Shit. A quickie wedding. If Claire were really pregnant, he’d have shoved his foot firmly in his trap.
“We’d like to ask you two to stand up with us.” Dean reached for Claire’s hand. “It would mean a lot to us both.”
Thank fuck. Not pregnant. But, shit, they wanted him in the wedding. He didn’t do weddings. All that pretentiousness? No. The thought gave him the shakes. His little trip through Denver was a fast visit to see his family, say hey to his friends, and party with his buddy to celebrate his engagement. The visit was not meant to be a prelude to being forced to return and stand in front of a crowd dressed like a penguin.
“Velvet, I’d love it if you’d be my maid of honor.” Claire’s eyes danced with excitement. “Just like we talked about when we were kids.”
Velma’s lips parted. She opened her mouth and closed it. Pinched her lips together and opened them again.
Yeah, that’s about how he felt about the whole thing.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” she finally said.
Not the answer he’d been thinking.
“But what about Heather?” Velma asked.
“I’ll ask her to be a bridesmaid. You’re my sister. I want you right next to me.”
“Brek, you know the drill. I could ask Jase or Eli to be my best man, but they’d find a way to weasel out of it. Besides, Jase’ll handle the flowers and Eli’s going to have to deal with the catering.” Dean leaned back against his chair and held up his beer glass. “What do you say?”
Jase, Brek, Eli, and Dean had all been buddies since high school. Dean was right, Jase and Eli would abso-fuckin’-lutely find a way to weasel out of best-man duties. Except the bachelor party. They’d be all over that.
Brek did the math in his head. Dimefront, the band he managed, would still be on break. Which meant he was about to get trapped into a wedding. “August?”
Dean nodded.
“I can probably swing that.” Brek raised his beer can and touched it to Dean’s glass.
“We’ve been thinking the theme will be ‘Purple Rain.’ Flowers, dresses, everything. Dean wants a beer bar. Craft beer.” Claire got all animated about it. Eyes big. Talkin’ with her hands. “We figured we’d embrace the insanity of a wedding theme and go all in.”
“A ‘Purple Rain’ beer bar?” Velma gave her sister a look like she was crazy.
Again, it was like he and Velma had a mind meld.
“Well, when you put it like that…” Dean met Claire’s eyes, and the two of them had a moment. “Yeah, that’s exactly what we’re going for.”
Brek’s phone buzzed in his back pocket. He checked the caller ID, expecting a call from one of his band members needing to be bailed out of jail. Not that it happened often, but often enough. He’d rather go bail out a drummer than think about putting on a tuxedo for Dean’s wedding.
“Give me a sec. It’s Aspen.” He stood and moved to the kitchen, answering the call. “You’ve got Brek.”
“Brek? Are you with Mom?” She sounded off.
“Nope. I’m with Dean. What’s up?” He ducked his head to hear better.
“Don’t freak out,” she said.
Which, of course, cued his internal freak-out.
“I’m at the hospital. Lots of contractions today. It’s too early, so they’re trying to stop the baby from coming. Jacob’s on his way. Can you bring Mom?”
“Which hospital?” he asked, already heading toward the door.
“St. Luke’s.” Her voice cracked a little. “Don’t let Mom panic.”
His mother panicked when her dog ate too much kibble. When Brek didn’t check in every Sunday. When the mailman tripped over his feet on her front step. Yeah, she’d lose her ever-loving mind over this.
“I’m on my way.” He snagged his jacket and shoved his phone into the pocket. “Dean, I’ve gotta roll. Aspen’s at the hospital.”
“Holy hell.” Dean stood from the table. “How can I help?”
Brek was already halfway to the door. “Call Ma. Tell her I’m on the way to pick her up.” His mother would pull out her own toenails before she’d get on the back of his Harley. She’d also be in no condition to drive herself once he told her the news. “Tell her to have her car ready.”
Brek had left Velma’s place to pick up his slightly crazed mother and drive her across town to St. Luke’s. She was now pacing the drab antepartum waiting room—that was what it said on the door, anyway. Whatever the hell that meant.
The television remained off. Cell phones silenced. The only sound came from Brek’s foot as he tapped his heel against the polished tile floor. The room’s fluorescent lights did nothing to calm his nerves. He and Ma didn’t speak much. Not with the tension of waiting for news flowing between them like a living, breathing entity. She wasn’t even trying to set him up with the pretty nurse. That said everything.
His sister and her baby had to be okay. All she’d ever wanted was to be a mother. Things hadn’t panned out for her, though. Babies were a dream they’d all thought would never happen for Aspen. Until five months ago.
Jacob, her husband, finally arrived from Aspen’s bedside. “She’s okay,” he assured them with a weak attempt at a smile. “They’ve been able to stop the contractions for now.”
The man looked totally wiped.
“She wants to talk to you.” Jacob nodded to him. “Just you.”
Brek was through the door before Jacob could say more.
The lights were dim in Aspen’s room. An elastic contraption covered her pregnant belly and an IV pierced her hand. Several monitors flashed colored numbers and lines. One of the machines amplified the subtle swish of what had to be the baby’s heartbeat.
He pulled a chair up beside her and collapsed onto it. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she replied. “Thanks for being here.”
“Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
She gave him a look that made it clear she knew that was a lie. He’d always been anywhere else.
“I’m in a bind.” She twisted to her side in the rumpled white sheets. “It’s my business.”
“Aspen, now’s not the—”
“It’s important.” One of the monitors pinged. She glanced to it. Worry etched across her forehead, but the little heartbeat continued to thump. A long breath escaped her lungs, and she shut her eyes. “I jump every time it does that.”
“Talk,” he said softly.
She ran a hand over the elastic on her stomach. “They’re putting me on hospital bed rest. I can’t even get up to pee, and I’ve got brides—”
“Cancel.” He leaned in toward her. “Nothing’s more important than you and the kid.”
“Dimefront is on break, right?” she asked.
The band was on hiatus for the next few months before their big tour kicked into gear. That didn’t mean he’d get much of a break. Between the boys’ constant threats of disbanding and their perpetual run-ins with law enforcement, Brek was always on when it came to them.
“Yeah, why?” He stretched out the last part, his intuition not liking the vibe he was getting from her.
“And you plan their concerts and stuff, right?”
He supervised them, anyway.
“Yeah, why?” Now he was really disliking the vibe in the room.
“I was thinking that maybe you might be willing…”
Shit. He knew where this was headed.
“No way. I’m not dealing with brides.”
“Brek…”
“Nuh-uh. Not happening.”
“It can’t be worse than a concert. Everything’s mostly done. All I need is someone to carry out what I’ve already planned.”
“Ask Ma.”
“Mom’s got her own business to run. You’re on break. You can do this. I have faith in you.”
Good thing one of them did.
“Aspen...” If there was one thing worse than a celebrity rocker on a four-day bender, it was a bridezilla who wanted the perfect wedding.
“Pl
ease.” The plea in her eyes nearly did him in.
He handled sound systems, parties, drunk-off-their-ass musicians. He made good money doing it. More than that, though, he loved the thrill of his work. What he did not enjoy was an overly emotional woman in a poufy white dress.
“Business has been bad for me the last couple of seasons,” Aspen said, her voice cracking at the end.
“Bad how?” The sinking feeling in his bones settled deeper.
“Competition is ridiculous right now. People are planning their own events more and more. The accounts I’m able to land just aren’t spending what they used to on weddings.”
He squeezed her hand. “You shoulda said something.”
“I know.” A tear slid from the corner of her eye.
He was a sucker for tears. Especially from his kid sister.
Working with her brides might give him cold sweats, but for her, he’d do it. “Fine. Yes. I’ll help you out.”
“Thank God.” She relaxed into her nest of pillows. “I have a plan to turn things around.”
“What’s the plan? I’m good with plans.” He was shit with plans. He was more of a just-go-with-it kind of guy.
“The family of one of my brides has loads of connections. Her mother’s been chatting Montgomery Events up through their circle. Next season is booking like crazy from her referrals. That wedding is almost here. It has to be perfect.”
“Wedding. Perfect. Keep the mom happy.” He could probably handle that. “What else you got?”
“An opportunity came up this week. Rosette is coming to do a spread on Claire and Dean’s wedding. They had an unexpected opening, and I pitched their ‘Purple Rain’ idea to the editor. She loved it. They’re featuring the whole thing on the blog and in the magazine…everywhere. The publicity could fix everything.”
“What’s Rosette?” he asked.
“Like Rolling Stone but for weddings.”
“So, it’s a big deal,” he said as a statement, not a question.
“It’s a huge deal. You sure you can stay in town that long without caving in to the desire to take off?”
“I’ll manage. Mom’ll be thrilled if I stick around. Your brides have fangs, but they don’t scare me.”
“Liar.” She closed her eyes briefly. “This’ll be worse than the time I made you play Fairy Princess Baseball Golf when we were kids.”
He chuckled. “I won’t wear fairy wings this time. It can’t be worse.”
“I’ll touch base with you. Make sure everything’s going okay.”
“That’s a negative.” Jacob slipped through the door, letting it latch quietly behind him. “No stress. That’s what the doctor said. No brides. No work. No stress.”
“Brek’s going to need to consult with me.” Aspen got all huffy like she did when she wasn’t getting her way. She’d had the same annoyed sigh since she was three. Hell, she’d probably stomp her foot if she wasn’t tied down to the bed with monitors.
“Nope. Everything he needs is on your laptop. Brek is a big boy. He can handle things.” Jacob usually gave his wife whatever she wanted, but he was clearly sticking to his guns. “Tell her, Brek.”
“I’m a big boy. I can handle things.” How hard could it be?
“See? He’s got it.” Jacob crossed his arms.
Brek kissed her forehead. “On that note, I’ll go get Ma.”
“Brek?” Aspen asked.
“Yeah?”
“Please don’t take off,” she whispered.
Her plea punched him straight in the gut. Shit, was that what his family thought of him? He would take off without warning? Yeah, so his history wasn’t exactly stellar in that department. He had given them plenty of reasons to believe he might leave. Rock shows, fireworks, and stadiums were in his blood. He wouldn’t change that for the world, but this time he would stay. Every single one of her brides would get the wedding of her goddamned dreams—even if it killed him. Which, given the nature of some of Aspen’s clients, was not out of the question.
“I’ll stick around. Promise.” He would do anything for his baby sister. Apparently, even plan some damned weddings.
Chapter Three
Velma tugged at her rubber gloves and plunged the last of the plates into scalding water. The hot water stung, but she ignored it and scrubbed off the crusted remnants of mashed potatoes. A night spent faking excitement for her sister’s wedding had left her drained.
Not that she wasn’t happy for Claire. If anyone deserved to win the husband lottery, it was Claire. Velma just wanted her shot at happiness, too. Maybe not with Dean—for the obvious reasons—but with a guy like Dean.
“I hope Brek’s sister is okay.” Dish towel in hand, Claire glanced to the living room where Dean and Brek huddled after he’d returned.
Dean frowned. Velma’s hand would’ve usually twitched to smooth the creases on his scrunched-up forehead. But he was her sister’s future husband. Thoughts like that were not allowed. Besides, tonight her thoughts kept drifting to the rock ’n’ roll–loving Brek, not to Dean.
Brek was wild where Dean was stable. Brek was someone for sexual fantasy dreams—not for her current project of finding herself a husband.
“Brek’s interesting.” Velma handed her sister the plate to dry.
“He’s fun. That’s for sure.” Claire ran the towel over the dish. “I’m pissed he tried to convince you I’m pregnant.”
“He wasn’t serious. I knew that.” Velma stared at the film of bubbles popping along the surface of the water. “I still can’t believe you’re getting married.”
“I know, who would’ve thought it’d be me? I always figured you’d crack that code first.” Claire bumped her hip against Velma’s like they’d always done when doing the dishes as kids.
Velma laughed, like she’d always done. Her sister was pretty awesome. She popped by with dinner when Velma’s work schedule got nutty. She surprised Velma with theater tickets—they both loved the same old musicals. Claire also never forgot Velma’s birthday, given they shared the day. It was nice to have someone always in her corner. And now, she’d do that for her sister. She’d be the best maid of honor Claire could have ever imagined.
“Aspen’s going to be okay.” Dean strode to where they worked. “Brek’s staying in town for a while. He’s handling the weddings for her.”
“That’ll be good. His family misses him.” Claire set a crystal wineglass next to the others in the cupboard.
Velma hesitated, tilted her head to the side, and gestured to the biker talking on his phone in her living room. “We’re talking about the same Brek. He’s planning weddings? Your wedding? That Brek?”
The Brek stalking across her living room toward the kitchen. Toward her. She glanced away from the intensity of his examination.
“Wait. Our wedding.” Claire turned to Dean, her eyes huge. “You said no. Right?”
Dean shrugged. “He plans concerts and manages a band. It’s practically the same thing.”
Velma didn’t know much about planning weddings. But it couldn’t be the same as managing a band. Not even a little. Not any more than Velma planning finances was like wedding planning.
“You still looking for money, Velma?” Brek tugged on his leather jacket.
Uh. Yes. But the way he said the words sounded slightly indecent.
“Real estate?” he clarified.
“I’m still exploring options for implementation of my five-year plan, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He raised an eyebrow. His lips twitched at the edges.
“I think what Brek’s trying to say is that we’d like to ask you a favor.” Dean settled his hands in the pockets of his slacks.
Velma kept her expression as neutral as possible. She always felt as though she came across too eager with Dean. She needed to rein that in. “Sure.”
Dean dove into full sales mode. “Brek needs a place to stay while he’s in town for the next couple of months. We were hoping you’d let him stay in yo
ur guest room.”
A wineglass slipped from Velma’s soapy fingers and clanked against the sink. Um. No. Big ol’ negative. She did not need her sexual fantasy living in the room across the hall from hers.
Brek’s expression turned serious. “Aspen’s out of service for a while. I’m going to stick around and help with her weddings. Figured I’d take your spare bedroom for a few months. Help with the rent and all that.”
“Mortgage. I have a mortgage. Not rent.” The distinction gave her a grown-up feeling she liked.
“Then I’ll help with the mortgage,” he corrected.
“That’s not a good idea.” With him, anyway.
He was rough. Not felonious rough, but still. He was a guy. If she went with a roommate, a female would be better. Someone who cleaned up after herself, kept to her shelf in the refrigerator, didn’t steal chocolate pie or play loud music.
“Way I see it, you’re raising money. I have cash. I need a place to sleep, and you have an extra room. Everybody wins.” He gave her some serious bedroom eyes.
“That’s not a good idea.” Claire’s expression turned serious.
“Why can’t you stay with your family?” Velma asked, rinsing the glass and carefully setting it on a drying mat.
Brek leaned his shoulder against the refrigerator. “Aspen’s got too much going on right now.”
“Where are you staying now?” There had to be someplace else he could stay. Anywhere else.
“My mom’s…” Brek slid a glance to Dean.
“Can’t you just stay there?” Claire slid her gaze to Velma and back to Dean.
“His mom’s is out of the question long term.” Dean stepped behind Claire and laid his hand against her waist in that proprietary way men did when they loved someone.
That was what she wanted, that feeling of being desired. A man who would place his hand on her and guide her into a room. She was going to “Dean” her life—find a man who treated her just like he treated Claire.
She forced herself to stand tall. No moping. This would be her new mantra. “Why is his mom’s out of the question?”
Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3 Page 3