Chapter 60
Sixty
I’m spread thinner than ever as Remy’s wedding approaches.
I execute my best man duties, including assisting with the formalwear selection process that Mrs. Remington micromanages (agonizing), plan the bachelor party (easy), scribble some notes for my best man speech (trickier) and help my buddy navigate sobriety (impossible).
He’s struggling, so I continue researching addiction and recovery in the spare time I don’t have.
I can’t exactly unload my stress on Jax when she tries so damn hard to be understanding and supportive, even while she’s still harboring hurt feelings. The way Remy treated her…if he wasn’t my best friend, I would have ripped him a new asshole then told him to fuck off.
But I can’t do that. Not when he needs me. Not when he’s done so much for me.
I’m still holding fast to the idea that everything will resolve after the wedding. Once it’s over, Jax and I will be free of these distractions and have more time to spend together and focus on our relationship.
I’m at the boatyard readying for the bachelor party. I snagged one of our big charters that will easily accommodate Remy’s groomsmen, brother, relatives, and friends when we head out on the water tonight for his final hoorah as a single man.
I’m still stunned he’s going through with it. He’s getting married. Fucking married. My head shakes with dismay. Remy would be voted the last person to throw down vows—especially owing to his inability to keep them—yet here we are.
As I double-check the number of life jackets, a chuckle escapes when I think about Jax acting upset over the possibility of “entertainment” joining us on this voyage.
“Tell me there are no strippers,” she’d demanded.
“Is my baby jealous?” I’d asked.
“Nope.”
“You’re cute when you lie.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I did not coordinate any strippers coming aboard. I can’t vouch for the other guys, however.”
She huffed. “If I know Jeremy…”
“You know I’m in love with you, right? There is no other woman alive who could or will ever top you. You’re it for me, baby.”
“God, I love you. You can say that to me every day for the rest of our lives.”
It’ll soon be evident if strippers are coming aboard, but I sure as hell hope not.
It’s just one more headache, and I already heard an earful on the phone from the worried fiancée.
She expects me to serve as chief babysitter, a job I not only don’t want, but get a fucking grip.
You think I can keep Remy from laying hands on a pro who gives the guy a lap dance—or more—to send him on his way from singledom?
Do you even know who you’re marrying? That’s the real rub… I don’t think she does.
I sigh and scratch the back of my head. I’ll probably be the only sober man on board tonight as I’m captaining this ship.
An hour later, everything’s shipshape. The boat’s stocked with booze and food. The music’s already cranking. As passengers arrive, they come on deck…including one stripper, ushered in under Jeremy’s arm as he winks at me conspiratorially. Christ.
We make it through the bachelor party, and the rehearsal dinner the following night, and then it’s go for launch on the wedding.
I’m sorely missing Jax as we haven’t seen each other or even squeezed in a phone call the last forty-eight hours with all this activity, and there’s a swift undercurrent of concern about how she’s doing with all this going down.
The upside is spending time with my core buds.
Jeremy, Terry, and Vinny are all groomsmen, and we’ve shared a lot of laughs the past few days with surely more to come.
The groom, along with me and the rest of his bridal party, are cloistered in one of the Claremont Hotel’s spacious suites getting ready. I’ve already donned my black tuxedo and pat it down for the fourth time to check that the rings and my speech are safely stowed.
Some hired stylist pokes her head in our room and enters, sent to ensure we’re suitable for this auspicious occasion.
She inspects our hair, hands, bowties, shoes…
looking for problematic signs, I guess. Her face contorts into a grimace upon seeing Vinny’s fingernails, and my lips quirk.
Give the guy a break, lady. It’s nearly impossible to clean out all the grease when you work on cars every day.
She shifts to Jeremy, who unleashes one of his flirty grins as she checks him out top to bottom.
When he whispers something close to her ear, her cheeks turn a blotchy pink and she scurries out.
Remy holds his arms out wide, his copper hair and vivid blue eyes in sharp contrast to his crisp white tux with tails.
He performs a slow spin, and we whistle and clap proportionately.
The rest of us are in black tuxedos with white shirts, and we look downright debonair, a far cry from the ragtag group of boys who met in our formative years.
I lay my hand on Remy’s shoulder, careful not to wrinkle his jacket. “You ready, brother?”
“As I’ll ever be,” he answers with his signature grin.
Jeremy huffs out a breath. “Damn, man. First one to bite the dust.”
Terry shakes his head. “Figures it’d be you, Remington, you wily, crazy motherfucker.”
“Right?” adds Vinny. “That’s what I’ve been saying. The irony.”
Remy laughs. “Gotta keep you assholes on your toes.”
A knock on the door interrupts us, and the photographer enters, a man heading toward midlife with wrinkles etched into the corners of his mouth and eyes.
He makes us pose for dozens of shots, then leads us outside for more.
I brace myself, knowing it’s the beginning of having to force hundreds of photogenic smiles today.
When I marry, I’m not doing this dog and pony show. I jolt, taken aback at thinking about marriage without recoiling. The thought vanishes as we’re herded to the limousine and whisked to the chapel.
We take our places in the packed church, and soon the bride walks down the aisle, her father passing the torch of care to Remy.
It’s still totally surreal to be standing up here next to my best friend witnessing him seal this deal.
The officiant spews bullshit about what marriage means, but my mind wanders.
How will this affect our friendship? Marriage has a way of fucking up all kinds of shit…
changing people, creating distance. Especially once kids enter the scene.
Obviously, this signals the start of a new era, and there’s nothing I can do about anything now.
Remy’s making his bed, and he’s about to lie in it.
Rings and vows are officially exchanged (I do my part, which is a load off). And then it’s done.
The officiant says, “You may now kiss the bride,” and Remy doesn’t hold back. A few whistles and catcalls resound from the audience as the newly married Remingtons share an almost indecent kiss on the altar.
The newly anointed Mr. and Mrs. Remington are announced and exit to cheers and applause with the rest of us trailing behind.
We pose for a staggering number of photos then limo back to the Claremont for the reception.
A shit-ton of cash was spent to throw this shindig, between the location, decorations, fancy hors d’oeuvres and dinner, booze, and support staff. The best that money can buy. I register the grandiosity. And the waste. And the ever-present posturing.
I still eat the prime rib.
When it’s time for me to give the best man’s speech, I make my way to the handheld microphone provided by the band. My grin unfurls Remy’s direction.
“Remy, I’ve waited my entire life for this moment. The one where I have the floor and can embarrass you for ten minutes while you have to shut that big mouth of yours.”
“Impossible!” Remy and Jeremy bellow simultaneously, and laughter ripples through the crowd.
My gaze pans the guests, and I’m met with their expectant faces. “I met Remy when we were just kids. He moved into the house across the street, and we were inseparable from that point on.
“We spent our youth on skateboards, dirt bikes, and baseball fields. We shot a lot of pool—and were always the last to leave the swimming pool.
“As we got older, we bought fast cars and flew through the hills. Always doing the speed limit, of course, and never engaging in anything as reckless as turning donuts or racing to determine which car was fastest.”
I glance at his mother and flash her a shameless grin, then wink at my partners-in-crime grinning at the head table. Once the resounding guffaws quiet, I continue.
“We chased our share of women, and broke some hearts along the way, including our own. We went through school together, played on the same baseball teams for a decade, and worked at the same garage.
“I’ve lost track of the nights we’ve spent carousing and partying, the number of movies we’ve watched, A’s games we’ve attended, burnouts we’ve left behind, absolutely foolhardy decisions we’ve made, and the staggering number of times I’ve wondered how you’ve gotten away with all your hijinks.
“I could tell you a million secrets about Remy.” I pause, and the crowd eggs me on, as I knew they would. The groom’s eyes narrow, a flash of worry there. “But I wouldn’t dream of it. I know the man code, and the friend code, and in our case, the brother code.
“Rem, you’re like a brother to me, only our tie is so much thicker than blood. You’ve been there for me in my worst moments, and nearly all my finest. You’ve picked me up when I was down and shown up for me at every juncture. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had or ever will have.”
His eyes shimmer and mine burn. I blink it away, blow out a breath, and continue.
“Sherry, you’ve got your work cut out for you with this crazy, red-haired man-child, but he’s also the greatest guy you could have at your side.
He’s one of the happiest dudes I’ve ever known, and he’s always viewed the world through a lens where his glass is not only never empty but overflowing.
He’ll have your back, go to any lengths to make your dreams come true, and love you with a ferocity that is rare and precious.
“May the rest of your lives be filled with passionate kisses, beautiful friendship, and abundant blessings. I wish you both a fruitful marriage and enduring life together.”
I raise my glass. “I love you, brother.”
“I love you too, brother,” he says.
Everyone drinks, but Remy is there in a flash as we meet each other halfway and share a long, backslapping bear hug.
I return to the head table as other speeches continue followed by all the typical wedding festivities.
With my duties well and over and knowing I don’t have to drive anywhere, I indulge in the free-flowing alcohol.
I’m not planning to get hammered, but fuck I’m tired, giving into the exhaustion after all the weeks leading up to this.
It gives me a needed boost, and I find myself joining in on the dance floor and enjoying the moment. Until…a flash of gold catches my eye just outside the far window. I do a double take, shaking my head, and attempt to squash what my brain is computing.
Was that Jax?
A shot of adrenaline surges as I ditch my beer and race out to the parking lot. I hope I’m seeing things, but in my gut, I know.
She’s here.
I hastily traverse rows of cars, hunting for her unmistakable yellow Bug. My heart pounds as I spot it and the blaze of her blond hair.
I’m breathing hard by the time I catch up to her, my eyes probing, disbelieving. “Jax.”
She hangs her head, unable to even meet my gaze, and my chest seizes. In two strides, I’ve enveloped her in my arms.
“Baby, why are you doing this to yourself?”
All that comes out is her strained, pitiful sob as she clutches me.
I rub her back, trying to soothe her when it’s an impossibility. “You know there’s nothing I want more than you in there by my side, don’t you?”
She nods, her head buried in my shirt.
“But baby, you can’t be here. Right or wrong, it doesn’t matter. You know the situation.”
“It just hurts.”
I sigh against her temple then gently press my lips there. “I know. And I’m sorry.”
“I needed to see for myself,” she whispers, finally lifting her head to look at me.
I cup her face, thumbing away her tears. “Did it help?”
She nods meekly.
“Go home, Jax. I’ll call you in a few hours.”
“Okay.”
“On the Remingtons’ tab,” I add.
That garners a small smile.
I kiss her tenderly, infusing all the comfort I can into this shit situation. “I love you, Jacqueline Hall.”
“I love you too,” she manages, but her voice wavers and eyes remain glassy.
Intertwining my fingers with hers, I give her hand a squeeze.
“Maybe don’t look like you’re having so much fun? Or be so devastatingly handsome?” she chokes out. She’s working so hard to lighten up, it makes my throat tighten. She waves her hand. “I may never get over you in this tux.”
That thaws the ache a tad…I dig when she likes anything about me. “I’m glad it’s doing something for you, because I’m counting the seconds until I can peel off this fucking monkey suit.”
“I’m sure every bridesmaid is also counting the seconds, hoping to be there to witness it.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head.
Our hands unclasp, and she finds her keys. Taking them from her, I unlock her door and help her inside.
Stooping, I plant another gentle kiss on her lips. “Please drive safe. You’re precious cargo.”
She responds with a head bob, but she can’t hide her pain…and I can’t fix it, one of the worst predicaments a guy like me can face.
Jacqui cranks up the Beetle, and I’m rooted to the spot as she drives away. My heart sits heavy and uncomfortable, as if it doesn’t belong to me anymore.
Swift and unwanted, foreboding washes over me, intensifying the pain in my chest cavity. My head falls back, face raised at the blackened sky—and I roar, unleashing my frustration. My fear. My powerlessness.