“I think it adds a littlespunkto your resume,” I grinned. “Besides,Ididn’t start the Instagram hashtag. That would be Krista.”
“Just remove your tags and stuff,” Krista shrugged. “That’s what I’ll be doing. Oh, and blocking anyone who tries to add me.”
“Poor Ransom Cauz,” I chortled.
“Okay, I’m done. I need to get home so I can sleep,” Cheyenne said, stretching in her seat. She looked a lot like Tessa, all fair hair and delicate features, beautiful in that fresh-faced way with her green eyes and the freckles that dusted across her nose and cheek bones.
While Cheyenne was every bit as sweet as she looked, she was also mischievous and loved to have fun. Her mother—Tessa’s dad’s sister—busted out of Parry Sound the second she turned eighteen. She moved to Toronto, met some guy and got married. Cheyenne was used to city life; she knew all the best clubs in town and the quickest way to get anywhere. She was my go-to person during the location planning for the bachelorette party.
“I’ll see you at the wedding, right?” Tessa asked, standing up when her cousin did.
“Of course,” Cheyenne exclaimed as they embraced. “I wouldn’t miss it. Mom and Dad will be there too. Can’t wait to see Uncle Bill and the league of incredible douchebags,” Cheyenne added mischievously.
“Hey now, Ben’s not so bad,” Katie argued in defense of her husband.
“Now,” Tessa, Cheyenne, and I said in unison.
Shortly after Cheyenne left, Becky, Katie, and Krista followed. Becky and Katie had to get home to their kids and Krista supposedly had a hot date she had to get ready for. Tessa and I followed them out to the underground parking.
My phone kept buzzing as we said our goodbyes. Aggravated, I pulled it from my purse and sighed as I read Alex’s name.
“What’s wrong?” Tessa demanded, seeing me shove the phone back into my purse.
“Alex keeps calling,” I muttered, irritated.
“How dare him,” Tessa said dryly, arching her brow and repressing a smile. I didn’t laugh. I just shrugged and climbed into my car.
“I’m still not sure what to tell him,” I confessed. “I don’t know what I’m feeling, what I’m thinking.”
“You need to tell him that,” Tessa insisted gently. “I know it’s scary, and I know that you don’t want to hurt him… But putting it off will only hurt him more when the truth finally does come out, because it will come out.”
“I’m too hungover for this conversation,” I sighed, my head throbbing. “Let’s just go shopping and turn off our brains for a bit, shall we?”
“Sounds good to me,” Tessa pursed her lips. “I’m all out of advice anyway. Those vodka shots really did a number on me.”
Braden
Brock offered to watch Aiden so that Becky could go to Toronto for the bachelorette party, and I hung out with them because I had nowhere else to be. My nephew had been a great distraction for me all day, taking up much of my attention while all three of us fished off the dock and went swimming. But when he finally crashed in Brock’s spare room at the cabin, I had nothing to distract me from the call of social media.
Krista was posting pictures of their evening like clockwork. The first photo was of Elle holding a huge, inflatable penis out to a horrified looking Tessa. More photos of them in the limo and them ordering drinks at the bar, the inflatable penis in tow.
“Dude, you’ve got to stop looking at those,” Brock grumbled, catching me on my phone again for the twelfth time in the past hour. I shoved it back into my pocket and picked up the Xbox remote.
“Yeah, well. Elle makes this party planning shit look effortless,” I muttered.
I was in charge of planning Brock’s bachelor party, and it was proving to be an insanely complicated task for a recovering alcoholic. The cliché bachelor party typically happened to be a night at the rippers, and I was a little nervous about the temptation I’d be in. Some days, I felt stronger than others. Other days, the thought of alcohol made me break into a cold sweat. Like right now, for instance. I wanted desperately to crack open a beer and play some Call of Duty with my brother, but I couldn’t. One drink would lead to twelve drinks, and I’d be fucked again.
Still, I didn’t want the other guys to feel obligated to have some kind of PG-13 evening just because I couldn’t drink.
“I already told you I don’t want a fuss,” my brother said, taking a deep sip of the Pepsi he was drinking.
Ever since I went to rehab, my siblings were overly cautious about drinking in front of me. I was pretty sure Brock stopped keeping beer in his refrigeratorbecauseof me, and it irritated the hell out of me. I didn’t want my siblings acting any differently around me—but hell, I was an alcoholic. I couldn’t really blame them for their behaviour.
“What if we went to Sudbury or Barrie or something and hit up the strip clubs?” I suggested, wondering if whatever store Elle bought the inflatable penis from carried inflatable vaginas.
“I don’t want to do the strip club scene,” he told me point blank. “I don’t think it’d be good for you.”
“This isn’t about me,” I argued. “It’s your bachelor party, man! This is what’sexpectedof you. Hell, even the girls went to a strip club!”
