Chapter Seventeen #3
We chat a little longer and form a tentative plan to have the wedding in about a week to give Tracy and Matt time to get their side of things in order.
Not that they’re on their own—offers to help with a cake or flowers get tossed around pretty quickly.
Someone even volunteers to drive down to Mae’s for a couple dozen donuts.
Distracted by all the potential ways to shoot the wedding, I almost miss the sound of my name. Wes shakes his head with a fond smile as if he knows exactly what had my focus. Once he has my attention, he gestures to a guy I think I’ve met once before who’s standing a few feet away.
“Adam needs a jump. You’ve got cables in your emergency kit, right?”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” I hold out my hand to Wes for the car keys. Since his shorts have actual pockets and not the sad suggestion of them that come with women’s clothing, he’s turned into the keeper of the keys. “Where are you parked?”
“I don’t want to bother you. Wes can do it.”
I narrow my eyes. Now I remember why Adam is vaguely familiar. He’s the same guy who saw me driving last week and made a snide comment about Wes letting me drive. I didn’t bother mentioning it to Wes. It wasn’t worth the trouble.
But I’m certain that not wanting to “bother” me has nothing to do with Adam’s insistence that Wes handle it.
Wes shrugs. “Sloane’s car, Sloane’s cables.” He’s still being his usual friendly self, but I know him too well now. There’s an edge to his voice.
“C’mon, man, she doesn’t know how to—”
“We’re leaving anyway,” I interrupt. It’s not exactly true. We were going to leave in ten minutes, once Tracy and Matt were done buying snacks, but they’ll understand.
I turn to walk toward the car. Wes doesn’t say a word, but the arm he keeps around my shoulders is a show of silent support I’m grateful for. I lean into him, close enough to catch the muttered Jackass under his breath.
“Wait, no, c’mon, man!” Adam protests behind us. “It was just a joke—”
Wes stops, breathes in sharply through his nose, and glances back over his shoulder. “Explain it, then,” he says calmly. “Jokes are meant to be funny, right?”
“You’re going to leave me stranded because your girl can’t take a joke?”
“No.” Wes looks down at me, and there’s a flash of something hard on his face before he directs his attention back to Adam. “You did this to yourself, man. Might want to work on those jokes.”
We both ignore his next protest. I don’t say a word until we’re a quarter mile down the road, and even then, all I manage through my anger is a barely audible “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” Disgust curls around the edge of Wes’s words, emotion thickening his accent. “I didn’t see it before, but I’m starting to think you deal with way too much of that shit.”
“It’s why I want the cover so badly,” I say quietly.
“I would really love to shut all of those assholes up.” I force myself to loosen my fingers on the steering wheel before they start to go numb and let out the sigh I’ve been holding in.
“I’d much rather focus on Tracy and Matt’s wedding, though. You up for playing assistant?”
Wes stares out the window, a muscle twitching in his jaw, his breaths slow and measured as though it’s taking effort to calm down.
I reach across the front seat and wrap my fingers around his.
I appreciate how much he cares, but I also don’t want to waste another minute on yet another asshole with shitty opinions.
“I’ve never shot a wedding,” Wes says eventually with a sigh. He gives my fingers a light squeeze and kisses the back of my hand. “But of course I’ll help you, darlin’. Whatever you need.”
“I’ll give you some pointers,” I promise. “You’ll do great.”
“What equipment do you usually use? I’ve got a few different lenses with me. No flash or reflectors, though.”
“Me neither,” I admit with a rueful laugh. “Should be able to make it work, though. My good portrait lens is at home, but it’s not like Tracy and Matt want formal portraits.”
“We’re not that far from Colorado. We could run back to your place and grab your usual gear.”
We’ve talked about finishing the season together. Wes hasn’t faltered since that conversation—but he also hasn’t had much of a choice, has he? Not without having to rely on me to bring him back to his car. This is the closest we’ve been to Colorado in weeks.
“I don’t think we would miss much,” Wes goes on, his attention on his iPad.
“Tomorrow’s a car wash, but the day after is looking pretty good up north.
We could detour to your place and spend the night there instead of a hotel.
Grab your extra gear, maybe a little extra sleep with how hard we’ve been going. If you agree, that’s my vote.”
I let go of his hand and reach for my water to give myself time to think past a twist of unease. What he’s saying makes sense. I am exhausted, and while I could make do with the gear I have, I’d prefer the lens I left at home.
We would also have almost the entire night to ourselves. In the privacy of my house, away from paper-thin hotel walls.
As for the lingering fear that Wes could change his mind once his keys are in his pocket, well, if that’s how it’s going to end, at least I’ll know. Before I get myself in any deeper.
“Colorado it is.”