“I have something for you.”
“A gift?”
“Kind of. A song.”
I search through Marty Heilman’s forest for my guitar case. I must look ridiculous fishing through a flower explosion in my underwear, but Callie waits patiently as I find my case, pull out my guitar, and start tuning.
“You wrote me a song?”
I nod.
“Aww really? When?”
I draw in a deep breath. “A year and a half ago.”
Her eyes widen, brows knitting as she does the math. “Wait, we just started dating a year and a half ago.”
“Yeah.”
“You wrote me a song right after we started dating?”
“No. After the time with Luke in that café.”
“The day we met?”
I nod, swallowing.
Her jaw drops, the tears returning, and I have to look away to hold my composure. “I’ve loved you for a long, long time Callie Roland.”
And before she can respond, I start to play.
I can only dream of ending all the waiting
Praying that I’ll see you again
Traveling the world, I’ve seen so many others
But I can’t keep from thinking of you
But I still walk alone
Should I just move along
Since I’m far away, do you look for someone closer
Maybe one to sweep you away
Someone who can hold you
Like I’ve always wanted to
Oh how I wish that I was there
But I still walk alone
Should I just move along
Only time will tell
If I can be the one inside your dreams
Can it be me?
I don’t mean to scare you
I just need to hear you
Tell me that there’s nothing for me to fear
But I still walk alone
Should I just move along
Only time will tell
If I can be the one inside your dreams
Can it be me?
I have so many questions
That need to stay unanswered
How will I know the time is right
But I still walk alone
Should I just move along
Only time will tell
If I can be the one inside your dreams
Can it be me?
I hate to have suspicions
It’s hard when there’s a distance
Like the one that’s keeping us apart
So if you feel the same way
Come on out and tell me
I would love to only wait for you.
I don’t look at her the entire time I’m singing. I can’t. Not with my heart exposed and pleading for her to understand who she is and how much she means to me. My voice betrays my confidence, forcing an extra rasp that’s only there when I sing for her.
I strum the final chord and lower my guitar. Pulse pounding, head rushing, I clench my fist on its neck, waiting in agony as she takes in my confession. Can it be me? echoes between us. Can it, Cal?
Her eyes…
Giant pools of hazel sparkle from across the bed, stunned. I swallow, waiting, maybe even shaking, and I have to let go of the guitar before I break it. Good thing too, so I can catch the petite brunette who comes flying at me.
I laugh as she crushes me against the headboard.
“Oh my gosh!” Sobs choke out the rest, and my own cheeks burn with tears. After several moments, she finally sniffs and wipes her eyes. Looking up, she smiles as I melt into those endless pools. “Casey, it’s always been you. Always.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, holding her, loving her, desperate to protect her from anything that could ever steal that smile away. “None of it matters, Cal. Just us,” I whisper against her hair.
She presses her cheek into my chest, clinging to me. “Just us,” she whispers back.
21: FRIDAY 7:14PM, 22 HOURS
I’d forgotten about the rehearsal dinner when I’d made plans to take Callie to the steakhouse tonight. Then again, for a day that featured a brawl, a prison cell, and two emotional breakdowns, maybe a no-show at a hotel restaurant isn’t the end of the world. Kinda wish I’d bailed on this event instead, though, because it turns out a rehearsal dinner without a rehearsal is kind of a bust. Half the room is in full funeral-mode with the awkward severity of trying to be appropriately sympathetic. The other half contains Derrick, Eli, and Sweeny.
“Want me to remove them?” Luke asks, nodding toward the three-man utensil band currently inventing a new genre of sound the universe doesn’t need. We’ve got a drummer on knives, a bass player on forks, and a guitarist singing into a serving spoon from the tray of manicotti. At least they didn’t mess with the filet and crab cakes.
“Nah, they’re the only ones having fun. Derrick’s last fill on the candelabra was pretty impressive, actually.”
“How’s Callie?” Holland asks me.
“She’s… resting. Didn’t feel up to coming down. How are you? Callie says you’ve been sick.”
She and Luke exchange a glance. “Feeling a little better, thanks.”
“Good.”
“Do you know what you’re going to do about tomorrow yet?” Luke asks. Is he changing the subject?
“Not a clue,” I say. “I’m pretty sure our wedding planner sent out a message to all the guests warning them not to go to the Rose Chateau, but I don’t know what happened after that. We’ll probably go to the courthouse or fly to Vegas or something.” I pop a green bean in my mouth. “What?” I ask the table of stares boring into me.
“You’re not flying Callie to Vegas,” Holland says.
“Why not? It would be—”
“She’s right. Not a chance, Case.” And I thought Luke was my bro.
“I don’t know what else we’re supposed to do. I promised her I’d marry her tomorrow. I’m marrying her.”
“I get that, man, but what about us?”
I shrug. “You can go with us.”
Would Holland hit me? Never thought so until this moment. “Luke doesn’t mean he and I,” Holland says. “He means us.” She waves around the room.
My chest tightens at the sight. Friends, family, all the people who mean anything to us are here. They’ve put their lives on hold to come and support us. They’re still here despite the uncertainty of not knowing what tomorrow will bring. Right… Guess we can’t just ditch them.
Luke pulls in a deep breath and leans forward. “Okay, tell you what. Let’s meet tomorrow for breakfast. Say, ten? We can talk through it and figure something out.”
Sounds fair. Still…
Massaging my temples, I’m just about to agree when the dining room crashes to a halt. Literally.
We all flinch at the eruption, turning toward the bang in time to see a table being stacked on another table. Horrified hotel staff appear too stunned to intervene. Now what?
“Here ye, here ye!” Derrick shouts from atop the giant tower. Nothing good ever starts with “Here ye.”
Silence settles over the room. Fear maybe from anyone who knows Derrick Rivers.
“We were going to save this for the reception tomorrow but since it doesn’t look like there will be a wedding,” (thanks, man), “we’ll do it now.” He glances down to Eli and Sweeny, waving them up to the table.
“I’m not getting up there, dude,” Sweeny says.
“Why not? It’s the stage,” Derrick whisper-shouts back.
“We’ll break our necks. Plus what the hell do we need a stage for?”
“Come on. Don’t be a wuss,” Eli says, climbing up to join Derrick.
“I’m not, but this is stupid. We can do it down here.”
“It’s not the same,” Derrick says. Eli agrees. Sweeny crosses his arms and stays put.
“Fine. Wait there,” Eli mutters.
“I will,” Sweeny replies.
We all wait, actually, as the odd triangle bic
kers over proper positioning for their announcement. Not sure what’s happening right now, but I’m relieved Callie is safe and oblivious upstairs. I might also use the pause to cast a smug look at Molly who doesn’t appear overly impressed with Eli’s performance. Yep, this romance is fizzling out faster than Grandma Barrett’s half-used bottles of ginger ale she stored on the cellar steps.
Not much time for gloating, however, when the stage drama changes tone at the appearance of two young women I don’t recognize.
Derrick launches into his seal-clap in order to bring the already quiet and confused room to attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Lindsey and Heather!”
Someone applauds hesitantly, then another person, and another. Finally, there’s a respectable wave of appreciation, and the girls bow. I can’t tell if they’re embarrassed or thrilled at their role in whatever this is.
“Who the hell are Heather and Lindsey?” I whisper.
“Merch girls,” Jesse says.
“Huh?”
“Yeah, they’re running merch for the tour. They’ve worked with us for a while. They argue a lot but you’ll like them. They’re solid.”
Interesting. “Okay, but why are they at my rehearsal dinner?”
“Not a clue, dude.”
We’re about to find out.
“Without further ado, it’s my privilege to present ‘The Story of Callie and Baby Casey.’”
Well fuck my life.
I’m literally peeking through my fingers as Derrick and Eli jump down from the two-story table, remove the top one, and transport it to the open space in the center of the room. Three chairs are placed around it, along with basic place settings. I’m still not sure if this was pre-planned until they pull out white t-shirts with names scribbled on them in permanent marker. Apparently, Eli is “Luke,” Heather plays Callie, and Derrick is me. The other chick is “Waitress.” Fantastic.
Sweeny faces us and spreads his hands. “Scene One: Breakfast Club,” he says before taking a dramatic bow and shuffling backwards off the set.
Fake Callie sits alone at the table, tapping her fingers and looking bored while she sips what’s probably supposed to be tea from an empty coffee cup.
“I just love eating breakfast,” she says. “I only wish I had a friend.”
I glance over at Real Luke who’s nearly crying trying to hold back his laughter. Great. I’ll be getting zero support from him.
“Morning, Cal. I brought a friend today,” Fake Luke says, entering the scene.
Fake Me waves and bows, then does some kind of jig before sitting next to Callie at one of the open chairs. Luke sits on the other side.
“Wow. Are you in a band?” Callie asks.
“I am!” Casey replies, pumping a fist in the air.
“Wow. You’re so hot.”
“Thanks. So are you.”
“Want to live together in Luke’s hotel suite for a couple of months?” Casey asks.
“With Luke too?”
“Of course!”
“Sure. That sounds totally normal and not at all creepy.”
Callie jumps up from her chair and holds out her hands. Luke takes one and Casey takes the other before the trio skips—yes, skips—toward what I’m guessing is Scene Two. Yep, here comes Sweeny.
“Scene Two: Suite 403.”
Wow they even got the room number correct. This actually took research. By now Luke is barely upright. Glad he’s enjoying this so much. Wait… I glance at him through narrowed eyes. “Are you in on this?”
He shrugs, wiping a sleeve across his face. “I may have answered a few questions and filled in some gaps.”
“I thought we were friends,” I say.
“Shh,” Holland hisses, waving me quiet. Great, even the mature one of the group is one hundred percent invested.
I force my attention back to the strangest biography of all time and see that the three of us are now sitting on a bench with a ukulele.
“Oh boy,” Callie says. “I sure do like writing poetry. I just wish I knew some rock stars who could help me turn it into a hit song.”
“Wait! We’re rock stars!” Casey cries, clapping his hands in Derrick’s unique seal-style.
“Really?”
“Yes!”
“Prove it!”
I almost choke on my water when Fake Casey pulls off his shirt.
“Ooh those abs,” Callie moans. Derrick winks at the audience and adds some hip rolls.
“What the fuck is happening right now?” I hiss at Luke.
“No idea, dude,” he gasps through a chuckle.
I shake my head, the slightest smile escaping me because come on.
Casey puts his Casey-shirt back on—thank god—and Eli-Luke starts strumming the chords for “Greetings from the Inside” on the ukulele. Callie jumps up and dances around as she directs him and Casey, shouting things like “more strings!” and “play the four! Play the four!” Pretty sure Real Callie has no clue how the Nashville number system works. Or chords in general. For his part, Fake Casey just bangs drumsticks on everything within arms’ reach while laughing maniacally.
“Not accurate,” I mumble to Luke. “I wrote the song on guitar and recorded the work tape on keys. Didn’t even touch a kit until rehearsals.”
Luke snickers. “Pretty sure I wasn’t playing a ukulele either.”
“Damn. So glad Cal isn’t here to see herself dancing like that.”
“That was so good, guys!” Fake Callie shouts when the weird song comes to an end.
“I’m going to go be elusive and mysterious,” Fake Luke says, sporting some serious vampire vibes.
Okay that was funny.
He slinks out of view, while the other two watch him.
“Good. Now that we’re alone, can I ask you something?” Casey says to Callie. He takes her hands and drops to one knee. “Wanna date? Like, for reals?”
“Duh!” Callie says, throwing herself into his arms.
They stand and bow as Sweeny rushes back onto the set.
“Scene Three: The Tour,” he announces.
More props get moved around in conjunction with some deliberate hand motions, which means… yeah, I’m not sure.
“I think it’s a bus,” Jesse whispers. “Hey look, that might be me.”
Reece runs into the scene, obviously missing his cue. Sure enough, his t-shirt reads: “Jesse.”
Here comes Lindsey as well with… I squint for a better look and snort a laugh. “Holland.”
“Still think this is hilarious?” I say, reaching over to tap her arm.
“As long as she keeps her clothes on,” Real Holland mumbles.
I’m putting the odds at 50-50 at this point.
Back to the drama because now there’s a dance party going on in our “bus.” I must have missed that on the tour.
“Oh Casey, I just love touring with you and sharing a bunk on the bus!”
We definitely didn’t.
“Me too, babe.”
It’s nearly impossible to focus on the dialogue with Fake Luke and Fake Holland fake-making-out behind them.
“Dude, get a room,” I toss over to Real Luke. He rolls his eyes and mumbles an apology to Real Holland.
“Oh Casey,” Fake Callie cries, the back of her hand to her forehead.
“Yes, my darling?”
“I’m simply parched. Would you be a doll and go to catering to get all the tea, my love?”
“All the tea?”
“All of it.”
“And all the pineapple for me!” Fake Holland calls out.
My snicker draws a glare from Holland. First part of this re-enactment that’s actually pretty accurate.
“I didn’t eat all the pineapple,” she snaps.
“Maybe not, but Cal definitely drank all the tea.”
Luke chuckles, and Holland turns her glare on him. “What? It’s kinda true.”
Back on stage, our tour is now… who the hell knows? There’s a fake plant and two e
nd tables in the mix.
Fake Jesse is “performing” in front of the plant. After a ridiculous bow, he addresses us. “Hi, I’m Jesse Everett. No one’s ever heard of me at this point, but I’m God’s gift to music. I make men cry and ladies melt with my vocal magic. I’m also a total masochist who shacked up with the woman who ruined my life.”
Also true. Luke and I are both cracking up now, especially when Real Jesse shakes his head with a shy smirk. Mila whispers something to him, and he covers his face. I’m just glad we seem to have sidetracked from the Callie/Casey plotline. Oh, wait, nope, there we are again.
We stroll arm-in-arm between the end tables, inspecting each closely. I squint at the action, trying to figure out what the hell we’re doing.
“Oh Casey!” And why does Callie start every sentence with “oh Casey”? “This one!”
She reaches for some invisible object and holds it up to the light.
“Are you sure, my sweet?” Casey looks around. “I sure hope no one notices that we’re in a jewelry store. Then they’d know we like each other.”
Ah. That.
I smirk and shake my head.
“Right. We can’t have people thinking we’re serious about each other,” Callie says, pressing her palms to her cheeks.
“That would be terrible. The horror!” Fake Me replies.
“What would people say? Two consenting adults in a stable, loving relationship? We must keep this a secret!”
Okay, point taken. Can we move on?
Sweeny runs out as the others clear the set. “Scene Four: The Proposal.”
Wait… that was private. I knew Cal wouldn’t want a big public affair, so one night I got us a suite, decked it out with all her favorites, ordered her go-to movie, and when I got up to pour us some champagne, grabbed the ring. She cried. I may have teared up too, and then we finished the film. That’s Cal and I. Always has been. Casual, stable, secure, we just knew. So how does this parody have a Proposal Scene?
Sweeny exits the stage and… nothing. I burst out laughing at the empty space, relieved our private moment is still private.
“You ever gonna tell us the story, Case?” Sweeny shouts over to me.
An NSB Wedding Page 10