Flirting with the Frenemy (Bro Code #1)(53)

Probably here in Shipwreck, because even without a dishwasher, Beck’s house is still super comfortable, and it has internet, and I can borrow the laptop Mom brought to telework for a week.

The house will be weirdly empty, but it’ll be nice to be alone again.

All alone.

With no one to talk to.

No one to poke. No one to share banana pudding with.

No little voices shrieking with laughter over bubbles or drawings of pirates or parrots, or asking to share a donut.

No one to kiss and cause the house to collapse around us with.

Dammit, I can’t stop this weepy-eyed stuff.

“Monica, honey, it’s time,” her mom whispers.

Monica squeals, and her eyes go shiny too. “Oh my god, I’m marrying Jason,” she whispers.

I squeeze her in a hug. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Go on, go walk the plank—I mean, walk the aisle so I can get hitched.”

My mom scurries to join Dad, Wyatt, and Tucker in a row of seats near the gazebo. The list of invited guests is small—a few friends and coworkers from Copper Valley, and a few aunts, uncles, and cousins on both sides—but the people of Shipwreck have turned out in force to watch.

And participate, though most of the guests and tourists who are also gathered beyond the reserved seating don’t know that yet.

Mr. Dixon escorts Mrs. Dixon down the plank—I mean, aisle. Then Grady Rock escorts Monica’s mom. And then it’s time for Patrick, fully costumed as a member of the English Royal Guard, to walk me down the aisle.

I tuck my hand into his elbow, but while his powdered wig amuses me, I keep as much distance as physically possible while smiling at Jason, who’s standing with Pop on the gazebo steps.

“We don’t have to be like this,” Patrick mutters.

I keep smiling. “There’s no we, and if you don’t shut up, I’m telling your girlfriend you dumped me, since I know she thinks it was the other way around.”

He blanches.

We reach the gazebo and I gladly drop his arm. Wyatt’s scowling. My dad doesn’t look very pleased either.

But then the pirate band—yes, the pirate band—strikes up “Here Comes the Bride,” and everyone rises as Monica emerges from the tent.

“Oh, god, she’s gorgeous,” Jason says hoarsely.

He’s utterly adorable in his first mate getup. We all know who’s going to captain the ship of our life, he told Monica when they were discussing formal wedding wear. I’m wearing the first mate outfit.

Monica’s mom is already crying. Mine’s dabbing her eyes in the next row back.

I wonder what Wyatt’s thinking about while he watches my best friend walk down the aisle.

His own wedding?

Or maybe Tripp’s, which was utterly gorgeous and completely opposite of this small-town pirate affair, because when a former boy bander marries a Hollywood A-lister, you’re damn right it’s spectacular.

But he glances back at me, and I’m suddenly quite certain he’s not thinking about weddings at all.

There’s something raw and unguarded and beautiful in his gray eyes. Regret mixed with hope.

My belly dips to my toes, adding an extra shiver to my bones along the way.

I like Wyatt Morgan.

I like Wyatt Morgan.

He’s loyal. He’s protective. He’s smart. He’s brave.

He adores that perfect, sweet, happy little boy fidgeting next to him.

He’s a survivor.

Wounded in his soul, but still here. A good friend to my brother. The son my mother would’ve added to her household in a heartbeat.

The man who pushed me to be better since he got his own footing in the neighborhood.

Jason kisses Monica’s cheek as she joins him on the gazebo steps. “Now, now, save that for marriage, boy,” Pop says, and everyone laughs.

I take her bouquet—a red rose, a black rose, and a purple rose, tied together with a Jolly Roger ribbon and stuck in a rum bottle—and step back to let the wedding begin.

I might get a little teary-eyed too. The way Jason’s just watching Monica, like he’s the luckiest first mate to ever board a ship, like the only thing he needs in his life is her… Just swoon.

Thank you for finding me my missing puzzle piece, Monica told me once not long after I introduced them. But these two, I’m certain, would’ve found each other one way or another.

They were meant to be.

Wyatt’s watching me. I can feel his gaze.

And it’s not annoying, or haughty, or critical.

It’s hot.

And not just he wants to see me naked hot. But he feels it too hot.

Monica and Jason say their vows. Monica’s mom cries. My mom cries. I cry.

Tucker cries, because, “Dad, I don’t like it when people cry.”

Everyone laughs, and I wish I could hug Tucker the way Wyatt is now, just scooping him up and patting his back. “It’s happy tears,” I hear him murmur.

“I don’t like it when you cry either,” Jason tells Monica.

She wipes her eyes as she laughs. “It’s joy leaking out my soul.”

Joy.

They have joy.

I’ve always had plans. Calendars. Deadlines. Tasks. Life events to check off.

Maybe what I really need is joy.

Laughing with someone when the dishwasher leaks. When he accidentally sits on a squirt bottle of French dressing. When we knock heads in the middle of an orgasm.