Chapter 18 Vince
Vince
The pool bar is too loud and bright, that kind of summer-perfect chaos that should blur the sharp edges inside me but never does.
Trevor is half-submerged in the shallow end with some girl, probably family, who has green nails and oversized sunglasses. A few more of their college friends showed up this morning, and everything shifted. More people, noise, and small talk. The wedding feels closer now, heavy in the air.
Lance and George are bickering under an umbrella about something, and whatever it is, Lance looks ready to straddle George and strangle him.
I nurse a beer that went warm a while ago.
My eyes keep drifting to the empty seat near the speakers, the one Adrian always claimed like it belonged to him. It looks wrong without him in it.
“You gonna brood like that all the time now?” Lance drops onto the stool beside me. “Because if you are, I can give you a checklist. Stare at the horizon. Punch a wall. Blast Bon Iver until housekeeping complains.”
“I can’t,” I mutter. “My Spotify’s stuck on ‘Don’t Mess With My Tempo.’”
Lance snorts. “Just call him already. I never knew this about you, Holloway. Seeing you like this? Let’s just say…what a revelation.”
I don’t answer.
A girl in a lavender sundress approaches, curves and glossed lips, maybe a cousin or a workmate. I have lost track. “You’re Trevor’s best man, right? Vince?”
I nod, polite but flat. She leans closer, twisting her braid over one shoulder.
“You don’t look like a corporate guy,” she says with a teasing smile. Then, her eyes widen. “Wait, you’re Vince Holloway. Tritons. Oh my god, it’s you!”
Before I can get a word out, Trevor appears, water-slick and grinning, towel slung around his neck. “Careful,” he tells her, winking. “This one comes with a storm warning.”
She laughs at Trevor’s warning, playfully rolling her eyes like she’s been caught red-handed.
“Fair enough,” she says with a little shrug, braid sliding back over her shoulder.
The pout she gives is more teasing than wounded, and then she slips away toward the others, blending easily back into their laughter.
“Thanks, man.”
Trevor slides onto the stool. “Of course, just like how you saved me countless times in the past. Not in the mood?”
I shrug. “Not really.”
“Shame. That was Becca’s cousin. She is into emotionally unavailable guys. You two could have trauma-bonded.”
I let the jab pass, watching slowly dipping sun scatter off the water like it does not care about anything.
“You have been really off since Adrian left,” Trevor says, and there is an edge in his voice I have not heard before.
I look away. “No, I haven’t.” When I force a crooked smile at him, it must look worse than it feels, because he flinches.
Trevor studies me. “It hit all of us harder than expected. I think he got really close. Like, super close.”
A tightness gathers at the base of my throat as flashes of late nights, laughter, and the kind of reckless intimacy we pretended was just part of the wedding week rise uninvited. “Yeah. And he was hired. He was doing his job,” I say, low.
Trevor’s look sharpens. “Sure. But most strippers don’t stay four extra days, get added to the group chat, and end up basically an honorary groomsman.”
He is right. I hate that he is right.
“Still,” I mutter. “You are all acting like he is family.”
“And you are acting like he is poison,” Trevor says, his frustration a bit clear now. “Why did you nearly punch Lance when he joked about hiring him again just so he comes back here?”
I don’t answer because I don’t have one, not one I can say out loud.
After a beat, I meet his eyes. “Listen,” I tell him quietly.
“You don’t need to waste a second worrying about me.
This is your wedding. These are supposed to be the beginning of the best days of your life.
So go. Laugh, drink, dance, enjoy every single part of it.
Let me sit here and figure my own mess out.
” With this, I vow to myself to be a better friend and best man so he wouldn’t have to worry about me.
Trevor lets out a laugh, choosing to let it slide, and that is when Becca arrives, glowing in a red bikini top and a blue wrap skirt, her smile lighting the place up. She kisses Trevor’s temple and rests a hand on his shoulder, effortless and grounding.
“You scaring off my cousin already?” she teases, glancing toward the lavender sundress girl.
“Vince is being himself,” Trevor says with a softened tone. “Emotionally constipated.”
Becca laughs. “That tracks.”
Her eyes find mine, steady and perceptive. She is magnetic like that. Gorgeous, yes, but it is not just style. She carries herself like she is certain of who she is, and it radiates.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Peachy,” I answer too fast. I give her the same crooked smile I gave Trevor.
She does not buy it. She does not need to call me out either. She just looks at me, and the look is enough.
Trevor laces his fingers with hers. They share a moment I almost should not witness, something private and raw, beyond wedding stress.
She turns back to me. “I get why people orbit Adrian. He’s magnetic in that strange, grounded way, like he knows the room and still dares to be the boldest in it.”
She glances at Trevor. “I have had my flings. Things that mattered for a season, or did not. But Trevor? He does not click fast, not like that. When he did with Adrian, I noticed.”
Trevor gives the smallest nod.
Becca squeezes his arm. “If someone makes you feel more alive, more seen, you don’t dismiss it because it is messy. Life does not care about convenience.”
Her gaze comes back to me. “Whatever is between you and Adrian, it is yours to figure out. But do not let fear or pride be the reason it ends before it starts.”
Trevor’s voice softens. “We have been learning that the hard way.”
Becca’s smile dims, not sad, just grounded. “We don’t get forever, Vince. We barely get now. Sometimes all you have is what you do with this moment. Do not waste it.”
She kisses Trevor’s cheek and heads back to the girls, leaving her words like a lit match.
Trevor watches her go, then turns to me. “You aren’t the only one trying to figure out your feelings. But if you keep pretending there is nothing to figure out, you will lose the chance to feel it.”
“I wouldn’t even know what to say to him,” I mutter.
“Then start by not lying to yourself,” he says.
I stay quiet. The waves blur in the distance, sun on water like static. Adrian’s name sits under my tongue like a wound I will not touch.
He’s gone, and everything feels louder without him. Sharper, off-balance, like the space he filled still echoes, and I cannot tune it out.
By Thursday morning, I’m barely holding it together. The hollow ache in my chest has settled into something permanent, and I keep catching myself looking toward the lobby like Adrian might walk back through those doors.
That’s when Trevor’s phone rings during breakfast.
“Oh, it’s Olivia, our wedding coordinator,” he says, answering on the second ring. “Olivia? What’s…wait, slow down.”
The conversation goes on for several minutes, Trevor’s face cycling through confusion, and then what looks like genuine panic. When he finally hangs up, he looks like someone just told him his dog died.
“What’s wrong?” George asks.
“It’s the florist,” Trevor says, dragging both hands through his hair.
“Their main cooler went down overnight. Every flower for Sunday is ruined. Olivia’s scrambling to find replacements, but it’s peak wedding season.
She tried to keep it from us, but today she had to reach out to other vendors.
Some she already called are either fully booked or the quality isn’t even close.
She’s still working on it, and will also reach out to local ones, but she thought we should know. ”
“Can’t the hotel help?” George asks.
“They’re trying. She already spoke to them, but their usual vendors are tapped out. And the flowers Becca picked were specific varieties and colors that had to be ordered months in advance.” Trevor looks genuinely worried now. “She’s going to be devastated.”
I watch him spiral, feeling that I should do more than just sit here despite my own emotional mess. “What can we do?”
“It’s not just the flowers,” Trevor continues, his voice getting tighter.
“The lighting company’s setup was designed around the specific arrangements.
Without the right flowers and shit, the whole aesthetic would probably fall apart.
It’s not the end of the world, but Becca’s been planning every detail for eight months. ”
I get that Olivia called Trevor instead of Becca, since she would probably freak out more than Trevor currently is. The implication of this hits me. As his best man, I should help out in solving this problem.
“Look,” I say, reaching across the table to grip his shoulder. “We’ll figure something out, mate. I’ll call my manager and see what she can do.”
I pull out my phone to dial Megan’s number, knowing full well she handles sports contracts and endorsement deals, not wedding emergencies. However, I have to try anything that’ll probably work.
“You know what?” Trevor says, already reaching for his phone. “I’m calling Adrian.”
The name hits me like a physical blow, but I keep my face neutral. “Adrian?”
“He mentioned having connections in event coordination. Plus, he’s from around here originally, right? Santa Ynez Valley. He’d know people who do events.”
It’s logical, practical even, but anticipation races through my body at the thought of seeing him again.
“Trevor,” George says slowly, glancing at me. “You should probably just wait for Olivia to come up with alternatives. They’ll have contingency plans for situations like this.”
Lance nods. “True. Wedding coordinators deal with this stuff all the time.”