33. Will
WILL
My brain was in chaos after my father’s toast. How could it not be? But one thought screamed louder than the rest: James kissed me—he kissed me—and nobody put him up to it.
James lifted his arm from around my shoulder and snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing tray. I felt untethered without his arm to anchor me, but before I could panic, the reassuring weight was back and I was holding a fresh glass of bubbly.
It was the weirdest sensation. It was like I felt everything and nothing all at once, my emotions heightened yet so opposing they balanced each other, dreams and nightmares staring eye to eye on a level teeter-totter.
I’d waited my whole life for Dad to be proud of me, and now he was.
Yet, inexplicably, he was the one who’d slammed the door on my dreams.
I lifted the flute to my lips, the same lips James had kissed unprompted, and for a moment none of it mattered. The past was just backstory.
I had enough privilege to indulge in hopelessness for the rest of my life if I wanted to. But I had enough perspective to see it for what it was, a wasted luxury. James had kissed me, and everything else could wait.
Tiffany was deep in conversation with a runway model, drunker than I’d seen her in ages. Miles and Theo were doing wall-sits while they waited in line for the bathroom. And James had kissed me.
Maybe it was just for show. Maybe later he’d laugh and say, “How about that time you were freaking out and I kissed you in front of your entire family? That was pretty badass, right? That’ll fool ’em.” But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe James had wanted to kiss me.
“James, mind if I borrow my brother for a sec?” Andy asked.
I followed Andy into the hallway outside the banquet room and leaned against the wall. He didn’t say anything, so I filled the silence. “I can’t believe you’re getting married in two days.”
“I know.” Andy smiled, and it was a wonder his freckles didn’t come rolling down his laugh lines. “Is Dad okay? Is he having a midlife crisis or something?”
The air caught in my lungs. Did Andy suspect? “Or something.” I took a breath and looked up at my little brother. I was sixteen when he first started growing taller than me. “I’m sorry he did that.”
“Whatever, it’s fine.” Andy ran a hand down his freckled face and wiped off his smile. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine.” He gave me that look, that bullshit look, so I added, “Or I will be, anyway.”
“I’m sorry, Will. I feel like this is all my fault. I keep dragging you out, and this shit keeps happening.”
I forced a smile. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I did this to myself. And it’s fine. I’m used to it.”
“Are you still coming out to the club?” Andy flashed me his please-face, the one I’d helped him perfect twenty years ago when we’d begged Dad to install a slide in the pool.
How could I say no to that? “Yeah, for a little bit.”
The nightclub was loud, packed, and perfect. Finally, I was invisible. Shouts over the music filtered through the crowd up to the VIP area, but no one was talking about me. I was just the guy standing between Andy Chapman and Enrique Navarro, the guy holding Nandini Dalal’s drink.
Enrique opened his palm and revealed an assortment of colored pills, like a fistful of Lucky Charms. “I scored us some Molly.”
“Boys”—Tiffany turned her back on the illicit substances and grabbed James and me by the wrists—“that’s our cue to go dance.”
James looked down at Tiffany’s hand on his arm. “I don’t dance, but I’ll watch.”
“Come on, Will and I are teachers. We’ll teach you.”
“Oh, I can dance,” James said, pulling his arm away. “I just don’t.”
“Fine, we’ll just talk about you behind your back, then.”
“Okay, but just so you know, I’m an excellent lip reader.”
It had been ages since I’d danced outside my classroom. Could I even still do it if there weren’t freeze breaks? The crowd made room for us, and it was exactly what I needed. I’d forgotten how sobering it was to move my body, to sweat and jump, to think of nothing other than the beat.
“Something’s different about you.” Tiffany twirled around, and the pink ruff of her dress lifted into the air.
“What do you mean?” There was nothing different about me. I was still a walking disaster.
“I don’t know. I haven’t figured it out yet. Less defeated, maybe.” She danced in place, staring at me with growing curiosity. “Or less like a victim, if that makes sense.”
“It doesn’t.” I wiped sweat from my brow. “I’m pretty sure I’m still the poster child for the world’s biggest loser. I’m probably going to have to change my name and move to Antarctica.”
Tiffany draped her arms around my neck and rested her head on my shoulder. At least someone was shorter than me.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about. You’re already coming up with contingency plans.”
“I was joking.”
“And joking about them.” Tiffany lifted her head and met my gaze. “That’s not like you. Normally, you sulk for a week and then pretend nothing happened.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Yeah, and you’re in love.”
I leaned in and whispered, “Did you take some Molly when I wasn’t looking?”
“No, I just figured it out. It’s James. That’s what’s different.” Tiffany turned and backed up against me, her ass pressing into my crotch. “You’ve never had a real boyfriend before. It suits you.”
“I don’t have a real boyfriend now. This is all fake, remember?” We sank low, low, low.
“Then why has he been staring at you this whole time? He likes you, Will. It’s obvious to everyone but you.”
“I know he likes me. We’re friends. Friends like each other.”
“Trust me”—Tiffany removed herself from my crotch—“he doesn’t just like you like a friend.”
I wanted to believe her, and I was almost drunk enough to let myself, but then I’d have to contend with the fact that, even if he did want me, I couldn’t be someone’s actual boyfriend. Certainly not someone with a kid. I lived my life in front of a firing squad.
No, there was only one viable way forward. After the wedding, I’d thank James for his help and head back to the city. They wouldn’t let me keep filming the movie now anyway.
But I had options. I just had to swallow my pride and ask my parents for money. Maybe I could start an anonymous charity or buy a small boutique hotel in Bora Bora. Then again, maybe I was just drunk.
“You look thirsty.” James offered me his beer.
I pushed the bottle away. “I think I’m done drinking for the night.”
He nodded and handed me a glass of water instead. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised, since you don’t do anything by halves, but you’re a really good dancer.”
I rolled my eyes. I wished I could step on this train and ride it all the way to happily ever after, but I’d made my bed a long time ago, and it was a single bed.
I slumped into the black sofa and looked around for Miles. I spotted his broad back and curly hair across the VIP balcony. I couldn’t see the guy pinned under him, but I knew he was there.
James sat down beside me. “You hungry? They’ve got tapas here.”
I closed my eyes and wished I were sitting in a dive bar in rural Vermont, my forehead pressed against James’s. “I’m okay.”
He set his beer down. “Come on, let’s go home. You’ve done your duty for the night.”
I opened my eyes. “I can’t. Miles and Tiffany are having fun, and—”
“Good, I wasn’t gonna invite them.” James winked, and I felt the flush of arousal crawl up my skin.
“Why? Are you not having a good time?” I asked.
James stood. “Wait here. I’ll go make our excuses.”