“You’re only making him look more appealing.”
She grabbed my phone and studied the photo, pulling out her own phone. “He’s part of the Dead Presidents Motorcycle Club. This says they do a lot for the community, so I bet the number is listed.” She punched in the information on her own phone. “Yep. Here it is. I’ll send it to you.”
My phone dinged with the incoming text and I rolled my eyes again.
“What?” she asked, smiling sweetly. “I’m trying to get my big sister a date for my wedding.”
“I’m not calling a complete stranger and asking him out.”
“Fine. Back to the seating chart,” Laura said, growing suddenly somber. “You’re at the family table. Across from Mom and Dad.”
I threw back my head, bouncing it off the back of the seat. “Kill me now.”
“It’s the family table and you’re family.”
“Family would have told me about Wesley. They knew, and they kept it from me. Family doesn’t do that. You’re my only family.”
“I know. They know. They’re super sorry and it’s been almost a year and they’re hoping you’ll forgive them.”
Her claim held a major flaw. My parents never apologized for anything. “They’re sorry, huh?”
“I’m sure they are. They miss you.”
“And they said all of this?”
Her gaze drifted around the Town Car’s interior, looking anywhere but at me. Such a horrible liar. “You know how they are. They don’tsaythings like that.”
“God forbid someone think they’re less than perfect.”
“I know you’re still angry, Julia, but this is my wedding. How would it look if my sister was sitting at the wrong table?”
The Edwards family appearances… that’s what everything came down to. It might not matter to me anymore, but the family image was still important to Laura. I couldn’t fault her for sipping the Kool-Aid when I’d gulped it down for years.
“Please do this for me,” she begged.
“Fine.”
She grinned, once again showing off her dimples. “You’re the best sister ever.”
There it was again, that heart-felt compliment that made me feel like shit. “Yeah, yeah.”
She wiggled in her seat, letting out a little squeal. “I’m so excited! Can you believe my bachelorette party is tomorrow? I saw the RSVP list you sent. I know this isn’t easy on you, and I appreciate all you’ve done.”
My baby sister’s special day was approaching, and I was her maid of honor. Thank god she had an amazing wedding coordinator, or nothing would have gotten done. All I’d done was show up for my dress fitting and put together her party RSVP list while dreading her big event. Best sister ever, indeed.
“I still can’t believe I’m getting married!” she squealed again.
Despite my lack of faith in the sanctity of marriage, her enthusiasm was contagious. By the time Franck dropped us off, I was dreading her big day marginally less. Determined to put on my big girl panties and make it through the upcoming parties and ceremony with a smile, I hooked my arm in hers and we marched right into the spa to get pampered.
Havoc
‘TRY GARDENING,’ SHE said. ‘It’ll relax you,’ she promised.
Emily Stafford, the old lady and soon-to-be wife of my club president, Link, was a badass attorney and I owed her my freedom, but she didn’t know shit about relaxation. As I stood on my front porch staring at a bed full of flowers in varying stages of death, I felt keyed-up and ready to kick the box to pieces.
I felt like a goddamn failure.
Here I was, ex-Army Special Forces Weapons Specialist, Sergeant at Arms for the Dead President’s Motorcycle Club, I’d survived insane conditions and deadly terrain while dodging bullets, could keep an entire club of military veterans from killing each other, but couldn’t keep a single flower alive. You’d think the amount of time and money I’d blown on this so-called hobby would guarantee some measure of success, but no. The damn things were all determined to become compost.
