Chapter 23
AIDEN
A text lights up the lock screen: Dad: Can’t make it. Jeremy is sick...
I don’t open it. I don’t need to. Just seeing the words is enough. The phone is still ringing. I answer.
“Hello?”
“Hey man, where the fuck are you?” Eli’s voice, already loud.
“Just finishing up at the office,” I lie.
“Office? Bro, your life ends tomorrow. Listen, I’m texting you an address, get here.”
He hangs up before I can answer. A second later, the text comes in. It’s a bar. Drinking sounds good right now. Before I leave, I block my father’s number and delete the message. I get it. His real kids come first.
Walking into the bar, I immediately spot the guys, my fraternity brothers from a lifetime ago, loud and sprawled around a table like they own the place.
As soon as I sit, someone shoves a shot glass into my hand. I throw it back. Then another. Then another. There’s laughter, jabs about needing liquid courage. “It’s not too late,” someone jokes, and they all howl.
I regret inviting them. Every single one. But the truth is, they’re all I’ve got. Sure, a few distant relatives from Mom’s side are coming. Some colleagues. But these guys? These are the ones who came for me . And that counts for something.
Around my tenth shot, Luke jumps onto a chair and starts belting out our old frat pledge. The rest of them join in, loud and off-key causing us to get kicked out.
They stumbling out into the night, laughing like it’s the best night of their lives.
I’m quiet. Drunk. And sinking.
Eli points to a brightly lit sign across the road. Squinting, I can just about make out two blinking nipples on the neon board. Oh. It’s a strip club. Someone yells, “Yeah, baby!” and throws an arm around my shoulders, steering me forward.
Inside, it’s a haze of red carpets, dim lights, and pink velvet sofas circling a pole. There are other seats, a main stage farther off, but the guys naturally gravitate toward the pink setup. I don’t say anything. It’s the only spot big enough to fit all of us.
Almost instantly, two women naked from the waist up appear, gliding over like it’s second nature. One climbs the pole. The other rubs against her, their movements exaggerated, obscene, hot.
I clench my jaw. No, no, I love Kate. Looking won’t hurt. I just won’t get a dance. I’ll sit here, have a drink, be the guy I’m supposed to be.
It’ll be okay, I tell myself and signal the waitress for a round of drinks.
Each of the guys gets a dance, some get more than one. They have girlfriends, but tonight they’re yelling, “What happens at a bachelor party stays at a bachelor party.”
I told them I didn’t even want a bachelor party. But I’m too drunk to care right now. Not drunk enough to get a dance, though.
Every time someone tries to buy me one, I wave the woman off or steer her toward someone else.
All except the waitress. She keeps coming by to ask for my order, but it’s not just that.
Her hand brushes my shoulder, lingers on my back.
At first, I gently shift away. But as the drinks keep flowing, I get slower, duller, until she leans over from behind me, breasts pressing against my head.
For a second, I just sit there, frozen. Then I lean forward, away from her.
Eli notices.
That’s when the ribbing starts.
“Come on, Mrs. Bennet got you on such a tight leash you can’t even get a dance?”
The others laugh, piling on with insults in the name of “good old fun.”
I ignore it. Or I try to. I don’t care, not really until Jorge leans in close, reeking of whiskey, and says, “Didn’t your dad teach you? What happens at a bachelor party…”
“…stays at a bachelor party,” the others finish, laughing.
I get up. Stumble a little.
“I’m leaving.”
I reach for my phone to call a cab, but Eli rips it from my hand and tosses it across the room before I can react.
“Hey-” I start, but my words are thick.
Eli’s on his feet now, swaying but steady enough. “You know what? We’re not leaving until you get a dance.” His finger jabs my chest.
I open my mouth to argue, but the waitress cuts in, stepping forward with a sultry grin.
“I’ll give you a private dance. The groom special.”
She struts away without waiting for an answer.
The guys whistle and watch her go, then turn to me, chanting: “Go after her!” Mixed in are more insults, more jokes, but the message is clear.
Go. Or be a joke.
I follow her, ready to tell her I’m not interested, that I love someone. But I don’t get that far. The second I step through the curtain, she grabs my hand and pulls me in, guiding me to a low bench attached to the wall. I try to stand back up, but my legs feel like cement.
She starts dancing.
I tell myself I’ll just let her get through it. Sit here long enough to convince the guys I played along. I watch her swing on the pole, she’s bendy. I’m unable to look away as her pierced nipples run against the metal of the pole.
Seeing that she has my attention now, she leans her back against the pole, knees bent.
One hand is gripping the pole at the top of her head, the other is running down her body.
Over her tits, she moves it to her hips, undoing the string of her thong.
I can feel myself getting aroused so I look away.
I hear her heels clicking closer to where I am as she begins to rub her body on mine. She shakes her hips in my face, practically sitting on my lap. She must feel me hard against her, because turning to look at me, her hands reach back and tug at my zipper.
I tell myself to tell her no, push her away but I don’t do either. I just watch, as she bends to retrieve something from her shoe, rips it open with her teeth and rolls it down my shaft.
Before I know it, she sinks down on me. She’s tight, wet but it feels wrong.
The second she lets out a moan, I lose it.
Pushing her off, I stand up ignoring her curses, ripping off the condom and fumbling with my pants.
My heart is racing. My skin’s crawling. I can’t go back out there.
I can’t look at them. I don’t even know where I’m going, I just stumble in the opposite direction and find a door marked ‘SECURITY.’
Pushing it open, I barely make it outside before I throw up. The door slams behind me.
“Asshole,” someone mutters.
I don’t care. I just slide down beside the dumpster and my vomit. I ruined everything.
Sometime later Eli finds me in filth. Quietly, he helps me up and calls a cab. I don’t ask where we’re going, I don’t care. It’s his hotel, I think.
He hands me my phone. “I texted Kate,” he says. “She was worried. I told her you’d stay here. That you’d see her tomorrow, at the wedding.”
I don’t sleep. At least, I don’t think I do. One moment it’s night, the next, it’s morning and Eli’s sitting in the armchair beside the sofa I’d spent the whole night on.
“You don’t have to tell her,” he says. “It was a moment of weakness. It’s only human. You’ve only ever been with one woman your whole life.”
I say nothing. Silently, I get up and head home. Hailing a cab, I take it back to the bar, to my car.
Kate and the boys are probably already at the venue. She’s probably in the bridal suite, I imagine her laughing while someone does her makeup, the boys running circles around her chair.
At home, I walk slowly. Each photo, each dent in the walls, every piece of our life brushes against me.
I have to tell her. Throw myself at her feet. Apologize. Beg her not to leave. I love her. She’s the love of my life. The mother of my children. But I have to tell her.
Upstairs, I get dressed. My tux is laid out on the bed, with a note: Love you. Our bags are packed in the corner. We leave for the honeymoon tomorrow.
What will she say?
I’m about to break her heart.