Chapter 9 #2
While Tay and I exchanged a glance, Theo chuckled to himself, ducking his head as if to hold the punchline inside. “Oh, that’s a good one.”
“Well,” Mom said. “Enlighten us.”
“The waiter,” Charley said, deadpan and straight-faced.
Laughter rippled out. Above us, a light breeze tugged on the sun sail, casting shifting shadows across the deck. The sky was softening to apricot, the late afternoon light washing everyone’s skin in lazy gold, flowing down the lines of Tay’s torso and the subtle relief of his abs.
We’d done a workout earlier, just us two in the resort’s overwater gym, and he’d mentioned that while he didn’t have the money for a gym membership right now, he kept some weights in his room that he used on the regular.
“It shows,” I’d told him, and he hesitated for a brief moment before striking an exaggerated pose.
“Take a picture,” he’d said. “It’ll last longer.”
I’d mimed framing a shot with my hands and mostly captured his bright eyes and a grin that told me we could walk this line.
“Dean,” Tay said now. “Your turn. Defend our medical honor.”
I pulled my attention up to his face and studied him for a moment, thinking. I had nothing to prove to him—and yet. After sifting through a few options, I settled on, “What’s the difference between a general practitioner and a specialist?”
“One charges double?” Charley suggested.
“Good one,” James said, sipping from a sweating glass of lemon water.
“Not bad,” I said. “Anyone else?”
Theo scrunched his eyebrows. “One actually learns the patient’s name?”
“Oooh.” Tay drew out the word, flattening a hand to his chest. “Burn.”
I let my smirk show. “Still nope. See, the general practitioner treats what you have. The specialist thinks you have what he treats.”
Even amid Charley’s slow clap and Theo’s snort, amid my mom’s and James’s amused chuckles, my gaze snagged on the open delight on Tay’s face, how he threw his head back for a barking laugh. He looked happy.
I’d give a lot to keep him that way—was doing my best, in fact.
Wasn’t I?
Karaoke. What the fuck.
“What the fuck, Charley?” I asked as laminated song lists were handed out like menus at a restaurant straight out of my personal nightmares.
My sister grinned from her perch on a barstool, the pixie look completed by a flower crown. “Loosen up, will you? Nothing wrong with a bit of public humiliation. I hear it builds character.”
“That’s trauma, not character.”
“Your therapist can thank me later.”
“But,” Tay jumped in, bumping our shoulders together, “here’s the good news: Your favorite song is on the list.”
My favorite song? I needed a moment to place it—the café where we’d first discussed this charade, trying to break the ice with some introductory questions. “Favorite song, family background, that sort of thing.”
“His favorite song?” Charley leaned in, a hound who’d smelled blood.
I slid Tay a look that promised certain death—and not a fast and merciful one. Unfortunately, his smirk wasn’t fazed in the slightest. “As a cardiothoracic surgeon,” he told Charley, “there’s really only one choice.”
She narrowed her eyes. “‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’?”
“Excellent guess,” he said. “Really very excellent. But, no.”
“I’d like to remind you,” I told Tay, “that I know where you sleep.”
Tay grinned at me before turning back to Charley. “He thinks he’s scary—it’s cute. Anyway, the obvious answer is ‘My Heart Will Go On.’”
“Right.” Charley looked like she’d been saving up all her glee for a moment exactly like this. “Noted.”
I tipped my head back for a dramatic sigh even as I bit down on a smile.
We were at the resort’s beachside bar, warm light spilling from handcrafted straw lampshades, the waves a whisper just beyond the deck.
The open-air karaoke setup dominated one side of the space, while behind the bar, an industrial-sized blender promised bad decisions with a rum base.
And because this was Charley’s brainchild, there was, of course, a twist.
“No one volunteers,” she’d declared earlier. “We draw names from a hat. Equal opportunity embarrassment for the win!”
Which was how my name had ended up on a slip of paper along with everyone else’s. And how Tay got called up.
Well—not immediately. A few unlucky souls got picked before him.
The first was a sun-pink investment banker who belted out “Sweet Caroline” with such enthusiasm that the local bird population might never recover.
The second was one of Charley’s college friends, who chose Beyoncé and gave it a solid try, bless her, if you ignored the bit where she missed every other line and filled the gaps with interpretative dance at least partly due to the open-bar policy.
By the time a guy launched into a deeply earnest rendition of “Wonderwall,” the crowd was shouting and hollering along.
And Tay cheered for them all—full-bodied, grinning-like-an-idiot clapping.
He whooped at the end of “Valerie,” hollered something supportive when the makeshift Beyoncé backed into the mic stand, and even rose for a standing ovation when Theo’s cousin almost hit the high notes in “I Will Always Love You,” arms flung wide like she’d just won the grand finale of some talent show.
I leaned close for a murmur. “You do realize we’re butchering decades of pop culture here, right? And you’re actively cheering it on.”
“Maybe.” Tay turned his head, eyes alight with amusement, close enough for his features to blur a little. “But no one remembers the pitch, you know? They remember the joy. And if you ask me, everyone deserves to feel like a star for three and a half minutes.”
I needed a second to reply, studying him for longer than I should.
Because that was just the thing, wasn’t it?
Tay was a bit of a flirt, perhaps, a charmer for sure.
But he was also… good. Which seemed cheesy, almost outdated as a concept, but he was.
The kind of person who tried to do right by everyone, who clapped loudly enough that no one else felt small.
“Spoken like someone who wanted to be famous in high school.” I infused it with warmth. “Is this your long game, then—a karaoke mic and a cheering crowd?”
His gentle laugh pearled like champagne bubbles. “Pretty sure most people here are three drinks past noticing.”
Theo was next.
I’d honestly expected him to fumble through something sort of… dudeish. Oasis, perhaps, or Coldplay. I was in for a surprise, though. When he stepped up to the makeshift stage, he grabbed the mic with a bit of theatrical flair and announced, “This one’s for Charley. I am not sorry.”
When the opening notes of “Can’t Help Falling In Love” played, my sister’s face went through the full range of human emotions in three seconds.
Theo wasn’t half bad either—not polished but sincere, and he kept looking at her like she’d hung the stars.
By the time he finished, Charley was red-cheeked and laughing into her hands while several wedding guests fake-sobbed or fanned themselves with their cocktail napkins.
Everyone went wild when Theo took a bow.
I clapped and cheered along, Tay pressed against my side, and watched my sister get swept into a hug by someone who clearly adored her.
She looked radiant, and God, I wanted that for her.
I did. But for one foolish second, I wondered how she’d managed to build something so wonderful on the shambles of our childhood when I’d barely even let anyone past the gates.
The thought dissolved as quickly as it had sparked to the surface. I buried it under laughter and salt-thick air and Tay’s dramatic groan at how he’d just been called up.
“Knock ’em dead, rock star?” I offered along with a quick hug around his middle, a fleeting brush of our bodies that left me oddly unsettled.
His mouth quirked into a lopsided smile, eyes lingering for a second before he straightened his spine in a show of exaggerated determination and turned to the stage.
As he passed Charley, she placed her flower crown on his head before dropping onto the sofa next to me.
He was still grinning when he took the mic.
“Uptown Funk.”
He started out a little awkward, hip cocked to the side and voice a shade too quiet, frowning at the lyrics. Not bad, just… cautious. Which wasn’t him, really—and he’d said it himself: Everyone deserves to feel like a star, even if it’s only for a small matter of minutes.
I took a deep breath and leaned forward. Right. Here goes nothing. So I stuck my fingers in my mouth and whistled like I was sixteen and stupid on cheap beer.
He glanced up, startled, and then he laughed—really laughed, eyes crinkled into happy slits and head tipped back. His posture changed, shifted into something different as he ran a hand through his hair like he’d just stepped out of a shampoo commercial.
The chorus was on point. He struck a pose to go with it, my mom yelling encouragement, several other guests cheering, clapping just like he had for everyone else.
“Marry me, Tay!” Charley yelled right as he launched into the second verse, and he fumbled a line because he was laughing too hard, Theo faking outrage.
I sat back, warm all over, watching Tay slip into a tentative strut that grew bolder with every beat, until he was working the crowd as if they owed him money.
Perfectly on pitch? Perhaps not. But he made it his own, and by the time he hit the bridge, he had people singing the words back at him like it was a real concert.
Charley leaned over and propped her chin on my shoulder, voice just loud enough to reach me. “He’s a cutie. Don’t mess it up or I will maim you. Slowly.”
I shot her a brief, sharp glance. “It’s not like that.”
“Tell me another one.”
Yeah, I hadn’t really thought that would work.
“I think you got it twisted,” I told her instead. “Aren’t you meant to give him the ‘hurt my brother and I’ll destroy you’ speech?”