Chapter 14 Caleb
What.
The actual.
Fuck.
I stare at the text I just sent Matt, debating if I should add more creative swearing. Because this? This is next level meddling, even for him.
One night sharing a bed with Ivy? Easy. We've fallen asleep during movies more times than I can count. Personal space stopped mattering years ago.
But a whole week? In a room that feels like Cupid exploded in it?
That's different.
Because I see the way she looks at me sometimes, like she's trying to figure out if I meant something more.
Like today at the airport, or when she caught me getting prickly about Austin at the stables.
She thought I was jealous, and okay, maybe I was.
But that's exactly why this whole setup is dangerous.
Because Ivy doesn't do casual. She does forever, and I'm barely managing to keep my own life from imploding most days.
Now we're here, in this romance novel fantasy suite, and everything feels . . . loaded. One misstep and I'll give her the wrong idea. Make her think I can be something I'm not.
Dammit.
I can't do this to her. Can't play house for a week and then pretend none of it mattered.
Because Ivy? She believes in soulmates, and destiny, and all that magical crap I always tease her about.
I'm not ready for that. Wouldn't even know where to start with all that relationship stuff.
Being present. Paying attention. Doing the things that actually mean something—like hearing what she says, being there when it counts, remembering the moments that matter.
I'm about to text Matt again when I spot Ivy's toiletry bag on that fancy-ass table by the window.
She'll need that. Pretty sure her entire eighteen-step skincare routine is in there.
I can practically hear her voice lecturing me about the importance of moisturizer like it's some life-or-death situation.
"Caleb, your skin will literally abandon your face if you don't use the right serum." Yeah, because that's definitely how biology works.
I grab the bag and head to the bathroom door. Knock once. Twice.
Nothing. Just the sound of running water and . . . is she humming "Basket Case"? My arm might still be numb from her using me as a pillow, but at least I got decent music out of it.
Screw it. I'll just slip in, drop the bag, slip out. No big deal.
The door opens silently and steam billows out as I take two steps forward, aiming vaguely for where I think the counter should be. My hip bumps something solid—found it.
And then I make the biggest mistake of my life.
I look up.
The mirror's fogged, but through a clear patch in the shower door, I catch a glimpse that stops my heart.
Ivy, with her head tipped back under the spray, water cascading down curves I've tried not to notice for years.
A flash of soft skin, the elegant line of her throat, the gentle slope of her hips.
Fuck.
My brain short-circuits, blood rushing south so fast I get dizzy.
This isn't happening.
I'm not seeing this.
I'm not standing here like some creep while my best friend . . .
If she knew I just saw her like this, it would shatter everything between us. All those years of easy comfort, of falling asleep during movies, of her trusting me enough to share space without thinking twice. Gone.
I snap my gaze away, nearly dropping the toiletry bag. One second. That's all it took to burn the image into my brain forever. I'm out of there before my brain can even form another thought, heart hammering against my ribs, jeans suddenly way too tight. I'm such a dumbass.
Time to find my brother. And maybe drown myself in that pretentious fountain out front.
The universe must be feeling generous, because I find the happy couple downstairs.
They could be starring in a country club recruitment ad.
Well, Sarah could. She's honey-blond, and annoyingly flawless in crisp riding whites, not a single strand out of place.
Matt looks more like he lost a fight with the horse—shirt half-untucked, bits of hay clinging to his mess of curls.
"Look who finally made it," Matt's looking way too pleased with himself, and he's got that same smirk he used to wear before telling Mom it was me who broke the window. "What? No 'thank you' for the room upgrade? Those swan towels took actual talent."
"Fuck you very much." I fix him with my best death glare. "The rose petals were a nice touch. Really captured that 'my brother's still an asshole' vibe."
"Please, I did you a favor. That girl's been looking at you with actual hearts in her eyes since the day you met."
"Matthew!" Sarah smacks his arm. "For heaven's sake, be nice." She turns to me. "The room situation really was unavoidable. Virginia and Jefferson had this awful breakup."
"Apparently Jefferson's into green juice now," Matt adds, running a hand through his sandy hair. "And yoga. Lots of yoga."
Sarah shoots him a glare. "If it was up to me, I would've kicked him out entirely, but .
. ." She trails off, somehow making even frustration look elegant.
"Well, he and Matt work together, our families go way back, and Mama would've thrown an absolute fit about changing the numbers this close to the wedding. "
"It's fine," I lie, because Sarah looks genuinely upset about this. "We'll figure it out."
"Thank you, Caleb." She reaches out to squeeze my arm, and I freeze like a deer in headlights. Do I hug her? Pat her hand?
She notices my discomfort and steps back. "I brought those peanut butter cookies you like. The ones with the chocolate chips? They're in the kitchen if you want some later."
"Oh. Uh, thanks." I shift my weight, jamming my hands in my pockets. "That's . . . really nice."
She beams like I've given her the greatest compliment. Sarah always tries so hard with me, and it makes me feel like even more of an asshole for not trying harder back.
I wanted to hate her when Matt first brought her home.
Planned to, actually. But Sarah makes it impossible, with her genuine smiles, and the way she remembers all the small things I mention.
She's just so damn nice, like she walked out of a Southern hospitality handbook, and I can't even properly resent her for stealing my brother.
"I need to change before lunch." She stretches up to kiss Matt's cheek. "Try not to traumatize your brother while I'm gone?"
"No promises, babe." The way Matt watches her go, as if she's still the best thing he's ever seen, almost makes me forget I want to punch him.
"So," he turns back to me. "How's life treating you?"
"Stellar." I pick up a framed photo from the side table.
Matt and Sarah at some charity gala. Of course these rich people would turn the whole place into a shrine to the happy couple—photos everywhere, a literal welcome book with their faces on it, probably monogrammed toilet paper in the bathrooms. The guy in the picture wearing a thousand-dollar suit barely resembles the one who used to blast Blink-182 from his room. "Living the dream."
"Come on, man." Matt takes the photo, setting it back with methodical precision. "When's the last time we actually talked? You ghost my calls, ignore my texts—"
"Weird how that works." I keep my voice deliberately light. "Almost like when someone moves away and forgets about you, communication gets tricky."
Five years with Sarah, and my brother's a different species now. The guy who once spent three days in jail for that water tower stunt now wears pressed shirts, and styles his hair with way too much hair gel.
"That's not . . ." he sighs. "I didn't forget."
I hate this—being around Matt. Not because I don't miss him, but because I do.
Because standing next to him is like looking into one of those magnifying mirrors that shows every one of my flaws in high definition.
Every choice I haven't made. Every step I haven't taken.
He got out, got better, got a life, and I'm still delivering pizzas to college kids who tip in weed.
"Right. You just evolved. Traded band practice for board meetings. Totally natural progression."
"Jesus, Caleb." There's an edge of frustration now. "I grew up. It happens."
"Yeah, I watched it happen. Front row seat to the Matthew Miller Corporate Makeover Show. Very inspiring stuff."
He reaches for my shoulder but I step back, and his hand hangs there for a second, awkward and empty. "Remember that time we hot-wired Dad's truck? Drove out to that field behind Nelson's farm?"
"You mean when you were cool? Yeah, vaguely."
"I'm still—" He catches himself, jaw tightening. "Look, I know things are rough with Dad."
"Don't." I cut him off before he can play concerned big brother. "Just don't."
Something flickers across Matt's face. Guilt, maybe? But it's gone before I can be sure. "Come on," he says instead, dropping the big brother routine. "Let's grab a beer before the southern mafia finds us. Magnolia's already threatened to confiscate my flask three times."
I follow him through the maze of wedding preparations, sidestepping staff carrying flower arrangements bigger than me. "You have a flask at your own wedding?"
"Had to survive the napkin intervention somehow." He pauses at an ornate doorway, looking over his shoulder. "Two hours of beige squares while Kristal explained the difference between cream and ecru."
"They were not the same!" We turn to find the tiny blond dashing through the room.
"Desert Sand and Antique Ivory are completely different, and Magnolia was right, the Champagne Cream absolutely would have clashed with the place settings.
" And she's gone, click-clacking toward a terrified-looking server.
Matt leads us toward a bar cart in the corner, his fingers darting out to snag something off a passing tray. His whole face crumples. "What the—is this raw fish? On a cracker?"
A laugh claws at my throat as he desperately searches for somewhere to spit it out. "Not quite the same as stealing Pop-Tarts, huh?"
"Shut up," he mutters, dabbing at his tongue with some fancy French napkin. "I thought it was one of those bacon-wrapped things Sarah loves."
"Still don't get why you picked me as best man," I mutter. "You've got all those fancy work friends now."
Matt's expression shifts, something softer breaking through. "Can't a big brother miss his little bro?"
"Right," I say sarcastically. "Mom definitely didn't force you into this."
"Mom might have suggested it, but it was my decision," he admits with a half-smile. "I was actually worried you'd tell me to shove it. Or show up for the ceremony and disappear before the cake, like you do at every family dinner when we visit."
"Yeah, well." I stare at my shoes, suddenly feeling a bit guilty. "Free cake's a pretty good incentive to stick around."
"I'm glad you're here, Caleb," Matt's voice goes quiet. "I know things between us—"
"Who's even here?" I cut him off. Not ready for whatever heart-to-heart he's trying to have.
"Just family and the wedding party." He sighs, disappointment etched in his face, but he doesn't push. I know my brother, he's storing this conversation away for later, when I can't escape so easily. For now, he reaches for a beer and passes one to me.
"Oh no, sweethearts!" Kristal appears between us and the bar cart. "We can't have beer right now. Magnolia specifically requested wine only with lunch. The Sancerre pairs perfectly with the lobster rolls, and we simply cannot risk—"
"Throwing off the delicate balance of day drinking?" I mutter.
Matt elbows me, but I catch his smirk.
Kristal touches her earpiece, either missing or ignoring my comment. "What do you mean the hydrangeas are wilting? They can't wilt! They're not allowed to wilt!" She spins toward a terrified-looking server. "Trevor! We need more ice on the flower wall! Code blue!"
"I don't get it," I say as she darts away in crisis mode. "Why agree to this circus?"
Matt tenses slightly, and for half a beat I think I've pissed him off. But then his expression lightens. "Because Sarah wants it," he says. "And I want her to have everything she dreams of. You'll understand when you meet someone who makes you go against every instinct just to make them happy."
Well, shit. What am I supposed to say to that?
"Don't tell me you're about to start writing poetry or something," I manage, but it lacks bite.
He grins. "Nah. But I did learn what chartreuse means. It's a color, not a type of lettuce."
"Everyone needs to be seated!" Kristal announces to the empty room. "We start in four minutes!"
I blink at Matt. "There's a schedule for lunch?"
"Oh yeah." His grin turns devilish. "Did you not see the full itinerary in your room? The one with the color-coded tabs and emergency contact numbers?"
"Must've missed it between the rose petals and the origami birds."
"Swans," he corrects. "And they're towel art, not origami. Very different thing."
"What have they done to you?"
He laughs, grabbing two wine glasses from a passing server. "Just wait until you see what Kristal has planned for the bachelor party. Hint: there's a scavenger hunt involved."
"You're kidding."
"With personalized clue cards. In calligraphy."
"I've died and this is my punishment," I decide, accepting the wine he hands me. "I'm actually in hell."
"Welcome to wedding week, baby bro. And hey," His smirk comes back full force, "try not to drool too obviously at your friend. Sarah's mom already thinks this generation has no morals."