With that, he kisses my forehead and walks to the door just as Wy and Trip make their way in. He and Wy share a look bright with pain and understanding, then Wick slips out of my life, shutting the door softly behind him.
2
WARWICK
PRESENT DAY
You know what makes me wanna just…stick a fork in my own eyeball? A goddamn wedding reception. Under a Texas night sky bright with stars. In a vineyard.
Welp, it’s a good thing I’ve got two eyeballs because tonight’s thedualwedding reception for Desi and Wyatt, Sparrow and Luke. I really thought we’d gotten out of this overdramatic love fest sincebothcouples eloped to Mexico.
Like, I thought that was the whole point of eloping.
Somehow Desi and Sam didn’t get the memo, and they’ve managed to create a reception even more romantic and lovestruck than the one after Sam and Trip’s wedding.
Adding to this shit sandwich was the whole tribute to Renée earlier in the evening. It was perfect and sweet and funny, and it fucking gutted me. I hadn’t realized that somewhere along the way, I’d started picturing her only in her sickest moments, so the beautiful photographs of her getting married to Wyatt, playing with a young Trip, working with me to clean out the old barn kinda felt like someone was ripping my guts out.
With a serrated knife.
Worse, I came stag, thinking I’d pick up some hottie who’s equally as traumatized by all this love shit. Desi’s the only one remotely cute from his side of the family, not to mention the only onenotof retirement age. Luke’s mother isyikes, and while Ofelia is a sexy white-haired goddess, trying to pick up Sparrow’s mom and Joaquin’s ex feels wrong on many levels.
So I’m out here raw-dogging all of this sentimentality, and someone’s gonna lose an eye.
Question: when is the earliest I can leave without being rude?
I scan the dance floor, horrified by what’s passing for rhythm these days, until Joaquin comes into view. Now, he would’ve been a perfect reception-fuck, but he’ll officially be my boss as of Monday, so that’s out. We had our last hurrah a couple of weeks ago and agreed we should keep it professional between us.
I can be so stupid sometimes. I’d like to kick my own ass for agreeing to that bullshit.
To add salt to the wound, Joaquin brought a date to the wedding. They’re cutting a rug, both of them loose-hipped and perfectly in sync, but I can tell my buddy-boss isn’t into it. I mean, they’re totally gonna fuck each other, or whatever, but his date already asked for my number, so that’s not going anywhere.
The thing about all this love stuff is that it makes me sentimental as fuck, and I find myself remembering a conversation with an old man outside of Renée’s room and the promise I’d made to her that same day.
I promised to be open to love once it didn’t hurt so much to lose her. She’d be proud to know that I am a man of my word. And losing her still hurts like a motherfucker.
Which is how I feel tonight. All of this romance around me…it hurts. And it’s frustrating as fuck.
“Is it wrong that I just got here, and I already want to leave?”
I grin at the familiar voice and look up. Colt. Another fuck-buddy situation screwed over by propriety.
And…oh, poor Colt. He looks about as miserable as I feel.
The saying goes that misery loves company, but it’s difficult to see a guy like him unhappy. With his ginger-blond hair, freckles, and big personality, he was made to shine.
“What, you’re tellin’ me you don’t want the wedding and the two-point-five kids?” I snark, patting the bench I’ve commandeered.
He shakes his head, dropping down next to me. “Nope. Pretty sure I’m meant to be a free bird.”
Hm.
I don’t think he’s telling the truth.
Something tells me his emotions are just under the surface, barely restrained, and something’s stopping him. While I don’t know the particulars, I damn well know we’re in the same boat.
Pity, party of two.
Fuck that, obviously.
