Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
I smooth a hand down my suit jacket, nodding to the front door.
Ledger leads the way. “Let’s do this.”
Those three words echo loudly. Should Aubrey really do this? Should I say something? I heave a deep sigh as we go, still lost in my head.
“Save the thinking for another time. We need to help G,” Ledger says. Garrett asked the two guys he trusts most in the world to be ushers. To handle anything he needed on this important day.
Helping him would also include telling him the truth about the guy his little sister’s about to marry, right?
Except something keeps stopping me, a deep-seated worry I barely want to admit. Is Aiden’s behavior last night gnawing at me because it was a real problem? Or because I’ve never thought he was good enough for Aubrey? But I’ve never thought anyone was good enough for her.
I huff out an annoyed breath. It’s time to call in reinforcements.
I take my post by the door, then say to my friend, “Ledge, what do you think of Aiden? Like, really think of him?”
My longtime hockey friend meets my gaze with an intensely serious one. “You’re asking now?”
“Yeah. I’m asking now. Did you see him last night at the bar?”
Ledger scratches his jaw, like that will help him recall the party. “Aiden got shitfaced, but that’s what some dudes do.” His derision makes it clear he’s not one of those some.
“You were a choir boy at your bachelor party?” I ask the recently divorced guy.
He sneers. “No, I didn’t have one. Bachelor parties are dumb. Guys who want bachelor parties shouldn’t get married in the first place.”
He’s…not wrong.
Sure, I like grabbing a pizza and beer with the guys, but I get more than enough of that on the road with the team. Well, low-fat, cauliflower crust pizza since I want to play hockey forever, so I need to treat my body like a high-performance sports car. But last night wasn’t a hang-with-the-bros night out. It felt more like a how-to-cheat-on-my-new-wife tutorial.
“But what’s really bugging you? Aiden getting wasted before his wedding? Or something else?” Ledger asks, cutting to the chase.
Outside the church entrance, on a perfect summer day in California, as the last few cars pull into the lot, I weigh the cost of telling…anyone. I don’t want to come across like I’ve been thinking too hard about Aubrey, or like I’ve ever looked at her as more than my best bud’s sister. Garrett’s my agent, too, and crushing on his sister is just asking for trouble. I don’t need to make my neat, orderly, firing-on-all-cylinders hockey life messy in any way whatsoever.
But that guy Aubrey’s marrying makes my skin crawl, and he has since I met him last year. He reeked of too friendly then too. “He was hitting on the waitress last night,” I hiss.
His lips twist in a cruel frown. “Guys like him…”
I scrub a hand across my beard. “But is it my place to say something to G or to Aubs?”
Ledger’s older and wiser, a mentor to both Garrett and me, a role he’s played since his dad coached all of us back when we were younger. He pinches the bridge of his nose, quiet for a stretch, mulling this over. “Probably should,” he finally says with authority, but before I can hunt down Garrett, the side door to the church swings open, and a blur of lavender and denim sprints down the steps.
I squint. “Wait. Is that…?” The dude races across the parking lot to a little pink truck with polka dots and the words Peter’s Pies stenciled on the side. In no time, he’s backing up and peeling out of the lot. “What the hell is the groom doing taking off less than five minutes before the wedding?”
“I don’t think he’s delivering a last-minute pie order,” he says heavily.
Seconds later, the distinctive sound of footsteps slapping on tile grows louder, and Garrett comes racing out that same side door, swinging his gaze from left to right, then landing on us. He runs over, determination etched on his face.
Pointing at the building behind him, he speaks in his low, always-in-control, I’m-your-agent-and-this-is-what-you-must-do voice. “You need to get my sister out of there, stat. That asshole just left her at the altar, and I have to handle the guests. You guys take care of Aubrey.”
And sometimes, fate steps in for you and you don’t have to say I object.
When Garrett hands me the key fob to the convertible, I don’t think. I do. As he trots back around to the front of the church, I spin to face Ledger, tossing him the key. “Drive,” I tell Ledger, pointing to the just married convertible. “I’ll get the bride.”
With a crisp nod, he palms the keys.
Powered by this new game plan, I hightail it to the side of the church, rush down the hall, and push open the door to the bridal room. Aubrey’s standing by the window in the corner, staring out the glass. She turns in slow-motion, her hand clutching a tissue and a tiny purse. Big, soft red curls frame her face, which is ashen with shock and maybe even shame. Her mascara’s a little smudged, her cheeks a little red. But there’s something like a gleam in her big brown eyes. Something I can’t quite read. Now’s not the time to figure it out though.