Epilogue
RILEY
A nyone have a hot fork? Because I'd rather shove one into my fucking eyeball than be here right now.
Look, I am legitimately over the moon happy for my big bro, okay? For really real. He deserves the sparkly hearts joy he's finally found in Ember. The dumbass put himself through a decade and almost-a-half of loneliness and guilt for something that wasn’t even remotely his fault. He was nineteen and at a party, he's not gonna get obliterated? Of course he was. Cassie fucking Miller was the problem. Fuck that bitch. She got what was coming to her, too—last I checked, she’s gotten herself knocked up by three different guys over four years, none of whom stuck around longer than it took to blow their load. She lives in a trailer—which there's nothing wrong with, just to be clear—and makes ends meet stripping at The Fuzzy Muffin. Yes, it's really called that. And yes, it's as skeezy and grody as you're probably picturing. I only know because I lost a bet and had to…well, never mind. No one wants to hear that story.
Point is…I love Felix to bits. I owe him fucking everything . I'm happy for him. Ember is a goddamned miracle; she puts the biggest smile on his face. Which has taken some getting used to, after twelve years of him being Mr. GrumpyPants. I mean, how can you not be happy when monster tits like those are yours to play with every day?
Bad Riley—bad. Don’t think about your about-to-be sister-in-law like that.
She's got an amazing personality.
I mean, she's very sweet.
Lots of great qualities.
Good fuck, I’m an asshole.
I scrub my face, hoping the scrubbing action will transfer to my hopelessly horny brain—someone needs to scrub that filthy motherfucker clean.
Cole elbows me. "The fuck is your problem, Rye?" he whispers.
I shake my head. "Nothing."
He rolls his eyes. "Jealous?"
I stare at him like he's grown a third head. Y'know, cuz he's already got two? Haha. I know, I know. Lame.
"Yes, Cole, I'm jealous. So jealous. I crave the stability and responsibility of a wife and child. Yes, yes, you found me out." I say it all in a monotone.
Felix, standing at the altar, glares at me to shut the actual fuck up. So, out of love, I shut the fuck up.
He looks good, though, my big broski. His tux is impeccable, and Ember finally got him in to see Noelle for a long overdue haircut, so the shaggy, almost-mullet he was rocking for the last few years is gone, replaced by a nice, clean Superman side part and a short, neat beard. His eyes betray his happiness, as does the eager, nervous, shit-eating grin on his face. Lucky motherfucker.
The queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach is just because I drank too much last night. It's not jealousy.
I'm a bachelor. Lifelong, committed. A lone wolf.
I almost laugh out loud at myself for being such a fucking dork.
The crowd gathered in St. Michael's Lutheran Church is restless, whispering and shuffling as we wait for the wedding march song to play. St. Michael's was the only real choice for a wedding venue, according to Felix. Ember took one look at it and just knew, and I get it. It's a gorgeous church, a classic white clapboard building with a bell and steeple, front steps with original wrought-iron railings, pointed arch double doors, and original pews and flooring from the mid-1800s, the whole thing set against a backdrop of flowering cherry trees.
I pull at the tight collar of my dress shirt, trying to loosen the stupid fucking tie without looking like I'm loosening it. What the hell is taking so damn long for Ember to come down the stupid aisle? Come marry your man already, for fuck's sake.
On the other side of me, Nyx nudges me with his knee. I glance at him, and he surreptitiously hands me a THC gummy. Cole notices and gives us both his Cop-Glare-of-Disapproval, which he has perfected over the years.
Nyx puts them away, and we both roll our eyes.
Finally, the doors to the sanctuary open and the organist—a 500-year-old woman named Ellen Montgomery, who has played the organ here since the church was built back in 1854—strikes up the iconic song: Bum-BUMMM-bum-BUMMMM …
We all stand and partially turn to watch the bride do the slow glide down the aisle.
She's beaming. Noelle outdid herself on Ember's hair, braiding all 75 feet of the white-blond tresses into an elegant crown on top of her head, which was then wreathed with baby's breath and white roses. Her dress is custom—it has to be, seeing as she's 437 weeks pregnant. Her belly leads the way, with a long train trailing behind her, a slit in front showing flashes of her short, muscular legs. Her unique silver eyes are bright and watery and emotional as she approaches Felix, her smile brighter yet.
I know what you're thinking: why is Riley not his brother's best man? Followed by: Why are his two best friends not standing up in the wedding?
Felix and Ember decided not to have a best man, groomsmen, maid of honor, or bridesmaids. It's just them up there with Reverend Vickers. Felix's reasoning for not picking a best man was that he couldn’t choose between the three of us, so he didn't. Did it sting a little? Meh, some. I'll get him back at the reception when I tell an embarrassing story.
Ember reaches the altar, and Noelle—also extremely pregnant—waddles up to take the bouquet from Ember and dab at her eyes with a napkin.
The honorable Reverend Vickers has us all sit down and he launches into a twenty-five-minute homily on the enduring power of love, which includes the obligatory reading of First Corinthians chapter thirteen.
Then, the vows. Felix goes first.
"Ember, I love you. I must've written at least fourteen different versions of these vows—"
"TWENTY-ONE!" Nyx shouts. "I counted!"
Everyone laughs.
“Thanks for that, Nyxie. Is it too late to un-invite you?" Felix clears his throat. "So yeah, twenty-one versions. I'm not an eloquent man, and I’m sure as heh—um, heck—no writer. I just know that you're it for me. You're my forever. I was so lost when I met you, Ember. I'd been drifting in the dark for years. And then you showed up, parked—sorry, stalled —in the middle of the road, half out of the engine bay of a violently orange 1967 VW Type Two, and I was gone. You have lit up my life every single day since then. I can't imagine life without you and I have no intention of finding out. My vow to you, Ember James, is that I will spend the rest of my life figuring out how to love you better. How to be the man you deserve. I’ll probably get it wrong more than I get it right, but you'll always have every single part of me until the day I die, and then some."
Ember blinks hard, tips her head back and blows out a breath through pursed lips. Shakes her hands out and then takes his again. "Felix." She waves a hand in front of her eyes. "There's no chance I’m getting through this without crying, but I’ll do my best."
"You got this, Sparky!" Nyx shouts.
Ember laughs tearfully. “Thanks, Nyxie.” She breathes sharply a few more times and then starts over. “Okay, here we go. Felix. I really struggled with what to say to you. I could promise to honor and obey you in all things, but let’s be realistic, here—I'm not good at doing what I'm told. Except when—well, never mind. That's for later." The crowd laughs, and the Reverend suppresses a disapproving frown. "I love you. You saved my life in so many ways." She glances this way. "Cole, you literally saved my life, but I can't marry you. Sorry."
Cole just laughs, looking like he wants to bury his head under the pew.
She returns her attention to Felix. “I’m lucky—so, so lucky. I mean, who gets a second chance not just at love, but life itself? When Dutchie died, I thought my life was over. I didn't see a point to anything. And then I met you, and you were…well, to be honest, annoyingly charming. I didn't want to like you. I didn't want to fall in love with you. Goodness knows I tried hard enough not to. And it’s not that you’re unlovable; it’s that I doubted I could ever feel that way again. And I almost died. I should have died." Her voice cracks, and she glances at Cole again. “If not for Cole, I would be dead. He…oh god, this is hard. He talked to me. Showed me pictures on his phone. Kept me awake until Chelsea and the firemen showed up—Rob, Marcus, Ellington, Marek." She glances at the four burly men in the front row, where she insisted they sit with Chelsea and Mike, Three Rivers' finest paramedics. "You all are heroes. I know, I know: you hate that word. But this is my day and I get to use it."
The firemen are pulling at collars and clearing throats, and Chelsea is trying like hell not to sob. Mike is stoic, but if I could see his face, I know he'd have red eyes, too.
"I owe you all my life," Ember continues, and then looks at the Black woman sitting next to Mike at the end of the front row. "Connie. You taught me how to walk again. Bullied me into getting stronger. Refused to accept 'I can't' for an answer."
Connie waves her off, but her shoulders are shaking, too.
Dammit, I've got something in my throat. And who turned on the allergies in here? My eyes are scratchy.
"I couldn't get up here and not honor all of you—Chelsea, Mike, Connie, Rob, Marcus, Marek, Ellington, and Cole. Thank you." She turns back to Felix. "They saved my life so I could be in yours. They didn't just keep me alive, they gave me my life back.” Another pause. “You know, in a way I'm thankful for the accident. I'm thankful, because in order to heal, I had to stay put. I had to let you take care of me. And you did. Day in and day out for months, you took care of me. And you did so without knowing if I'd ever come around to letting myself love you. You did it because you loved me. Selflessly and patiently, you took care of me because that’s just the kind of man you are."
Yeah, not a dry eye in the house. Even Nyx is intently studying the weave of his jeans.
"I love you, Felix. And the vow I’ll make above and beyond anything else is that I'm done running. I'm a Three Rivers girl for good."
There's a chorus of female cheers from the girls—Noelle, Raina, Lainey, and Layla.
Then comes the exchange of rings and the promises to love, honor, and cherish in sickness and in health till death do them part.
A very long, very wet kiss.
The walk down the aisle hand-in-hand. A rain of rice.
Photos in the cherry blossoms while the crowd heads to Noelle's parents' property—they're hosting the reception. There’s an hour or so of milling around their backyard in suits and dresses, chatting with…well, most of Three Rivers is here.
Raina, Noelle's best friend, corners me at one point and flirts pretty blatantly with me.
God, I wish. She's gorgeous. But she's good—inherently just a good person, like Noelle.
And I'm…well, me.
After a few minutes of Raina doing her best to make sure I don’t miss the fact that she's hitting on me—she even leaned on the table with her arms bracing in and propping up her magnificent rack—she lets out a frustrated sigh. "This isn't gonna happen, is it?"
I wish I had Nyx's gummy in my system right about now. I cover her hand with mine. "Raina, to say I'm honored and flattered that you're interested in me is a massive understatement. You're gorgeous, sweet, and funny. But trust me when I say you don't want any of this mess."
She frowns at me. "Shouldn't I be the judge of what I want?"
“Yeah, maybe. But I just…" I sigh. "I can't . Okay? I respect you…a lot . And the reality is, I'm just not cut out for what I know you want."
"Which is what?” she asks, her voice a little cold. "Since you’re the expert on what I want."
I spend a silent moment gazing at her, wishing. God knows I’ve had a little crush on her for years. Who wouldn't? All that beautiful brown skin, that killer body, that thick black hair? I fucking wish.
"A commitment,” I answer. "Loyalty. Honesty."
"Rye," Raina murmurs. "You're short-changing yourself."
I shake my head. "I'm not. I'm really not. See, deep down, I know the truth: I'm a piece of shit. I'd only hurt you in the end and you deserve a hell of a lot better than that." I clear my throat. “Than me.”
"You're not a—”
I move around the table and do something, recklessly, that I've wanted to do for a long fucking time: I kiss her.
No tongue—I'm not that much of an asshole. It’s just a kiss.
I pull back. "See? Only an asshole would do that at his brother's wedding." I tug on a tendril of glossy black hair. "Find a man who deserves you, Raina. And he ain’t me."
I walk away, then. Find Nyx and Cole hiding at the edge of the pre-reception cocktail hour party, surreptitiously sharing a flask.
Cole hands me the flask. "So. You and Raina."
"Nope." I take a slug.
"You kissed her."
"Yep."
"But…you're not…"
"Nope."
Nyx takes the flask from Cole, shoots a slug from it, and hands it to me. "He was proving a point."
"And what point would that be?" Cole asks.
“That he's the kind of asshole who'll shoot her down, kiss her, and walk away."
"Oh."
I take the flask but before I can take another hit, Cole snatches it and gives it back to Nyx. "You have a speech to give, Rye. Once you've done that, I'll get you clobbered. But you gotta stay with it until you've given your speech."
"Why do you think I need the whiskey?" I mutter, but don’t fight him on it because I know he’s right, the responsible fuckstick.
"Oh, shit, gotta go, boys. I'm being summoned." Nyx shoves the flask at Cole and hurries away.
Cole and I watch, bemused, as Nyx hurries over to Barbie, who presses him against a fence post, cups his groin, and then hauls him double-time toward the barn.
"You think those two will ever be more than fuck-buddies?" I ask Cole.
"Nah. At the end of the day, Nyx is just as fucked up about relationships as the rest of us." Cole tucks the flask in the inside pocket of his suit coat, glancing at me. “You alright, buddy? Don't think I don't see you."
“You see me? I'm right here. Of course you fucking see me, douchebag.”
Cole slaps me upside the back of my head. "Don’t be a dumbass. You know what I mean. Are — you — alright ?”
I sigh. "Fuck off. I'm fine."
"Rye."
"Fine, you pushy ass bitch," I grumble. "Yeah, I'm a little…I dunno. Upside down. I dunno. I dunno!" I shrug expansively, slapping my thighs. "I don’t fucking know how I am, okay? I'm happy for Felix. I love Ember. I'm excited for a little niece or nephew. I'm happy for Bear and Noelle. I don't know what my goddamn problem is."
Cole sighs. "Little bit of jealousy mixed in with a little bit of I wish mixed in with a little bit of knowing there's no way in hell that kinda goodness is ever coming your way."
I nod. "Yeah, pretty much." I glance at him. “You too?"
"Yep."
"Wanna talk about it?” I ask.
"Nope."
"Good,” I say. “Me either."
Finally, the bride and groom show up and we all take our seats at the long rows of white-cloth-covered picnic tables lined up in the backyard near the barn. It's late evening by now, a beautiful late spring day. Fireflies wink. The sunset stains the sky pink and purple. Crickets sing as the band goes quiet.
Salads are served by catering company servers.
The band leader speaks into the microphone, unclipping it from the stand and bringing it to me. "Riley Crowe, the groom’s brother, will give the first speech."
I stand up and accept the mic. Wipe my hands on my slacks, one and then the other, and try to ignore the hammering of my heart.
"Uh, okay. Whose idea was it to let me have the mic?" I grin. “Too late now, bitches. Oops, probably shouldn't say that, huh? Well, I am who I am. So, Felix. Bro. Remember back in tenth grade?"
Felix drops his head to the table with a thunk the whole audience can hear, and everyone laughs. "Do not tell that story, Riley Crowe."
I scan the crowd, grinning. "Oh yeah, I'm telling that story. Mainly because I bet Ember hasn't heard it. So, it goes like this…"
And I launch into a greatly embellished version of a real event in our lives involving cow tipping, a rogue tractor, a shotgun full of rock salt, and Felix only avoiding arrest because Cole's dad was the sheriff at the time.
I've got everyone howling with laughter, wiping tears away, and doubled over by the time I'm done.
"So, that story is about eighty percent true," I say. "And only we know what's not true. You'll all just have to wonder." I turn to Felix. "I do have a serious side, though. It’s very small, and you only get it for the next thirty seconds, bro, so enjoy it.”
I pause, breathe out my shaky nerves.
“I fucking love you,” I tell him. “You are the only reason I'm where I am in life, Fee. You let me crash on your couch when I had nowhere else to go. You gave me a job when no one would hire me— not even people who knew me my whole life. You took a chance on me after I blew up my life. I owe you everything , brother, and I couldn’t possibly be happier that you found Ember. Enjoy the life you're gonna have, because you deserve it."
I turn my attention to Ember. "Sparky. I'm sorry you're saddled with my asshat of a brother. Good luck." I pretend to sit down, to much laughter. "No, for real, I think Heaven is missing one of its angels, because that's the only explanation for a girl like you taking on the gut job project that is my brother.” I sigh a laugh, knuckling my forehead. “I’m trying to be serious, I promise. You put a smile on his face, and pretty much everyone here can attest to the fact that for a very, very long time, that was a rare thing. So, instead of any more tasteless jokes, I'm just gonna propose a toast to you two.” I lift my glass of champagne. “To a life of happiness, laughter, lots of kids, and all the love in the world. To you guys."
I sip champagne and take my seat. Fake laughter and eat food. Drink too much. Dance with my friends and avoid Raina like a plague-ridden rat…for her own good.
Finally, I can take no more.
It's midnight and the party shows no signs of slowing down. The old folks and married-with-kids couples have long since taken off, and Ember is holding court under the tent while Felix cuts loose as I've not seen him cut loose in a long, long time. Apparently, Ember gave him permission to party for the both of them, since she can't.
I cruise through the crush of dancers to find my brother. He's at the center, black bowtie loose around his neck, shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest, coat long since abandoned, hair sweaty.
I clap him on the shoulder, and he turns to me. "Hey, Fee." I pull him into a hug. "Congrats, man. I'm happy for you and proud of you."
He hugs me back with rib-jarring slaps. "Love you, bro."
"Hey, I'm gonna bounce, okay?"