1
Mitchell
The warm Caribbean breeze ruffled the palm trees, carrying a scent of salt water, tropical flowers, and cigar smoke across the patio.
The sun had already set, but torches lining the edge of the reception cast golden light across the ocean, making the water shimmer behind the wedding guests swaying to a local band’s version of an old rock ballad.
Some people still lingered inside the dining hall finishing dinner and drinks while the rest crowded the dance floor or gathered around the patio in couples and groups, laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world.
Every single one of them looked disgustingly happy. Even Bryce—my six-foot-five tattooed teammate, and plus-one for the weekend—had been grinning when he disappeared twenty minutes ago with a brunet in a silver dress despite looking like the kind of guy mothers warned their daughters about.
I understood why.
It had been a beautiful wedding and a hell of a week.
We’d golfed, fished, hung out on the beach, eaten too much food, and drunk way too much alcohol. Isaac Reed’s bachelor party had been an absolute blast, and the wedding itself had turned out exactly the way he and Melinda wanted. Big enough to be memorable. Small enough to feel personal.
Honestly, I was happy for them.
I really was.
“Need another one?”
The bartender nodded toward my nearly empty bottle, dragging my attention away from the dance floor.
“That obvious, huh?”
He grinned. “You’ve got the face.”
“The lonely face or the drunk face?”
“A little bit of both.”
“Fantastic.”
I drained what was left of my beer just as the bartender slid a fresh one in front of me before moving on to the young couple a few seats down waiting for drinks.
A glance toward the dance floor found Nash Reed—my best friend, and the groom’s best man—swaying slowly with his fiancé, Kennedy Miller. I could hear her soft laughter despite the music. It was familiar and comforting, and somehow still a reminder that I was alone at a wedding.
A weird ache settled in the center of my chest.
Jesus Christ.
Maybe weddings really did screw with people’s heads.
“Please tell me I’m not the only one here contemplating jumping into the ocean.”
I looked over to find Jackson, Kennedy’s older brother, dropping onto the stool beside mine, his tie hanging loose around his neck and the top few buttons of his dress shirt undone.
“Thought you were dancing with one of Melinda’s cousins,” I said.
“I tried.” He flagged the bartender down for a beer. “She spent twenty minutes talking about spiritual cleansing.”
I snorted into my drink.
“You didn’t think maybe you needed some?”
The deadpan look he gave me had me laughing.
“She owns healing crystals, Mitch.”
“Ah. Yeah.” I nodded solemnly. “That’s tough.”
“Exactly.”
Jackson leaned his forearms against the bar before glancing toward the dance floor.
“Kind of brutal being single at one of these things, huh?”
And there it was.
The thing I’d been trying not to think about all night.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have people. That part of my life had actually turned out surprisingly okay considering where I came from. The Reeds had basically adopted me years ago, and somewhere along the way Nash stopped feeling like a best friend and started feeling more like family.
But family and friendship weren’t the same thing as having someone there just for you.
“Is it a crime to leave early?” I asked.
Jackson’s blue eyes lifted toward mine. “You want to go back into town, or are you done for the night?”
The thought of escaping the wedding before the lonely thoughts got too loud for a rowdy crowd, loud music, and dancing downtown immediately improved my mood.
“Let’s go back to that club from Isaac’s bachelor party,” I suggested.
“All right.” Jackson nodded. “Think Bryce wants to come?”
That had me shaking my head.
“I don’t even know where he disappeared to.”
Jackson laughed into his beer. “Lucky bastard’s probably already getting laid. I honestly don’t know how he does it.”
“I need a beer.”
I heard Nash before I saw him. A second later his heavy hand landed on my shoulder.
“Is my sister trying to kill you on the dance floor?” Jackson asked, amused.
“Yeah,” Nash muttered. “I don’t know where she’s getting all this stamina from.”
“Well . . .” I grinned into my beer.
There were at least six different comments I could’ve made about him and Kennedy, none of them appropriate for a wedding reception where both their parents were standing within ten feet of us. But the truth was, I’d never seen Nash happier than he’d been since getting engaged to Kennedy.
It suited him in a way I never would’ve expected a few years ago.
Back then, Nash took his bachelorhood as seriously as his hockey game.
But she’d changed him for the better. He’d found a peace that never used to be there, and the way he looked at her—like she hung the damn moon—had me wondering if I’d ever find that one person.
I knew full well that my best friend did his absolute best to knock her up every chance he got, which probably contributed to whatever stamina he was talking about.
Unfortunately, I’d accidentally overheard them in the shower the other morning while I waited on their terrace before golf.
“Can you dance with her for me?” Nash asked, dragging me back to the present.
Only then did I notice the way he leaned against the bar, keeping weight off one foot.
“You okay?” I asked immediately.
“It pounds like a motherfucker,” he admitted quietly. “I just need to stay off it for a while.”
“Giving up already?” Jackson teased.
Nash shot him an unimpressed look.
I’d seen him twist the ankle during golf, but he’d laughed it off at the time, which was typical Nash.
Normally an off-season injury wouldn’t have been a huge deal, but after the mess with the team management last season, the last thing Nash wanted was reporters finding out he’d hurt himself on vacation.
“Maybe you should get it looked at,” Jackson suggested.
“I will when we get back to New York.” Nash rubbed a hand over his face before nodding toward the dance floor. “Seriously, can you go save my fiancé before she drags somebody else out there?”
I huffed out a quiet laugh. Even injured, Nash’s thoughts were still on Kennedy.
“Melinda’s dad is an MD,” Jackson pointed out. “Maybe ask him to take a look tomorrow. I’m sure he’d do you a favor. You’re family now.”
“Yeah, that’s actually a good idea,” I agreed.
Nash groaned like the thought physically pained him.
“I’ll think about it.”
Which probably meant no.
“Stay off that foot for a while, buddy.” I slid off the chair, clapping him on the shoulder before turning toward the dance floor. “I’m going to show your future wife what she’s missing out on by choosing you.”
I heard Jackson laugh behind me.
“Can’t believe you’re just gonna take that,” he said to Nash.
“Eh.” Nash snorted. “Let him dream.”
I found Kennedy near the edge of the dance floor beside Nash’s parents, swaying absently to the music.
“Hi, Mitch,” she said with an easy smile after I tapped her shoulder.
“Kennedy.”
She really was beautiful. Not in an intimidating way, but in a warm, happy way. The kind of person who made people feel comfortable five minutes after meeting her.
Honestly, it made perfect sense why Nash was so gone over her.
“I’ve been instructed to steal you for a dance,” I told her, holding out my hand.
Kennedy laughed immediately. “Is Nash making you be his stand-in?”
“Stand-in?” I pressed a hand to my chest in mock offense. “Please. I’m about to show you what you’re missing out on. It’s not too late to leave him, you know. Just because you have that big rock on your hand doesn’t mean you can’t dump his ass.”
Kennedy covered her mouth, clearly trying and failing not to laugh, while Nash’s mother shook her head affectionately beside her.
Kennedy’s parents, however, looked mildly horrified.
That was all right.
They’d get used to me. Eventually.
Most people did. It was getting them to stay around that was the problem.