“Thank you, sir.”
I nod back and close the door with much less violence this time.
Marty’s latest monstrosity stares back at me from the floor, every spare inch of hard surfaces already buried in flowers. I pick it up and nestle beside it on the bed. There’s another card, great.
May the wind sing the song of your love for all of eternity.
Yours, Marty Heilman
I roll my eyes and drop the card on the floor.
The first thing that catches my eye is the cage. What kind of gift basket has a cage? I jump back at the flash of blue inside. What the hell? Ah, it’s fake. So we received a giant gilded birdcage with two fake birds inside. Huh.
I reach in to remove the contraption and… shit! I hiss in a breath and yank my hand free.
“Dammit.”
Blood puckers from scrapes on my knuckles. I shake off the sting and go back in to investigate—carefully this time. After removing the cage, I find the offender: a mess of twigs contorted into some kind of weird wreath. I guess it’s supposed to look like a nest? More bird-themed crap rests below that, including a ceramic knick-knack my grandmother would love for her cabinet of useless dust collectors. I shake my head, a slow smile creeping over my lips. Well-played, Marty Heilman. You really outdid yourself on the crazy-scale with this one.
Stepping back, I survey the room with a mixture of awe and disgust. Grammy hasn’t met a trinket she didn’t want to display, and even she’d be horrified by this garish scene. Which gives me an idea.
I glance at the door, suddenly worried that Callie will return before I’m ready. This has to be perfect.
I yank the covers back up to the pillows and do my best to smooth the creases. With a fluff of the pillows and a pat down of a lump on the left side, I lean back to assess my work. Not bad for someone who lives on the road and never makes a bed.
Next... My shoulders sag as I scan the floral jungle surrounding me. Do I want a theme or just a random display? Hmm… chicks dig effort, so I need to go for it.
I begin tugging everything blue—Callie’s favorite color—from the mass of decorations. Flowers, ornaments, those weird blue bird things in the cage—if it’s blue, it ends up in a pile on the bed. Once I have an impressive stash, I start arranging them in (what I think) are attractive displays on the comforter and surrounding nightstands. I lay a path of blue to the bathroom where I spread more crap over all of the surfaces.
She’s just stressed out, man.
Jesse’s words come back to me as I stare at the Jacuzzi tub. Of course she is. While I’ve been focusing on rehearsals and our upcoming tour for the last few months, she’s been bearing the load of this monumental event. She’s never complained, never chided me for not giving more than a cursory okay when presented with her choices of what were probably infinite options. Weeks, months of painstaking planning to satisfy the expectations of a world she barely knows, and it all blows up in her face. Dammit, no wonder she’s stressed.
I pick up the room phone and dial the front desk. I order a collection of luxury bath items. Then, I make reservations for two at the resort’s high-end steakhouse for tomorrow. She probably needs a break from mass welcome meals with my relatives as much as I do. Hanging up, I step back to survey my handiwork. Not bad, if I say so myself, and it will be perfect once the bath supplies are delivered.
Now all I need is the bride.
13: THURSDAY 8:24PM, 2 DAYS
Who knew searching a gazillion square feet for a tiny brunette would be so difficult? No one’s seen her, nor do they seem as concerned as I am. Then again, they don’t have expensive bath crap waiting upstairs.
After crossing every crevice of the main floor off the list, I’m about to jump back in the elevator when commotion leaks from behind a set of giant columns. I join the steady flow of guests to check it out, my heart pounding because the odds are ridiculously against me on whatever this is.
What in the holy—
“Oh snap, there he is. Ladies and gentlemen, the groom himself, Casey Barrett!”
I stare over the sea of heads at Derrick who’s set himself up on a platform with—is that Uncle Nestor’s girlfriend? And what the hell are they wearing?
Applause breaks out as all eyes find me cowering in back. I fix a smile on my face along with a special glare for Derrick who’s waving me toward whatever it is they’re doing. A full drum kit, some hideous capes, and… is Ms. Hawthorne holding a flute?
“We were just about to perform, but I’m sure everyone would rather hear the iconic drummer from Night Shifts Black. Am I right?” he shouts to the crowd, which erupts in disproportionate excitement for whatever’s about to go down.
I still don’t know what the hell is happening as sticks are shoved in my hand and I’m being dragged to the five-piece kit.
“’My Funny Valentine,’ sweetie,” Ms. Hawthorne says to me as if I should know what that means.
“Huh?” I direct to Derrick.
“You didn’t tell me your aunt is such an amazing flute player. It’s been her dream to be on stage since she was a girl.”
I swallow, my feet instinctively resting on the kick drum and high-hat pedals.
“She wants to play, Casey. She wants to shine. Let her be a star!” He’s one high-pitched falsetto note away from spinning in circles with his hands in the air.
“Okay, but why does whatever this is require a drum kit?”
“Don’t you see it?” he asks, waving toward my almost step-aunt.
I shake my head.
“Duh. It’s a rock shawl. She made it just for this moment!”
“What the fuck is a rock shawl?”
Derrick glides to Ms. Hawthorne and leads her forward with the air of red-carpet royalty.
“Just give her a four count,” he says.
“And then what?”
“That’s it.”
“You set up an entire kit to give her a four-count?”
“No, no. The kit is for the duet.”
“The duet?”
“Yeah. She also plays that song from the iceberg movie.”
“Titanic?”
“No. The one with the princess.”
“What?”
“And the snow man with the— Never mind. Just give her a four-count for now.”
Anything to finish this. “What’s the tempo?”
He shrugs. “Depends what she’s feeling.”
“Why would I give her a four-count if I’m not actually setting the tempo?”
“Case, just relax, my man. You’re doing great,” he says, massaging my shoulders. I shrug him off and cast a look at the old woman who nods.
Tick, tick, tick, tick, I tap out and then sit back to witness the weirdest rendition of… well… pretty much anything I’ve ever seen. Ms. Hawthorne puffs away in her rock-cape while Derrick dances around behind her with the grace of a forest nymph on meth. Did they rehearse this? They must have the way they keep making eye-contact and nodding like this is choreographed. At one point, Derrick removes the cape-shawl from her shoulders and slings it around himself. More thumping and twirling—now with a cape—until the nightmare ends with an elaborate run of pitchy flute notes and awkward drummer pirouettes. The audience roars as the pair joins hands, bows, and then motions to me. I stare at them, frozen, and almost stumble over the snare drum when I try to stand at their insistence. The cheering becomes deafening when I manage an awkward wave for my part in this atrocity.
“Thank you, Florecita Hotel Lobby! Would you like to hear more?” Derrick cries over the roar. I scan the background for signs of hotel security, a pissed-off manager, anyone to put a stop to this. But nope, just a few porters and an assistant manager giggling amongst themselves. It would be just my luck that, for the first time in his life, Derrick Rivers had the foresight to secure permission before doing something epically stupid.
“Casey! Casey! Casey!” Derrick chants, while urging the crowd to join him. Soon dozens of strangers are calling for
me to do something—god knows what.
“Play something, man,” Derrick says.
“The iceberg song?”
“Nah, whatever you want?”
He knows we only have a drum kit, right?
“Um…”
“Do it! Do it! Do it!”
The audience follows the new chant as I breathe a quick apology to Callie. Sorry, babe. I was trying to find you.
I twirl the sticks in my hand, thinking. Maybe that’s my problem: too much thought. This week has been nothing but cerebral exercises I’m grossly underqualified to handle. This, right here, however, I know.
Relaxing into the stool, I let instinct take over and explode into a rhythm straight off a stadium stage. Complex beats, dramatic fills, I lay it all out there for these witnesses, letting them know who I am and what music pounds through my blood. The toms, kick, snare, hi-hat, and ride, all become extensions of my body, extra limbs displaying my heartbeat for the audience. Once I start, though, it’s always hard to stop. How do you halt the blood pumping through your veins?
By the time I finish, sweat drips down my temples, and even Derrick looks impressed. I flip the sticks toward him, and he takes them with a bow.
“Epic, dude,” he says.
“Thanks.” I draw in a relieved breath. “Can I go now?”
14: FRIDAY 1:23AM, 1 DAY
Crash.
Shuffle.
Casey?
My eyes flutter open and search the darkness. A shadow approaches, familiar when the scent of jasmine reaches my nose.
“Why are you on the couch, hun?”
“Callie? Oh my god.” I shoot up and wrap her in my arms.
She chuckles against my chest. “What’s this for?”
“Where were you? You scared the hell out of me.”
“Oh, sorry. My phone died. I told you I need to upgrade soon. It barely holds a charge anymore. Can I turn on the lamp?”
“Please!”
With a click, light invades the room.
She gasps. “Oh my gosh. What happened in here?”
Her horrified gaze is fixed on my bed-art. Not good.
“It’s for you?” I say-ask.
Her brow furrows. I guess confusion is better than horror.
“I wanted to surprise you with a relaxing night. I got bath shit too.”
“Bath shit?”
“Yeah, uh, all those potions and crap you like. See?”
I lead her to the bathroom and flip on the light.
Fuck. Half the bath supplies have fallen into the tub. The other half is the packaging I forgot to throw away. The towel I laid out for her comfort is just draped awkwardly over the toilet, collecting who knows what. Right. You nailed it, dude… “I’m sorry, Cal. For everything. I just wanted to—”
Soft arms slip around me from behind. Callie nestles close and settles against my back. I close my eyes, breathing in relief.
“I love you so much,” she whispers.
Frozen, I pull her arms tighter, absorbing the moment. Is it possible to love a person too much? If so, that’s my fate with this woman. I think back to the first time we met in that dive café. Luke practically forced me to go. Had to drag my ass out of bed because damn their little breakfast club was early. I agreed more from the spark in Luke that I hadn’t seen in so long than the prospect of meeting some girl he thought I’d like. Looking back, I should have known right then that the woman who managed to reignite his will to live had to be special. “Special” doesn’t even begin to describe my future wife.
“Rita quit.”
Callie’s announcement breaks that spell.
“What? When?” I turn to face her but don’t let go. Never again, if I can help it. Last night was brutal.
“Right after we turned down the governor’s mansion and she left the gym.”
“Shit, Cal. I’m sorry. It’s just—”
She reaches up to my cheek, her face igniting with humor. “Babe, we’re not getting married at Governor Henry’s house.”
“Oh thank god.”
“That’s why I went out, though. Silvina and I were trying to find a solution and then got caught up talking at an all-night diner.”
I can’t help but smile at that. Of course she got lost in a diner, but I keep my comment to myself. She’s on a mission.
“Any luck?”
“No,” she says with a sigh. “I get why Rita was grasping for straws.”
“Well, she should have told me too. Heck, you should have, Cal. I would have helped.”
“Skeptical” is a good word for the look on her face. “She’s afraid of you. I’m not surprised. Anyway, Silvina and I thought we’d be able to come up with something and we’d have a solution when I told you about Rita.”
“I’m sorry Rita dumped this on you.”
I would’ve expected more distress from my bride at the loss of our coordinator. Instead, she lets out a dry laugh. “It’s okay. I don’t think she ever really understood us or what we wanted. She had it in her head we needed some fairytale ball when all I wanted was a simple ceremony and dinner. I’ve been fighting her since day one on everything from the silverware design to the type of flowers for the centerpiece. Did you know you have to consider the level of interaction you want for your guests at the table when choosing the centerpiece height?”
There’s a pinch in my gut, and I drop a kiss on her hair. We’d hired a coordinator to make the process easy, not to ruin it. “Really? Damn, my brain broke just thinking about that. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to worry. You had enough going on with getting ready for the tour, and writing and then Penchant had that—”
I cut her off with a kiss. Can’t help it. Protect and cherish—so damn easy with Callie. “I’m giving you the best wedding you can imagine. I don’t care what it takes,” I say softly against her lips.
“My tastes are simple. I’ve only ever had one must on my list.”
“Which is?”
“You.”
15: FRIDAY 8:23AM, 1 DAY
She’s stirring, which means fair game for me. I tuck my arm around Callie and align our bodies until she settles in with a groan that’s not entirely of the annoyed variety.
“You’re hard again?” she mumbles.
“Always for you,” I say against her neck.
The groan is a moan this time when her hand reaches back and grips my hair. She pulls harder in tune with the climbing intensity until she tugs me over her.
“It must be hard being engaged to such a hot piece of ass,” I murmur, shoving against her hips.
“You would know,” she breathes out.
God, I love this woman.
“I’m sorry about… yesterday.” My movements have become rhythmic, eighth notes on the hi-hat to her effort on the snare.
“Me too,” she gasps. Oh shit, I love the way she’s responding with quarter notes.
“Keep that beat, babe,” I say.
“What beat?”
“The quarter on the two and the four.”
“What?”
“Just… no no, go back to the quarter.”
“Case…”
“I’ll meet you there in a second.”
“Where?”
“On the two.”
Her laugh breaks apart when I fulfill my promise. That cry is new. Also beautiful and the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Oh my gosh, Casey. What was that?” Her voice is little more than air through a sleepy smile.
I collapse beside her, wrecked and content as hell. “Babe, I think we found our song.”
With a smile, she takes my hand and pulls it to her lips. “You see the world in music.”
“And you’re my muse.” I toss a grin for extra cheese, and she shoves me with a laugh.
“Lame.”
“You love it.”
Her eyes rest on mine. “Maybe.”
An alarm on her phone ruins the moment, and this time her groan is of
the annoyed variety.
“I’m so tired. Can we skip the brunch today?” she says, throwing an arm over her face.
I move it enough to find her lips. “Absolutely.”
She giggles and pushes me away. “I’m kidding. We have to greet our guests.”
“Hmm, do we though?”
I get a legit swat for that. “Uh, yeah you do, rock star.”
With a grunt, I roll away and check the time for myself. “Tell you what, how about I go and do the welcoming shit, and you stay here and rest.”
Her expression softens into that sweetness I know so well. “Aww, thank you. That’s so amazing of you, but Aunt Norma will be there today.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yeah. No way I’m leaving you unsupervised in her presence.”
Well, can’t argue with that. That gossip-whore pissed off the wrong drummer. “Wait, how did you know she’s coming today?”
Callie points to the giant binder on the floor. “Rita may be gone, but she left her wedding bible.”
16: FRIDAY 9:47AM, 1 DAY
Oh hell no.
I see him first. Thank god, I see him first. With laser precision, I filter through crowds of lobby patrons to land on the bastard.
“Babe, I just remembered I have to take care of something. Meet you at brunch in a few?”
Concerned, Callie studies me. Fine—as long as she’s not facing the line for check-in. What the fuck is he doing here?
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yeah. It’ll just be a minute.” I kiss her forehead, careful to shield her from his view. After escorting her to the hall that leads to the banquet room, I pull out my phone and send a message to Luke.
Me: Callie’s on the way. Keep her at brunch no matter what.
Luke: Sure. What’s going on?
Me: Her bastard of a father is here. I just saw him.
Luke: Fuck. Does she know?
Me: No, and it’s staying that way.
Luke: Okay. Let me know if you need backup.
Me: Stay tuned.
Roger Roland was always on my shit-list but shot to the top after the stunt he pulled with the press last year to get his fifteen minutes at his daughter’s expense. Should have known he’d show up for a reprise. Callie’s barely recovered from the last betrayal; no way in hell we’re doing this again. A voice in my head is screaming to let our security handle this, but damn if I’m not eager for some personal blood.
An NSB Wedding Page 7