and manly, making something inside me heat up, as much as I don’t want it to.

  Cool down, girl, you’re engaged to his best friend!

  By the time Miles gets to the door, my mind is where it shouldn’t be—on that night, in his immaculate room, under the snow-white sheets of his futon bed, doing some very dirty things, things no guy with a fear of touching people should have the right to do.

  Then he throws open the door, and a shiver grips me. He closes the door and holds out a Milky Way. “Hungry?”

  I blink. He scowls, growling, “Sorry. Steak au poivre wasn’t on the menu.”

  I shake my head, surprised that he bought me anything at all. I’m starving, but I also have that dress to fit into. And I am going to wear it tomorrow. I’m determined like that.

  “Suit yourself.” Miles rips the package open.

  Trying not to think of Miles eating a delicious chocolate, I throw the car into drive and start to head out, squinting as I try to see the road.

  Honestly, I can’t.

  It’s just a sea of white.

  There’s no telling at all where the road ends and the mountains begin.

  That’s okay. I can do this.

  I’m not going to let the genius next to me, Mr. Perfect GRE Score, be right again.

  He takes a bite of his Milky Way, and my mouth is watering as I hear him chewing. I haven’t eaten any cheat foods like that since Aaron proposed, and I’m not going to start now, when I’m in the home stretch.

  “Place was pretty good back there. Warm. Had coffee. Television. Weather said this should be letting up around daybreak.”

  I sigh. Letting up at daybreak isn’t helping us now, when it’s midnight-dark, even though it’s barely six in the evening. I could do with some coffee. I think about stopping and going in for some, but that’s wasting time. If we get on the road now, we can make it back, maybe not for the rehearsal dinner, but so I can have a good night’s sleep.

  He stretches his seat belt over his broad chest and I hear it click into place. Then he says, “You know, I don’t think— Uh, Shorty? That’s not the road.”

  I squint, too tired, worried, and frazzled to think. “What? Of course it is.”

  He points in a totally different direction than where I’m heading. “That’s the road.”

  I start to take my
foot off the gas and lean closer to the windshield as I turn the dial to pump up the defrost. “Then where’s this lead?”

  His lips curve upward and for the merest second, I think he smiled. “I’m not sure we want to find out.”

  Feeling a knot in my stomach because of his stupid barely there smile, I put the windshield wipers up a notch and press on the gas.

  I shake my head as I see the guardrail, up ahead, as well as a level line of white up ahead that has to be the road. I’m heading straight toward it. “We’re good.”

  “Ahhh, no we’re—”

  He doesn’t have a chance to say anything else, because before I know it, there’s a massive bump—and suddenly, we’re heading downward.

  I jam on the break, but the car fishtails, spinning out, sending a flood of snow up onto the windshield.

  Miles is shouting orders at me. “Lay off the brake! Steer into it!”

  But I just want to stop and I don’t know what the hell I’m steering into.

  I hear tree branches scraping along the sides, rocks scraping along the bottom of the chassis, and still, the car keeps sliding down into the unknown. In my mind, there’s a three-hundred-foot drop at the end of this.

  I start to shriek and cover my face with my hands.

  6:34 PM, December 6

  I am so stupid.

  I’m sitting in the car, wipers going at top speed, headlights illuminating a snowy pine tree, the branches of which are pressed up against my car’s windshield. I’m not sure where we are, because if I look in my rearview mirror, I see nothing but the dull red of my tail lights. I have the heat going on full-blast because I can’t stop shivering.

  A second later, the door opens. Miles pokes his head in.

  “Good news. I don’t think your car is damaged. It just went for a little joyride.”

  He’s actually being kind of human to me, which I appreciate, since I feel like shit to the millionth power.

  I sniffle. I think I’m getting a cold. Perfect. It’s been at least fifteen minutes since the accident and I haven’t been able to pry my fingers off the steering wheel. “What do we do now?”