I huff. “Far fucking from it.”
ThelifeI once envisioned sits dormant, eons away from reality. It wasn’t picture perfect and at times it was a little messy, but it was a life and I was living. Now, it’s about surviving.
TWELVE
WARREN
If weddings weren’t annoying enoughas it is, my idiot brother asked me to be his best man.
I’m fractionally flattered and mostly agitated he’s forcing me to stand up in front of his guests to give a speech.
Five minutes max. In and out. Nothing special.
His words of reassurance did nothing, and I know the little fucker is secretly taking pleasure in my discomfort.
But I’ll do it. For him. Reluctantly.
The toasty interior of the country club differs drastically from the bitter December Saturday. Our parents and Ben’s fiancée’s have been members here for years. On the outskirts of Nashville, the venue is where we host most family celebrations. The lush green lawns sparkle with frost, and festive spirit decorates every inch of space, gearing up for the holidays, creating the perfect setting for a winter wedding.
I fiddle with my bowtie so it doesn’t sit on my neck too tightly. Marcus knocks elbows with me in the narrow, full-length mirror while my parents fuss over Ben’s tuxedo behind us. Diana, my sister, tries to calm my nephew, who isn’tplaying ball. Two of Ben’s other groomsmen laugh in the corner, passing a hipflask of whiskey back and forth.
It’s fucking chaos in this tiny room, and it’s not even midday. Another twelve plus hours to go.
A loud screech pierces the air.
“Buddy, I promise you can take the jacket off after some pictures,” Diana soothes in a calming voice. “You look so smart, and you match with Daddy and your uncles.”
Freddie glowers at her, looking as menacing as a four-year-old can. He stomps his small shiny dress shoe on the carpet. “No.”
“Fredster,” Marcus warns his son. “Listen to your mom.”
Stomp. “No.”
“Freddie, sweetie,” my mom joins. “How about we get some fresh air?”
“No!”
This goes on for five more minutes, and a pulsing pressure forms behind my eyeballs.
Another sixty seconds pass, and the tension increases. Unable to stand the commotion, I spin on my heel, finger raised in Freddie’s direction, brows slashing across my forehead. “Hey! Quit it!”
The room stills at my thunderous voice.
Freddie stares at me, mouth gaping. Then, he bursts into a fit of bubbly laughter, clutching his tummy, the jacket saga long forgotten.
“Uncle Warren is so funny.” He giggles. “Quit it!Quit it!”
I deadpan at his mocking, though, after the eighth time, I can’t help but chuckle.
It wasn’t intentionally funny. Ever since he was a baby, the kid has warmed to my not-so-warm side, meaning I don’t have to act around him like I do the adults in the room. He’s probably my favorite person here.
Point proven when my mom’s watchful gazes catches mine, and she smiles at me sympathetically. Always with the fucking sympathy smiles. I’m not sure she realizes she does it anymore. It’s just her natural reaction.
“Uncle Warrenisso funny,” my sister echoes then mouths,Thank you.
I huff aYou’re welcome.
Somewhat satisfied with my attire, I turn toward my brother, who’s pale as a sheet. Ben is eight years younger than me, Diana four, making me the responsible big brother they look up to.
