Chapter 15

Brynley

Valora: What are the new potential dates?

Valora: We may need to reevaluate mood and color boards again .

I hate every word of that sentence.

Seriously.

Particularly the we portion considering I don’t even know who “we” is.

Does it include the supposed groom?

No clue.

And why don’t I have a clue?

Because he hasn’t left one.

Things are worse than they were when we first met.

Back then, I may not have had his face, but I had his voice.

His written words.

His presence.

Now?

This will be the first time I’ve seen him since he found out the giant family secret his parents clearly hoped would stay buried.

He hasn’t left that bat basement once to my knowledge.

Not to eat.

Not to sleep.

Not to shower or shit, although there is a small ensuite bathroom I imagine he’s using for those chores.

And the only people who have been allowed in?

Luther with security reports.

J.T. with business ones.

Even the idiots who have been supplying him with bottles and bottles of alcohol around the clock are told to just leave it at his door.

That he’ll grab them when he needs them.

Clark has done everything he possibly can to reassure me that this bump will pass, that Wes just needs a little more time to digest the truths he never expected to receive, that I’m more important than anything he may have discovered in those boxes he’s building the world’s worst fort with, but I’m having a hard time believing him.

Maybe because the last two events for his company that we were supposed to attend together, I magically attended alone.

Maybe because we haven’t slept under the same roof in the past eight days?

Or maybe because I haven’t received more than ten words – via text at that – from him in the last ten?

I exit out of the text from Valora and open the conversation thread with my fiancé.

The same thread that has me keeping my phone glued to my palm in hopes of seeing new words in.

I’ve been feeling this dull, gnawing pain in my gut lately that I’m begging Bones is just like preggers indigestion and not an annoying warning buzzer that my ship has been critically hit.

“There.” Hill casually points at the same time he leans over from his chair to my right. “C-H-E-E-T-A-H.”

“Circle it,” I instruct on an offering of the pen.

“You sure?”

“Your word. Your circle.”

A small amount of excitement thrums through his gaze as he transfers the writing tool into his possession.

A lot like Lurch and Frankensuck, he’s started to have a fondness for participating in doing these whenever possible.

None of them got the appeal at first.

But like so many great things…time helped reveal the true magic of playing “Where’s Waldo” with words.

Hitting the call button on my device for Wes is followed by me handing Hill the booklet to continue playing without me. I press the receiver tightly to my ear and unconsciously suck in a deep breath of anticipation that I hold.

And hold.

And hold while it rings.

And rings.

And rings.

And keeps ringing until his voicemail message begins.

Hope that he simply just didn’t get a chance to see or hear the device because he was momentarily occupied is what prompts me into repeating the call.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Rather than try a fourth, I redirect my efforts to someone else, someone who can probably reach him despite that I can’t.

Two rings are all J.T. allows to occur before chipperly answering, “ Catwoman. ”

“ Puppet Boy. ”

Small laughter leaves us both and for a minor moment a flicker of hope returns.

Perhaps just because I’m losing Wes, doesn’t mean I have to lose him too.

“Busy?” I nervously inquire.

“Headed to an acquisition meeting with the owner of Runt’s Beer, then a meeting with Faulk who wants to turn that Fire however, the opportunity to join him is cut short by the door to my left, the door that patients use to enter the facility, opening.

Hope swiftly swoops into my stare as I hold my breath in anticipation of seeing my fiancé finally walk inside to join me.

Probably rushing Pham or Evie off the phone in the process.

Or maybe finally giving Valora the greenlight for moving our wedding date.

A hooded male walks in, but unfortunately, it’s instantly revealed not to be mine. He flicks the gray coverage down, shakes away whatever water droplets have managed to drop down, and grins brightly at his waiting partner who probably isn’t that much further along than me.

The sight of him embracing her pushes my attention back down to make another phone call, truthfully not wanting to do this alone, yet don't know who to dial.

J.T. is extremely busy with work.

Vanessa’s out of town for Avó’s – her Portuguese grandmother’s – ninetieth birthday.

And Mom is helping Clark assemble a small Justice League approved care package for the ecoterrorist that happened to try to kill her.

Hesitation regarding the one option I have left isn’t surprising.

Maybe I should just go in there alone.

Get used to what my future is going to consist of at this rate.

Letting my finger hover over the call button continues for just a moment more before I hit the key and lift the device to my ear.

Much like Puppet Boy, there are merely two rings prior to an answer. “I already agreed to be your Groom of Honor,” Calen lightly chuckles. “Please don’t make me regret that decision by telling me I have to find a Pine lookalike stripper or wear a Trekkie uniform or give my toast speech in fucking Klingon, dude.”

“None of that crossed my mind.”

“Good.”

“ But now that it has… ”

“Not good,” he laughs a bit louder as I fidget with my airplane necklace. “ Totally not good. ”

I don’t bother fighting the small smile doing its best to wash away the sorrow.

What can I say?

Giving each other shit always shifts my mood.

“And like actual not good. Not the not good I used when we were weighing different marine veterinary program options, which were relatively speaking all good, just not good for my great, great grandchildren who’ll be stuck paying off the mountain of debt I’ll have accumulated in lifetimes before theirs.”

Additional snickers seep free.

“You’re not calling to give me more responsibilities, are you? ‘Cause Nes and I were pretty good with the fifty/fifty split we agreed on. It definitely has us stacked for the least amount of dings.”

“You surfin’ today?”

“Bout to head down to test my new twin fin.” A happy hum warmly escapes. “ Best. Be my groom of Honor. Gift. Ever. ”

After trying on dresses and being stood up by Wes, I spent that night searching for fun and weird ways to “pop the question” to them. I made sure to do something that fit them each separately before getting us all together for pizza, laughs, and very, very light wedding talk.

Like we talked more about government conspiracies than we did about my pending nuptials.

“Need something?” Calen quickly investigates. “Your voice has that weird rasp to it.”

“What rasp?”

“The same one you always get when you’ve got chick feelings you don’t wanna cope with.”

“That’s not…a thing.”

“It is.”

“Isn’t.”

“ Is. ”

“ Isn’t. ”

“Yeah, dude, it’s like you’re trying not to cry, even though you could cry, but you don’t wanna cry, because you hate people knowing you’re capable of crying. Kind of like the way great whites can spy hop like fucking orcas but would rather get eaten alive inside out by a parasite than admit to it.”

“The accuracy of that comparison is horrifying.”

“You’re welcome.”

Laughter passes between us yet again dissipating additional grief.

Clearing the air.

Reminding me that regardless of how alone I feel in this very moment, I’m not.

I’m very far from it.

That I’ll always be far from it with friends like him around.

“So,” Calen casually proceeds, “what do you need, Bryn? A toothbrush? A kidney? An alibi?”

“A best friend?”

“You’ve got that.”

“Any chance that best friend could postpone surfing for a little bit and be here with me at the doctor?”

“You’re alone at the fucking lady doctor?!”

Reluctance rears its ugly head. “Yeah.”

“Where the fuck is Mega Millions?”

“Billions.”

“Worse.”

“Better.”

“ Bryn. ”

“Idontknow,” comes out in a whispered jumble. “Not here.”

“He fucking should be there.”

Agreed.

“He fucking shouldn’t be anywhere else but there.”

Double agreed.

“And I’m gonna be right there to tell him that shit to his fucking face.” Calen doesn’t wait for any type of rebuttal or rejection of his declaration. “ Text me the address, Bryn. I’m on my way. ”