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Chapter 1
John
Nobody wants a grump at their wedding.
Being that most of my acquaintance deem me a killjoy, I will endeavor tonight to keep the real me under wraps. It’s a one-time offer. Get it while it lasts.
Lights sparkle, music plays, smiles beam—and every one of the nuptial stimuli makes my head pound and my stomach ache. Sets my gag reflex into high gear.
Love is for suckers and marriage for morons.
Worst of all, tonight’s event is being held in an actual church. Who does that anymore? Of the last half-dozen weddings I’ve been invited to—invited, not attended—every single one was held on a beach or at some fancy schmancy event venue: a garden, a vineyard, a reclaimed warehouse on some trendy downtown street. Not this one. Nope, Agent Gonzalez and his bride have gone old school, even hiring some pastor sort who is droning on about sacrificial love and other nonsense. Things I haven’t heard about since my own sham of a wedding roughly twenty years ago.
I give the happy couple six months, a year at the outside. Marco, formerly known as my most incorrigible undercover agent, has done some changing over the last year, I will give him that. Maybe the whole reformed bad-guy thing will buy him and his bride, the sister of yet another of my former underlings, an extra few months. That’s it, though. I’ll wager a year’s salary the union won’t exceed a twelve-month time frame.
Sad, but they’ll bear the disappointment. That’s what people do. In the end, they’ll be stronger. Plus, then they can focus on stuff that matters. Like work.
Yep, stupid, naïve, foolish love has cost me two of my best in the last eighteen months.
I only hope no children are involved by the time the marriage and forever nonsense fall apart. That’s the tragedy, albeit a foreseeable one.
About the time my eyelids are closing, the preacher man gets to the important part. No, to the biggest sham of all: the vows. Marco and his firecracker bride repeat those back to each other, a few other things are said, and they are pronounced husband and wife.
Tick-tock, tick-tock
After a song and a prayer, the organ—yes, an actual organ—booms out a recessional, and the happy couple glide down the aisle on a wave of love.
Okay, I need a toilet to hurl into. Fast.
First behind them are the best man and his blushing bride of, what is it now? Close to a year? They still look happy, I’ll admit, but time will tell. Sadly, a baby bump is already obvious as Avery—I believe that’s her name—glides up the aisle.
Too bad. Walker’s easy out has passed.
The pews begin to empty. I lose myself in the throng, and three minutes later I’m dodging puddles in the parking lot, cranking my car’s engine, and scramming. I’ll give my condolences—er, congratulations—later.
The groom and his new bride don’t live in Texas anymore. I was told Fort Worth was an in-between spot for family and friends. Lucky me. Just think, had they held the nuptials in Denver where they now live, I would have had to miss it altogether.
Flipping on my wipers, I jump on the interstate and head west to my relativelynew hometown. It’s two years now since I bought my place outside of Chandor. The commute is obnoxious, but the move to the country has been good for me. I’m a much happier man these days.
My phone slips my grip when I lift it from the console. I mutter not nice things at the blankety-blank thing, fumble about my feet, then glance at the lighted screen. No notifications, not even from work. I toss the device onto the empty passenger seat where it lands on top of a scripted invitation, the one to the reception, addressed to me and a plus-one.
Nope, not me. No plus-one and no partying tonight.
My stomach rumbles, missing the one good thing that would have come from attending the after-wedding festivity.
Food is served at wakes, too.
The ridiculous rain slows me down, but I should be able to slide into Charlie’s before closing. Normally, Charlie’s Diner is my breakfast spot. I think after the sacrifice I made tonight, I can treat myself to one of his mondo chicken fried steaks. Yeah, I deserve something special.
Hollie
“Hey, girl. You hear back about that school thing yet? That program you was trying to get into?”
Marlene, kicked back against the counter, is on a roll tonight, hitting all my sore spots with her questions and her own brand of waitress wisdom.
I reach for the giant salt container I’ll use to refill a dozen smaller shakers. “Nothing yet.” I sigh. “I wouldn’t be able to attend anyhow.” And right now,myfuture is the least of my concerns.
“Girl, don’t be such a pessimist.”
