Anyone have a hot fork? Because I'd rather shove one into my fucking eyeball than be here right now.
Look, I am legitimately over the moon happy for my big bro, okay? For really real. He deserves the sparkly hearts joy he's finally found in Ember. The dumbass put himself through a decade and almost-a-half of loneliness and guilt for something that wasn’t even remotely his fault. He was nineteen and at a party, he's not gonna get obliterated? Of course he was. Cassie fucking Miller was the problem. Fuck that bitch. She got what was coming to her, too—last I checked, she’s gotten herself knocked up by three different guys over four years, none of whom stuck around longer than it took to blow their load. She lives in a trailer—which there's nothing wrong with, just to be clear—and makes ends meet stripping at The Fuzzy Muffin. Yes, it's really called that. And yes, it's as skeezy and grody as you're probably picturing. I only know because I lost a bet and had to…well, never mind. No one wants to hear that story.
Point is…I love Felix to bits. I owe him fuckingeverything. I'm happy for him. Ember is a goddamned miracle; she puts the biggest smile on his face. Which has taken some getting used to, after twelve years of him being Mr. GrumpyPants. I mean, how can younotbe happy when monster tits like those are yours to play with every day?
Bad Riley—bad. Don’t think about your about-to-be sister-in-law like that.
She's got an amazing personality.
I mean, she's very sweet.
Lots of great qualities.
Good fuck, I’m an asshole.
I scrub my face, hoping the scrubbing action will transfer to my hopelessly horny brain—someone needs to scrub that filthy motherfucker clean.
Cole elbows me. "The fuck is your problem, Rye?" he whispers.
I shake my head. "Nothing."
He rolls his eyes. "Jealous?"
I stare at him like he's grown a third head. Y'know, cuz he's already got two? Haha. I know, I know. Lame.
"Yes, Cole, I'm jealous.Sojealous. I crave the stability and responsibility of a wife and child. Yes, yes, you found me out." I say it all in a monotone.
Felix, standing at the altar, glares at me to shut the actual fuck up. So, out of love, I shut the fuck up.
He looks good, though, my big broski. His tux is impeccable, and Ember finally got him in to see Noelle for a long overdue haircut, so the shaggy, almost-mullet he was rocking for the last few years is gone, replaced by a nice, clean Superman side part and a short, neat beard. His eyes betray his happiness, as does the eager, nervous, shit-eating grin on his face. Lucky motherfucker.
The queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach is just because I drank too much last night. It's not jealousy.
I'm a bachelor. Lifelong, committed. A lone wolf.
I almost laugh out loud at myself for being such a fucking dork.
The crowd gathered in St. Michael's Lutheran Church is restless, whispering and shuffling as we wait for the wedding march song to play. St. Michael's was the only real choice for a wedding venue, according to Felix. Ember took one look at it and just knew, and I get it. It's a gorgeous church, a classic white clapboard building with a bell and steeple, front steps with original wrought-iron railings, pointed arch double doors, and original pews and flooring from the mid-1800s, the whole thing set against a backdrop of flowering cherry trees.
I pull at the tight collar of my dress shirt, trying to loosen the stupid fucking tie without looking like I'm loosening it. What the hell is taking so damn long for Ember to come down the stupid aisle? Come marry your man already, for fuck's sake.
On the other side of me, Nyx nudges mewithhis knee. I glance at him, and he surreptitiously hands me a THC gummy. Cole notices and gives us both his Cop-Glare-of-Disapproval, which he has perfected over the years.
Nyx puts them away, and we both roll our eyes.
Finally, the doors to the sanctuary open and the organist—a 500-year-old woman named Ellen Montgomery, who has played the organ here since the church was built back in 1854—strikes up the iconic song:Bum-BUMMM-bum-BUMMMM…
We all stand and partially turn to watch the bride do the slow glide down the aisle.
She's beaming. Noelle outdid herself on Ember's hair, braiding all 75 feet of the white-blond tresses into an elegant crown on top of her head, which was then wreathed with baby's breath and white roses. Her dress is custom—it has to be, seeing as she's 437 weeks pregnant. Her belly leads the way, with a long train trailing behind her, a slit in front showing flashes of her short, muscular legs. Her unique silver eyes are bright and watery and emotional as she approaches Felix, her smile brighter yet.
I know what you're thinking:why is Riley not his brother's best man?Followed by:Why are his two best friends not standing up in the wedding?
Felix and Ember decided not to have a best man, groomsmen, maid of honor, or bridesmaids. It's just them up there with Reverend Vickers. Felix's reasoning for not picking a best man was that he couldn’t choose between the three of us, so he didn't. Did it sting a little? Meh, some. I'll get him back at the reception when I tell an embarrassing story.
Ember reaches the altar, and Noelle—also extremely pregnant—waddles up to take the bouquet from Ember and dab at her eyes with a napkin.
The honorable Reverend Vickers has us all sit down and he launches into a twenty-five-minute homily on the enduring power of love, which includes the obligatory reading of First Corinthians chapter thirteen.
