His head, however, was still trying to recover from its recent explosion.
Casey had grabbed his hand and pulled him through the labyrinth of banquet tables, but the moment they joined the other dancers, Happy ended and Sailing, the old, slow pop song by Christopher Cross, began.
Rio hated this song. At least he always had, every time he’d heard it before. It was a slow, vaguely droning song from the 70s that showed every minute of its age. But some people loved it—Aunt Angela and Uncle Tony—and got up to dance whenever it came on.
He’d always suspected that had more to do with where they’d been and what they’d been doing when they’d first heard the song, and now he completely understood.
Like them, it was suddenly up there with his favorites. He was going to remember this song—with love in his heart—forever.
Because he wasn’t just busting a move with Casey Esparza. He was slow dancing with her. The woman was right there, warm and soft in his arms.
She smelled unbelievably good—but instead of letting himself become intoxicated and closing his eyes as he let the music surround him, Rio made himself check in on both Jon and Dave.
Jon was still solidly parked at the table where they’d left him. Lois had returned to her seat—and her mojito—and was talking with him.
Dave meanwhile, had been waylaid by the grooms on his way to the head. He was listening to something they were telling him, smiling and nodding. He seemed okay. Outwardly, at least.
“I’m watching them, too,” Casey murmured, and he glanced down at her, surprised.
Damn, her eyes were gorgeous.
“I just needed to get away from him for a minute,” she continued. “Thank you.”
She was talking about her brother—she’d needed to get away from her brother for a minute.
Rio cleared his throat, wanting to help, but Jesus, he never talked about this, not anymore. It was over and done—except, for Casey, it wasn’t. So he cleared his throat again, choosing his words carefully.
“It’s impossibly hard,” he said. “Loving an alcoholic. Frustrating, too—you can’t do it for them. You wanna rescue them, but if you try, you’re not helping—and you’re probably making it worse. Jon’s gotta rescue himself, which means that he just... might not. And you just gotta live with that.”
She was looking at him, searchingly, nodding as if she’d found what she’d expected. “Al-Anon.”
Okay, good. That was good. She knew about the organization, and hopefully was using it to get some help. Still, there was more he could tell her, and he took a deep breath and just did it.
“My mom made us all go to meetings,” Rio told her. “She had a brother who... Well, he lived with us for a while, and we really loved him. Uncle Joey. He was so much fun, but... He was also a blackout drunk. He had to move out, he was dangerous—not just to himself, either, so... There was a lot of drama, and we kids didn’t understand, so Mom loaded us into the car and drove us to a meeting.”
Casey nodded. “I’ve just started going. I... hate that I have to.”
“Yeah, I hated it at first, too,” Rio admitted. “Because you’re hearing all this shit that you don’t want to accept as truth. For me, the biggest help was seeing that we weren’t alone. Lotta Uncle Joeys out there. Lotta friends and families learning that the best way to help is the hardest. The most heartbreaking. Because it doesn’t work unless they save themselves—and sometimes they just can’t.”
Casey’s midnight, bottomless pit eyes welled with tears. “Uncle Joey...?”
“Didn’t make it,” Rio said, and shit, his own eyes were feeling suspiciously damp.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, adding, “Luc, I’m so glad Dave found you.”
Dave. Right. Dave. Rio was Dave’s fake-fake-boyfriend, Luc. The reminder was like a record scratch of reality, interrupting this heartfelt, warm little bubble of damn, they had so much in common.
But Casey wasn’t done. “Dave hasn’t always made the best choices,” she continued, “until, you know, now.”
Rio wasn’t sure what to say in response to that, but then he glanced up at the table and—“Shit!”
Jon was gone.
He let go of Casey, turning to search for Dave—who also was no longer where he’d been. Rio spun and quickly found the two grooms, Stefan and Peter, talking to another group of guests, but no. Dave was no longer with them. “Fuck!”
Casey was already up to speed, correctly interpreting his concise double-expletive without any clarifying verbs or nouns. “I’ll go inside, see if they’re there; you look in the men’s room,” she ordered, already moving toward the casita.
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Rio said as he dashed toward the head.
