Three Grumpy Groomsmen

13. Ford

CHAPTER 13

Ford

I can tell Harrison is as rocked by what happened with Ivy and Liam as I am because he hasn’t said a word since we left them in front of the hotel.

Harrison is never this quiet for this long.

He might be trying to play this cool, as if he couldn’t care less that Liam and Ivy were kissing in front of the motel room door, but I can tell he does care. A lot.

I do too.

A lot.

More than I would have expected.

Sure, I’d entertained dirty thoughts about watching her kiss and touch—and be kissed and touched by—Harrison and Liam, but seeing it happen the way it had was…different.

They were kissing passionately. Privately. Like two people in love.

That was not a caught-up-in-a-dirty-moment. That wasn’t a product of being stuck in a motel room together.

That was clearly the culmination of long-held feelings.

Obviously reciprocal feelings.

Fuck.

Now Harrison and I are on our way to South Carolina.

Did we need to charter a private plane? Of course not. Did we do it so we didn’t have to drive to Amarillo to the airport, and then sit in a busy terminal waiting, and then sit on a full plane with a bunch of other people when we are both feeling big hurtful feelings? Yes. At least that’s why I did it. Harrison did it because it’s second nature. He loves to fly private.

He’s always told me that he’s not built for commercial air travel, and he even proved it to me once when I made him fly a regular airline in coach to spring break, telling him it was part of the experience.

He was amazed by everything about it.

Not in a good way.

It really is less annoying to just pay to fly my spoiled baby friend private for as long as I can afford it. Someday I might not be able to. At which time I will simply stop traveling with Harrison.

He’s staring out the window and I study him as I lift the glass of whiskey to my lips.

Should I be on my second whiskey without any food in my stomach at ten a.m.? Of course not.

But this is how I am choosing to handle the fact that Ivy is already taken. Again.

And the fact that I had two chances to fuck the woman of my dreams and I passed them both up.

I glance at my phone, then I’m annoyed with myself for doing so.

I left. Do I really expect her to immediately start texting and begging me to come back?

Okay, yes, a small part of me does.

Which is ridiculous. She owes me nothing. She certainly shouldn’t have to chase after me. It’s beneath her and I respect her for not indulging in my bullshit. I stomped off without talking and I get what I get.

Which is drunk on a plane.

My phone buzzes and hope blooms in my chest.

It’s an unknown number, so I ignore it.

“I’m happy for them.”

I take a long draw of my whiskey as Harrison looks over at me. He’s lying, of course. I simply lift a brow.

“No, seriously,” he insists. “Liam‘s been in love with her for years. Obviously, he finally told her how he feels. Good for him.”

I swallow, welcoming the burn of the liquor. I set the glass down and link my fingers over my lower stomach. “You are so full of shit.”

“I’m a good fucking guy,” Harrison protests. “I am happy that Ivy got rid of Brad, that she’s moving on with a great guy, and that Liam finally gets what he wants after all this time.”

I am Harrison‘s rock. I know this. It has always been our dynamic that I am the steady anchor and he is the fun one. If everything was left up to me, our bank account would probably be twice the size that it is, we’d have opened three more restaurants, and it’s possible that we would both already be settled down, married, and maybe even have kids.

But I will admit that we don’t need more money, or more restaurants, and we probably would’ve married people just because we should rather than because we wanted to.

Harrison, on the other hand, makes sure that we enjoy the things we accomplish. Because of him, we’ve traveled far more broadly than we would have otherwise. We’ve spent our money on fun and frivolity, but we’ve had amazing experiences and met amazing people. We’re not settled down and married, but neither of us feels like anything is missing from our lives.

At least we didn’t.

Before now.

Before Ivy and Liam.

How is it possible that these two people could be with us for two days and three nights on a crazy road trip, stuck in a dumpy motel room, and turn our fucking lives upside down?

“You don’t care that the only man you cannot get out of your system no matter how hard you try, woke up this morning after spending the night in your bed and declared his love to the woman who spent the night in my bed?” I ask. He doesn’t need to answer. I know him well enough to know the answer. But he is not going to gaslight me. “You don’t care that you finally got to kiss him again, got your hands on him again, actually spent several hours not fighting with him, and then found him kissing Ivy and announcing that they are now in a relationship? That doesn’t bother you at all?”

Harrison‘s entire body is tense, but he leans back in the expensive leather seat across from me, links his hands behind his head, and takes a deep breath. “Nope,” he lies straight to my face. “Everything‘s good. Obviously, he got me out of his system and is able to move on. Good for him.”

Is that what happened? I let myself wonder about that for a moment. Is that what happened with Ivy? She got me out of her system? Because there was definitely something between us. Yes, chemistry, for sure. But I think it was more than that.

I don’t think it’s my ego talking when I say that I was good for her. She relaxed around me. She was able to let go of the prim and proper, sophisticated side that she seemed to always be putting on. She is effortlessly elegant, independent, creative and sure of herself. But it’s clear to me, even in the small amount of time I’ve been around her, that no one takes care of her or carries any burdens for her. She actually took care of Brad—that was always clear. And Liam lifts up her independent, strong side. He encourages her to make her own decisions and be his equal in every way. Which is amazing. She deserves that.

But she also deserves to be worshiped. To have someone fully focused on her and her needs. To be someone’s princess.

That’s me.

I’ll be her cheerleader too. I absolutely admire her and want to see her succeed in whatever she wants to do. But I have a burning desire to take care of her. To be the one to hold her when she’s sad, to be sure she’s eating well and drinking enough water, and to be there when she’s hungover or has the flu.

I shove a hand through my hair.

She and Liam are friends. They have history. She’s in love with him.

Fine.

But I can’t shake this feeling that she still needs me , too.

My phone buzzes with a voicemail notification. I read the text version of it. The FBI wants to talk to me about Brad? What the hell?

I relay this to Harrison, who frowns. “That’s fucked up. Do you think that’s why he ran?”

“I have no idea.” If he did something illegal, surely there would be more signs of it. “Maybe they want to ask him about someone else and are just trying to find him.”

Harrison grunts in acknowledgment.

“Should we try to get in touch with him? What if it’s serious?”

Harrison gives a very Harrison response. “Call him if you want. I figure the hell with him. He’s the reason we’re both in this mess. He’s on his own, as far as I’m concerned.”

“True.” Yet I still text him, because it’s the FBI. That seems serious.

No surprise, I don’t get a response.

We fall back into silence, and I let out a hefty sigh as my thoughts drift back to Ivy.

Fuck.

“Man, you need to get over it.”

I look up to find Harrison studying me. And obviously reading me clearly.

“That would be nice.” I say. “But I don’t think it’s gonna happen.”

“You need to go out with someone,” he tells me.

I roll my eyes. I date. I’m no monk. “That’s not the solution.”

“Well, it’s going to have to be,” he snaps.

I frown. Harrison never snaps. Except at Liam. And even then, it’s not until the other man has really gotten to him.

“Are you going to go out with someone?” I ask.

He nods. “You and me. Amelia and Cara.”

Amelia and Cara are two women we know in Charleston. They are friends who own a marketing firm together and who did some work for our restaurant about four years ago. They have often been our plus-ones when we need casual, no-strings dates who can handle the sophisticated, wealthy, gossipy social circle we sometimes have to interact with.

“I’m not going out with Amelia in an attempt to get over Ivy.” The two women have some things in common, but there is nothing real between Amelia and me. There’s no way she’ll successfully distract me from my feelings for Ivy.

“Well, I’m going to see Cara.”

Yes, it’s interesting to me that my friend is going to try to get over a man by getting into bed with a woman. I notice he is not calling his guy-friend-with-benefits Wes, instead.

“Yeah, I’m sure being with Cara will be the same as being with Liam.” I reach for my whiskey again.

“That’s the point,” Harrison insists. “I need something totally different.”

And that’s probably as close as I’m going to get to a confession from Harrison that he is, in fact, upset about Liam.

“That’s the thing,” I say. “I don’t want different. I want Ivy. Exactly as she is. Different will only remind me constantly of her and all the things I want instead.”

Harrison frowns, but he looks thoughtful. “Okay, how about Kendall? She’s a lot like Ivy. Sweet, creative, stylish, smart.”

But I take a gulp of whiskey, then shake my head. “I want Ivy. Just Ivy.”

“So you’re just going to die alone, then? Is that right?”

I’m finally starting to feel the happy buzz of the alcohol in my brain. I salute him with my now empty glass. “Well, I’ve always got you.”

Harrison just shakes his head. “God help you.”