I work to swallow my irritation. “Cool. That was a good one.”
“It was fantastic. Can’t wait to see your tour with Limelight. They’re a great band too.”
“Yeah.”
Funny how they suddenly have no questions about my identity. An hour ago, they made a huge deal about the fact that I didn’t have ID on me. Well, yeah. Didn’t think I needed it when I left my room for breakfast this morning. After convincing them to take me back to the suite to get it, I dug a further hole when I couldn’t find my wallet. Still don’t have a clue where that sucker is. Hell, it was probably stolen. Why wouldn’t it be with the way everything is going? I tried to show them the bird’s nest, but it only made me look more insane when I held up the handful of twigs I blamed for my mess. “We’ll sort it out at the station” is a thing apparently, and now I get to experience it.
“Don’t worry, man. We’ll get you processed and back to your wedding as soon as possible.”
What wedding? At this point we don’t even have one.
Callie. Shit, she has no clue where I am. Last anyone knew I was about to confront Roger. Hopefully that one-phone-call thing is legit also.
“My fiancée doesn’t know where I am. Will I get to call her?”
“Sure, once we get you processed,” my officer-fan says.
“She’ll need to find your ID and bring it down to the station as well,” Andy adds.
“Seriously?” Fuck.
“Along with the bond money, unless you want to hang out with us for a while.”
I shake my head and turn back to the window. I’d rather not, although with the way these past couple of days have been, maybe that would be better for everyone.
The car pulls into a secure garage, and Andy’s partner helps me out of the back. Inside we get intimate with a security wand and a thorough pat-down. Again, not fun when you’re not wasted, but the guys are professional and chain me to the bench to wait when they’re satisfied I’m clean. So far so good, and I lean my head against the wall. The cool surface soothes the heat radiating through my blood, my fingers tapping out phantom rhythms on my legs. Arrested at my own wedding… Would Callie be more or less upset if I had missed the ceremony because I was in jail? As it stands, she’ll probably leave my ass here to rot after everything I’ve put her through.
It seems like hours before Andy finally returns to collect personal info. After taking down my address, social security number, and other fun facts, we get to play the fingerprint game. Kinda wish we still had the drama of the ink pad, but the computer gets the job done, and soon we’re ready for the photo shoot. Cameras I know, though they’re less fun when it’s a jail cell waiting on the other side. I line my shoes up with the foot outlines on the floor and flash my best mugshot pose. They also photograph the injuries on my hand—still not buying my fake-bird defense, I guess. What’s that about the truth being stranger than fiction?
“You have any tattoos?” Andy asks. His hint of amusement tells me he knows the answer.
“A few.”
“Arms? Chest? Back?”
“All of the above.”
“Okay. Remove your shirt, please?”
I sigh and pull off my hoodie.
“T-shirt too.”
“Do we have to?”
“Yep.” A flash of impatience crosses his face. “We looked you up, Casey. This isn’t our first date. Come on, you know the drill.”
Yeah. But again, I didn’t do anything this time. I pull off my shirt and try to keep my temper in check as they photograph and document all of my ink. Not an easy task, for sure, and maybe I start to have sympathy after a while.
“Who’s Elena?” he asks, while examining the rose and dove on my left shoulder. “Your fiancée?”
“My sister.”
He nods. “Sorry, man.”
“Thanks.”
He hands my shirt back, and I pull it over my head.
“Okay, this way, please,” he says once I’m dressed. He leads me to a cell, and yep. We’re really doing this. Another man is already waiting inside, clearly hammered. “You can use that phone on the wall to call your girl. Tell her to find your ID and bring money for the bond. Your conversation will be recorded.”
The thought of asking Callie to bail me out—literally—the day before our wedding? I shudder. “Actually, if it’s okay, I’d like to call someone else.”
“Whoever you want. Just give the operator the number. You need your phone back to look it up?”
“No, I got it, thanks.” A relief, actually, because, man, I don’t need to see any flashes of the messages waiting for me on that thing right now.
“Sounds good. We’ll come get you when it’s time.”
“Thanks.”
The door closes behind me, and I feel a weight crash down that I haven’t felt in a long time. Not since Elena. Certainly not since Callie brought her light into my life.
“Hey, son. No need to look so glum. I won’t bite. Hard,” the other prisoner cackles. At least he’s not an angry drunk. Small miracles.
I pick up the phone and give the operator Luke’s number, my pulse racing as she calls him collect. He’s done enough time on this end of the line to know what my call means.
The connection clicks live, and I pull in a deep breath.
“Dude, a collect call from the Eighteenth Precinct? What the hell, Case?”
I swallow and lean my forehead against the wall. “I know, man. Shit is fucked up right now. It’s a long story.”
“Clearly. Callie is a mess. We’re all worried.”
My chest squeezes at the thought of her. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll explain later, just— I need your help. Can you go to my room and find my wallet? Make sure my ID is in there along with a few hundred bucks for the bond, depending what it is.”
“Sure, man,” he says. “Of course. Where is it?”
“That’s the thing. I don’t know.” Wait… Finally, a breath of fresh air. “My gym bag. It’s in my gym bag. Next to the bed.” My cellmate glances over at my enthusiasm, but he doesn’t understand how badly I needed One. Freaking. Win.
“Okay, bro. I’ll take care of it. But, Case…”
“Yeah?”
“I have to tell Callie what’s going on.”
I close my eyes, allowing the cold from the wall to seep into my skin. “I know. Tell her I love her, and I’m so sorry. And…”
“And what?”
She deserves better. “Nothing, man. Thanks.”
“Of course, bro. I’ve got your back.”
I hang up, sink to the floor, and wish I were as plastered as the dude smirking on the cot.
18: FRIDAY 12:43PM, 1 DAY
Time passes slowly when you’re stuck in a box with a stranger. My fingertips are raw from drumming out the symphony in my head, and I’ve finished lyrics for three new songs. The worst part, though? Baldwin. The dude. Will not. Shut up.
“So then I told her if she wanted a vacuum so bad she should get a job as a vacuum salesman!” Funniest joke ever, from the way he roars. “Because, the discount, ya know?”
I rest my forehead on my arms, hoping that if I can’t see him, he’ll go away. At least get the hint that silence is golden, but this guy seems beyond the reach of hints.
“Who even vacuums ceiling fans, amirite? You turn those suckers on and let all the dust blow itself off. Self-cleaning. Brilliant little things. Dang, if I’d invented them I’d be on a beach sippin’ umbrella drinks with one ‘a them umbrella ladies.”
I’m hazy on the plot from the part where the dog couldn’t eat peanut butter because it gave him kidney stones. If there’s any silver lining it’s that this guy doesn’t require active participation from his hostages.
“Dang, no. I’d buy an island. My own country, ya know? I’d call it… Country Island. There ain’t one a those in the United Nations, right? Yeah, Country Island and we’d have free tacos for everyone. What about you?”
My brain stirs back to life at t
he pause, and I look up to meet a direct stare. What was the question?
“If you was rich, what would you do with the money?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, man.”
“C’mon. There must be something. All the money in the world, what are you doin’ with it?”
I only see one thing. One face. One pair of hazel eyes I want to drown in and never breathe alone again.
“I’d get married.”
He releases a low whistle and more cackles. “Dang, no way. Don’t do it. I been there multiple times. Marriage’ll kill you, amiright?”
Right now, death by marriage sounds pretty damn good.
“So what got you locked up?” he asks.
“Assault.” I add a hard stare, hoping he gets the hint. Nope, it’s beyond him.
“Yeah, gotta be careful these days. Used to be a man could use his fists like a man. Now you gotta be all ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘my apologies.’”
More “modern” words come out of his mouth but I lose track again and stare back at the floor between my knees. My ass is starting to hurt from sitting on the floor, but I have no desire to move closer to my cellmate.
“Guess what I’m in for? Drunk driving. Can you believe it?”
“You don’t say.”
“I know! Used to be a man could unwind without the damn cops breathing down his neck…” Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah.
Kill me, please. Just. Kill. Me.
Activity at the door grabs my attention, and I force my stiff body to stand at the appearance of Officer Andy. “Barrett, you’re up,” he says, waving me out.
Thank god.
“What about me?” Baldwin whines.
“Not yet, Harold. You’re still marinating.”
“Fuckers. Used to be a man could get locked up…”
We don’t hear the rest as we walk back to the booking area. Andy gives me my belongings, and I sign off that everything’s there. After getting a ticket with my charge and a court date, I’m a free man. I totally feel like singing at this point in the process.
“Take care, man,” Andy says. “Hope I only see you on a stage from now on.”
I twist out a smile. “Oh, hey. You got a notepad or something?”
He lifts a brow and hands me one. I sign my name with a short message. “Give this to your partner for his kid?” I ask.
Surprised, he hesitates before taking it and placing it in his pocket. “Of course. Good luck, Casey.”
He shoots out his hand, I shake it, and then lumber out to the lobby.
Luke is waiting, as promised—along with a petite brunette that comes charging at me. I catch her in my arms and bury my face in her hair.
“I’m sorry, babe. So sorry,” I murmur.
She pulls tighter, nearly cutting off my circulation which is fine by me. “No, I’m sorry. It was my dad, wasn’t it? Luke told me you saw him.”
“We can talk about it later, okay?”
She pulls back and studies my face. “How are you? Did he hurt you?”
“I’m fine. Let’s just get out of here.”
Luke slaps my arm as I pass, and I pull him into a quick hug as well. “Thanks, man. For everything.”
“I got you, Case.”
“I know. I got you too, bro. Always.”
19: FRIDAY 1:52PM, 1 DAY
Although desperate for a shower, it’s food that occupies my brain’s command center on the drive back to the hotel. We stop at a restaurant on the way, partly out of hunger but mostly because I’m not ready to expose myself to more drama at a hotel eatery.
Callie and Luke were quiet most of the ride, probably sensing my need to process what just went down. I’m a lot of things when we’re seated at a table, but tired surpasses them all. Just. Plain. Tired.
Callie rests her hand on my thigh, and I reach for it like it’s part of me.
“You want to talk about it?” she asks. It’s so gentle, that look in her eyes as they search mine.
“I’m sorry, babe. As if you didn’t have enough shit screwing things up.”
She squeezes my hand. “Luke told me about Dad. I think I can guess what happened.”
“I didn’t actually hit him, I swear.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to,” I mumble, picking up the menu when she lets go to grab her own.
“I know that too,” she says through a smile.
Luke shakes his head, snickering. “Is that new ink, Case? You get it in the joint?”
“Shut up,” I snap back, trying to hold my scowl. No luck, and we all lose it together. This whole thing? So ridiculous. Absurd, really. Sad, awful, and awfully hilarious.
“How’s Holland?” Callie asks, when the humor settles. “Have you heard from her since we left?”
“What’s wrong with Holland?” I ask, concerned. “Still that stomach bug?”
Luke nods. “Yeah. She tried to eat something at breakfast but couldn’t keep it down.”
“Damn. That sucks.”
“I know. I had ginger ale and crackers sent to the room before we left.”
Shit. Well at least she won’t be missing a wedding… Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if we all spent the day praying to a toilet?
After placing our orders, I force the conversation that’s been weighing on me for hours. “Cal, about your dad…”
“He’s a jerk. I don’t even know why he’s here.”
“Here? So he didn’t leave?”
She bites her lip, and the anger that got me in trouble this morning returns. I’m about to respond when my phone buzzes. Mom. Great.
“You should answer that,” Callie says. “She’s been worried about you.”
“Does she know?”
“About your brush with the law?” Luke is loving this.
“Yes, about my brush with the law.”
“Everyone knows, dude.”
“Really?”
Callie’s expression is all I need. “Sorry, hun. He’s right. It’s all over the place.”
“Fuck. So soon? How?”
Her teeth sink into her lip again. Yep, Dad-related.
“Well, he didn’t waste any time,” I mutter.
Callie points to my phone which is now ringing a second time. Fine…
“Hey, Ma.”
“Casey! Oh my gosh! Thank heavens!”
“Ma, I’m fine.”
“Are they treating you okay? Are they feeding you?”
“Who?”
“The prison guards!”
“Um… I’m on my phone.”
“I know that, honey.”
“So I’m not in—”
“I swear if they hurt one hair on your head!”
“I’m fine. I’m not even—”
“Tell me what I need to do! Who should I call? Oh! Cousin Al is a lawyer. I’m calling him. Just a moment.”
“Wait, isn’t Al in real estate?”
“Well yes, but he does real-estate law.”
“Right, so…”
“Don’t be smart. He knows other things.”
“Mom.”
“And I’ll call Pastor Jim too. He’s already at the hotel for the ceremony. Don’t you worry about a thing, sweetie. We’ll get you out in no time!”
“Mom. I’m not in jail. I’m at lunch with Callie and Luke.”
Who are now grinning like idiots; my mom doesn’t believe phones erase the need to shout from far distances.
“Out to lunch?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Just hungry.”
She quiets, and part of me suspects she’s disappointed again. Norma probably had her all worked up and crusade-ready, and here I go ruining her plans. Then again, crushing dreams is par for the course at this point.
“Okay, well, be careful eating after so much time,” she says finally. “I know how sensitive your bowels can be.”
“Oh geez. Ma! I’ll call you later.”
I hang up, shaking my head as I tuck the phone back in my pocket.
&n
bsp; Luke’s hunched over, crying with laughter. Even Callie... “Hey, Case. The restroom’s over there,” he wheezes out.
20: FRIDAY 3:02PM, 1 DAY
I step out of the shower feeling like a new man. Funny how hot water and soap fix shit. Callie is on the bed, laptop open, pensive scowl on her face.
“What are you looking at?” I ask, running the towel over my head.
She grunts and scrunches her nose at the screen. “Trying to figure out what the heck we’re going to do about tomorrow. Should we contact everyone and tell them it’s off?”
I slide on a pair of underwear and drop down next to her.
“Ten Great Wedding Locations in the Houston Area” stares back at us, and after two seconds I understand her scowl.
“I really don’t know, Cal. Maybe we can find a park or something and tell everyone to meet there?”
Her look tells me my idea isn’t helpful in any way. “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow. Plus, where would everyone sit? Plus, four hundred people in a public park? Oh, and permits because—”
“Okay! Geez. No park.”
She sighs. “Sorry. You’re just trying to help.” Her voice wavers, and I glance over just in time to see tears fill her eyes.
“Aww, babe…” I pull her against my chest and let her sadness soak into my skin.
“I just want to marry you,” she whispers. “Why can’t I just marry you?”
My heart. God, is her pain going to crush me like this our entire lives? “I’m marrying you tomorrow, Cal. I don’t care what it takes.”
She looks up, tear-stained hazel pleading with me. “Promise?”
“I promise you.” I still her trembling lips with a soft kiss. But it’s not enough. No, words and kisses can only go so far, and this moment needs more than a promise. Callie needs the only thing I’ve ever kept from her: the secret I’ve saved since the day we met. I was too embarrassed to share it so early in our relationship, too vain to do it later when it no longer made sense. Now though? Now she needs all of me. Every shred of my love that has been hers since she saw me as just Luke’s obnoxious friend. She has my soul; she needs to know for how long.
“Stay here,” I say.
“Okay?” The suspicion peeking through the sadness makes me smile.
An NSB Wedding Page 9