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Caleb nods. “I’ve seen photos. He’s beautiful, not surprisingly. Jackson, right?”
“That’s right. He’s our world.”
“I’m happy for you.”
Caleb’s eyes shift, briefly, to me, and I nod my encouragement. We talked about this six months ago, after all. I told Caleb, in no uncertain terms, he’d never be able to find true love again, never be able to feel true happiness again, frankly, if he didn’t wipe the slate clean with Violet and Dax and admit his contributions to the cluster fuck and forgive.
Caleb clears his throat. “I’m happy for you both.”
Violet looks shocked. “Thank you.”
Caleb shifts his weight. “I came over here to tell you that. Also, to say I know it was wrong of me to expect my band to stand in solidarity with me, when I was the one being an asshole. I was immature and selfish. I felt stabbed in the heart, and I thought stabbing Dax in his heart in return would make me feel better. But it didn’t.” He looks at me again, gets encouragement, and returns to Violet. “Amy told me the expression, ‘When you hold a grudge, it’s like drinking poison and hoping the other guy dies.’ And I realized that’s exactly what I’d been doing, for way too long.” He swallows hard. “I’m sorry.”
Violet is visibly floored. “Thank you. It means the world to me to hear you say all that.” She looks at me. “Thank you, Amy.” When I press my lips together, wishing I could be invisible, she shifts her gaze back to Caleb. “When Dax saw that famous photo of you, Colin, Fish, and Amy, he was elated. He said he hoped it was a sign you were getting closer to burying the hatchet with him. That’s all he’s ever wanted, Caleb.”
Caleb’s Adam’s apple bobs. The man is covered in tattoos. Some of them kind of scary. He’s a towering figure, literally, and also figuratively, in music and pop culture—one of the most iconic and recognizable drummers in the history of music. But right now, he’s a vulnerable, broken man—as sweet and unsure as a schoolboy at recess who’s praying not to get picked last for a dodgeball team.
Caleb clears his throat. “Maybe you could find out if Dax is willing to talk now?”
Violet’s breathing hitches. “I’ll go get him. Don’t move.” With that, Violet sprints away, leaving Alessandra and me standing alone with Caleb.
“Good for you,” I whisper.
Caleb nods but looks down at his shoes.
“Um, Caleb, this is Alessandra Tennison,” I say, motioning to Ally.
“Hi,” Ally says, waving awkwardly.
“Hey. I love ‘Smitten.’ Congrats on your success with that.”
“Thank you. It’s been a dream come true.”
Caleb half-smiles in reply, but quickly peers past Ally and me, clearly wondering how Violet is faring with Dax. I look at Ally and make a face that says, Well, fuck if I know what we should do. And, thank God, a moment later, we’re saved by the proverbial bell, in the form of the wedding coordinator’s amplified voice inviting “all the single ladies” to come to the other side of the patio to try to catch Georgina’s bridal bouquet.
Of course, Ally and I don’t consider ourselves “single ladies,” in most contexts. We both know we’ve found our forever person. On the other hand, though, neither of us is wearing a ring, and this is the perfect chance for both of us to get the hell out of here.
“We should go,” I say tentatively to Caleb.
“Absolutely,” he says, waving us away. “Go, go!”
I lean in and whisper, “I’m proud of you.” And then, off we go, with Caleb calling to my back, “Throw an elbow if needed, O’Brien! Be ruthless!”
Laughing, I throw up my free hand as I gallop away, letting Caleb know I’ve heard his silly advice.
When we arrive at the designated location for the bouquet toss, Ally and I find a good position among the other assembled single women, and the newly minted Mrs. Rivers—wearing a stunning gown designed by her new sister-in-law, Violet—gets into position with her back facing the group.
“Are you ready, Georgie?” the wedding coordinator prompts, and when the bride whoops to signal her readiness, the woman counts down. A moment later, Georgina tosses her bridal bouquet up and back and it flies through the air in a perfect arc . . . that’s headed straight for me. Oh my God! Gasping, I reach out for the bouquet as it falls straight into my waiting palms . . . and then watch in slow motion as a pair of hands snatch it away at the very last second.
“Damn!” I shout, as Alessandra standing next to me bursts out laughing.
All the single ladies pose for a group photo with Georgina and her friend who caught the bouquet—a co-worker of Georgina’s from Rock ‘n’ Roll magazine, apparently. But when a loud cheer inside the house cuts through the party on the patio, everyone outside, including Ally and me, instantly begins traipsing indoors.
