Chapter Thirteen The Worst Bachelor Party on Record
Braxton
I had just decided that waiting any longer to clear the air with Jane was a mistake when she appeared at the far end of the lobby.
Supper had ended, plates cleared and stacked with the soft clatter of finality, and the Snowdrop Inn had settled into the after dinner activities where people enjoyed either chatting with each other in the reception room or went to their own bedrooms for the night.
The Christmas lights reflected softly in the front windows, the glass fogged slightly from the cold outside.
Snow drifted down in slow, lazy flakes, as if the weather itself was in no hurry.
I sat by the fireplace in the reception room, my mind turning over the same thoughts for the tenth time, my laptop completely forgotten on the table beside me.
Say something. Say anything. don't lose another moment.
Jane hesitated when she saw me. She adjusted the edge of her sweater, took a breath, and started toward me with clear intent.
Relief hit me hard as I stood up. She was just as ready to have this conversation as I was.
Then Kitty appeared.
She came down the hallway at speed, clipboard clutched to her chest like a shield, eyes bright with the sort of determination that meant someone else’s plans were about to be commandeered. Her boots struck the floor with purpose.
“There you all are,” she said with stressed forced brightness.
Jane stopped short. I pushed down any frustration I felt at the interruption.
“We need to do the bachelor party,” Kitty continued briskly. “Now.”
Dex, who had just entered the reception room while scrolling through something on his phone, looked up slowly. “We do?”
“Yes. The groom is painfully awkward, his groomsmen are enthusiastic but useless, and I don't trust them unsupervised for even one hour. Therefore.” Kitty insisted. She gestured broadly at the three of us. “I can’t be at a bachelor party as I’m not a guy. You two and Dad will handle it.”
Jane opened her mouth. I opened mine too.
Kitty was already moving again. “Shoes on. Coats. To the lobby, pronto! Please don’t lose the groom or any of the groomsmen. I’m in enough hot water with this wedding already.”
She vanished down the hall before objections could form.
Jane looked at me, frustration and disappointment flickering across her face. Her hands curled slightly at her sides, like she had braced herself for a conversation that now had nowhere to go.
“I was going to talk to you,” she said quietly.
“I know. I was going to talk to you,” I mentioned.
For a moment it felt like the rest of the lobby faded away.
“We can talk later,” she decided with a sigh.
“Yes,” I said. “Later.”
The word lodged in my chest like a splinter.
By the time I had my coat on, William had joined us, looking calm in the way of a man who had spent decades navigating family emergencies with a steady hand. The groom hovered nearby, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes wide as if he had only just realized he was being taken somewhere.
“Do we need a plan?” Dex wondered.
William considered this thoughtfully. “I once attended a bachelor party in 1987. We went bowling.”
Dex glanced at me. “This is how disasters begin.”
“There is a pub in town that has billiards,” William suggested.
The groom brightened immediately. “I like playing pool.”
“To the pub we go,” I encouraged. It was better than standing here and staring at each other.
We bundled everyone into my rental car and headed toward the local pub, which glowed warmly against the dark snow like it had been waiting for us. The groom apologized the entire drive.
“I am sorry about the timing.”
“I am sorry if this is inconvenient.”
“I am sorry if I’m not a very exciting person.”
“It’s fine,” I said for the fourth time.
“Why are you on the James Elman show?” William suddenly asked. “You don’t seem the type of person who would want their life televised.”
“Oh, my fiancee suggested it. They said they would pay for the wedding so I thought that was a fair deal and my darling is getting everything she wants so that makes her happy,” he told us.
“Smart move,” Dex remarked.
We pulled up outside of a small brick building on main street.
Inside, the pub smelled like fried food, spilled beer, and pine cleaner.
Christmas lights blinked cheerfully along the walls.
A chalkboard near the bar announced DART TOURNAMENT — SIGN UP NOW in uneven handwriting, complete with a poorly drawn dart.
The groom stopped dead.
“Oh,” he said.
“Oh what?” Dex asked.
“I love darts,” the groom said earnestly, like he had just found his calling.
William squinted at the board. “There is a tournament.”
Dex raised an eyebrow. “How competitive.”
A voice from the bar called out, “Winners get bragging rights and a trophy.”
The groom looked like someone had just offered him the biggest present under the Christmas tree.
“We are absolutely doing that!” he said with enthusiasm.
Before I could object, he had signed us up. Or attempted to. My name was misspelled to read Brackston.
I wrangled the men to an empty table, ordered drinks for the group, and immediately realized I was in charge.
The pub filled quickly with teams. Locals eyed us with interest. One groomsman knocked his chair over and laughed like it was the greatest moment of his life. Another insisted on buying a round he didn't know how to pay for.
William picked up a dart and weighed it in his hand. “These are not regulation .”
Dex stared at him. “You know darts?”
William shrugged. “Your mother and I used to play. There was a league.”
That explained more than I was prepared to process.
“Welcome to trivia and darts!” A man had climbed onto a table and was shouting over the din.
“Each team will take turns at darts and also be in the trivia round. Whoever scores best at both will win. It’s a hundred dollars cash entry fee due at the bar right now so if you haven’t paid, get over here. ”
He stepped down from the table, heading to the bar.
“I have a twenty,” one of the groomsmen ponied up the cash.
“I only have credit cards,” Dex stated and it was shortly realized the rest of our group only had credit cards as well.
Pulling out the remaining eighty dollars from my wallet, I brought it with the twenty to the bar, making sure our team was paid for.
Our turn at the dart board was first. William stepped up to the line and threw with calm precision, landing solid scores without comment. Dex followed, clearly new to the game, but somehow possessed a natural talent that made the locals mutter darkly into their drinks.
Then it was the groom’s turn.
He threw without looking and the dart embedded itself in the wall.
“I am so sorry,” the groom said immediately.
“Eyes on the board,” I said gently, steering him back.
His next throw skimmed past a man’s ear.
“Maybe aim at the board,” Dex suggested.
The groom nodded solemnly. “Right. Aim.”
He closed his eyes and threw again.
The dart struck the bullseye dead center.
The pub exploded with cheers and laughter. Someone clapped him on the back.
William stared at the board.
“Did you see that,” the groom whispered.
“Yes,” I said. “Everyone did.”
Round after round, the pattern continued. William was excellent. Dex was irritatingly good. The groom was pure chaos and impossible luck.
In the meanwhile, questions were projected onto the pub’s wall with the announcer yelling the questions. Most were about history, geography, and math. Those Dex and I excelled at.
Then came pop culture. We were at a total loss however William came to the rescue with sixties, seventies, and eighties knowledge while the groomsmen knew more modern things.
We scribbled our answers on the page provided, handing in each paper after each round.
I never threw a dart.
Every time it was my turn, someone needed rescuing. One groomsman wandered too close to another team. Another spilled a drink. Someone forgot which direction the restroom was in and ended up in the kitchen.
By the final round, the groom was vibrating with excitement.
“We can win this,” he said.
“We absolutely should not,” Dex replied.
William threw calmly. Dex followed. The groom stepped up last. He didn’t look as he threw.
Another bullseye.
The crowd cheered again and the groom pumped his fists in victory.
The bartender handed over the cash prize and trophy with a look of disbelief. “Congratulations,” he said. “That was… impressive.”
The groom turned to us, glowing as he held his trophy like a baby. “This is the best night of my life.”
I grabbed the cash and spoke to the bartender. “Use this for our tab. The rest is a tip for the staff. If there’s enough left over, give a round to the other teams.”
Things nearly unraveled when one groomsman bumped into a local and spilled a drink down his sleeve.
“I am so sorry,” the groomsman said fervently. “I am celebrating love.”
The local scowled, his chair scraped as he stood up, towering over the groomsman.
I stepped in immediately, hands up. “We will replace the drink. Our apologies.”
The tension dissolved quickly, leaving embarrassment behind as I steered the tipsy groomsman away from trouble. “Time to go back to the inn.”
Snow was falling hard when we finally left. The wind cut across the parking lot, and the roads were slick and shining.
I drove carefully while Dex attempted to keep the back seat chaos contained and William navigated.
The groom sighed happily. “Best bachelor party ever.”
William nodded. “He had fun.”
Dex philosophically added, “No one was arrested or got a black eye.”
I considered that an overwhelming success.
When we returned to the inn, snow plastered the windows and the heater hummed valiantly. We deposited the groom and groomsmen in the lobby, who thanked us repeatedly before disappearing upstairs.
William clapped my shoulder. “You did well.”
Dex stretched. “Next time, someone else wrangles.”
They headed off, leaving me alone in the quiet lobby.
Jane was nowhere in sight.
I stood there listening to the storm outside, the missed conversation settling heavily in my chest.
Tomorrow, I promised myself.
Tomorrow, I wouldn't let interruptions win.
I was done missing moments.