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As long as it didn’t fuck with the music, we’d befine.
Maggie had materialized to greet us, looking pretty as usual in a silky gray cocktail dress that matched her striking eyes, her dark hair slicked back in a ponytail. Even in her heels she was petite; I had to lean down to kiss her cheek. Despite the pretty package, Maggie was pure kick-ass. I’d never met anyone who could rally people and bend them to her will the way she could—not even Jude’s security guys, and they often carriedguns.
She showed us around the room, essentially a giant yet cozy banquet hall, with a massive fireplace at one end, opposite the towering windows overlooking the cove. She gave us the lowdown on where the ceremony would take place—in front of the windows—and showed us the stage toward the back of the hall where Zane’s side project band, Wet Blanket, would play tomorrow night. The floor in the middle would be used for seating during the ceremony, then dinner, and later cleared for dancing. Right now it had a cluster of eight round tables set for the rehearsal dinner. The tables were lit with dozens of candles, chandeliers glowingabove.
If Maggie ever decided to quit the music business, she could probably make a solid career as a wedding planner. I wasn’t gonna tell her that, though; I needed Maggie taking on more work, not planning her escape. On paper, she was my assistant, which was fucking ridiculous. In reality, she did a lot more for all of us than her fair share. I’d been trying to officially promote her for years, but apparently she didn’t want any more “responsibility.” Which I translated as:I already put up with enough of Zane’s shit, don’t make it any easier for him to abuseme.
Katie’s best friend, Devi, joined us, and the two of them chattered on for a while about wedding stuff. Jesse had given them a blank check to do whatever they wanted—meaning whatever Devi thought Katie would want, and what Katie wanted, evidently, was an intimate yet glamorous wedding in the Canadian wilderness. Glad no one asked me how to pull that off, but somehow, Maggie and Devihad.
The both of them had been obsessed with it over the past five months, calling me ten times a day with inane questions. I gave them the best answers I could, but really, I did not give the last shit about weddings. Weddings, and marriage in general, were, in my limited experience—as the child of not one butthreeugly divorces—pretty much afarce.
I did give a shit about Jesse though, which was why I’d agreed to be one of his groomsmen when he asked. And what Jesse gave a shit about was Katie Bloom, that cute-as-all-hell girl in his arms with the dark hair and blue-green eyes. Apparently, the spoiled fuckwit she’d almost made the mistake of marrying a few years back—or rather, his fuckwit parents—had insisted on a big, grandiose summer wedding, but Katie had always dreamed of a cozy winter wedding. So a cozy winter wedding was what Jesse was givingher.
Pretty sure he’d give her any-fucking-thing, if sheasked.
Thing about Katie was, she never asked. Which was one of the many things I liked about her. Refreshing change from the other women Jesse had dated over the years, who were, for the most part—other than Elle—opportunisticairheads.
The man was brilliant on guitar; not so brilliant in his choice ofwomen.
When I saw him with Katie, though, I could say he’d finally gotten itright.
He was smiling ear-to-fucking-ear when they came off the dance floor; he let her go long enough to give me a bear hug, lifting me right off the floor. It struck me, when he smiled, how much he resembled his sister; the both of them kinda dorky as kids, all lanky and over-serious about music, now tall and statuesque, more than their fair share of beautiful, with their flawless, chiseled features, big, dazzling smiles and soulful browneyes.
“Brody. About time you graced us with your presence. Had to stop and get a new tattoo on the way,brother?”
“Just a quick one, of Katie’s name,” I pokedback.
Where normally he might’ve dropped me on my ass for that, he just laughed. Of course, he had Katie. He had Jessa. The two people he loved most in the world were here, and nothing was gonna piss on hisparade.
Even my general aura offunk.
I gave Katie a hug and a kiss and told her she looked gorgeous, which she did. I’d been informed that she wasn’t wearing a white dress for the wedding, so the little white cocktail dress she’d chosen for tonight was a nice touch. “Luckiest groom around,” I told her, and she smiled her sweet, disarming smile atme.
Then I introduced Amanda around to Katie’s family; I’d had a chance to meet them at the engagement party back in the fall. Nice people. Solid. Loved Jesse something fierce. And they took to Amanda right away, like everyonedid.
Why wouldn’tthey?
Amanda was charming in a genuine way, and easy to talk to. Not to mention easy on the eyes. Definitely deserved better than some distracted asshole who couldn’t even fucking seeher.
Because the entire time I introduced her around the room, eventually landing at the bar where she got chatting with Katie’s parents, playing on repeat at the back of my mind—actually, at the front of it—was:Where the fuck isJessa?
Where. The Fuck. ISshe.
I would’ve liked to believe myself when I explained to myself that my interest in the answer to that question was purely for Jesse’s benefit. That as one of his best friends and groomsmen, not to mention his manager, it was my duty to help make sure this thing went off without a hitch, that Jesse was happy, that Katie got the wedding of her dreams; that as soon as they got back from their honeymoon, Jesse was going back into writing mode for the new album and it was important he not be distracted or dealing with the fallout of some bullshit family drama, courtesy of his disappearing-act of a sister… or some suchshit.
But the truth was, I had to see heragain.
Hadto.
One glimpse of her, standing in the rain at the airport, her face tipped back as she grinned at the sky like she didn’t have a fucking care in the world, wearing my shirt—or at least, a shirt that looked a fuck of a lot like a shirt I’d once had, that she’d been wearing the last time I saw it—and I wasdone.
Done.
Sitting all of two feet from her in my truck? I was well and truly fucked. Because I’d forgotten how many colors there were in those soulful dark eyes. Forgotten how fucking pretty she was; how painfully fucking pretty. And I could still see the little girl she once was in those eyes—the little girl who’d looked at me like I ruled the fuckingworld.
I could barely look at her, could barely fucking breathe—that smell of her,fuck me, the smell of her that hadn’t changed in all the years since I’d met her, sweet and pure, like apples and blossoms and rain and fucking stardust and moonbeams; I couldn’t say what it was, but yeah. All I could do was grip the wheel and concentrate on driving and just try to keep from foaming at the mouth when I lit into her—try to pretend that none of it mattered; all my pissed off, miles-deep frustrations; all the disappointment; all the repressed agony and the pent-up clusterfuck of rage… that none of it destroyed me at all… thatshedidn’t destroy me, when she so fucking did… all of it, just broiling beneath the surface, ready toblow.
And hervoice.
