Best Man
: Chapter 8

My phone has never been the greatest at holding a charge. I should probably be conserving its life, considering I left my charging cable at the resort and I’m only at fifty percent.

But I can’t help it. The snow keeps falling, and I’m freaking out.

I punch in a call to the man who’s always had my back. My big brother, West.

West is a bit of an oddball himself, though no one can be as odd as Miles. West, like Miles, likes to do his own thing and never lets anyone tell him anything. But West works in L.A. for one of the movie studios. He’s one of the youngest and most successful producers in the city. He’s surrounded by phonies all the time, which he hates. But my brother is seriously the realest and most honest person I’ve ever known.

I adore him beyond all comprehension. He always talks me down from the ledge.

“Why the hell didn’t you send me, Dahl?” he asks before I can even say hello. “I would’ve gone for you.”

I know he would’ve. He’s so gold-hearted. “I didn’t want to bother you. And I didn’t know where you were.”

“Ah, shit, Dahl. You know you’ve got Mom climbing the walls. Dad’s about to have a heart attack.”

I cringe. That’s the last thing I want to hear. “Well. We’re making pretty good time. I’m still shooting to be there for the rehearsal.”

“All right. But don’t take any chances. I want you back here in one piece.”

I look over at Miles, who is starting to drum his hands on the steering wheel. And no wonder. There’s a car in front of us going no more than twenty miles per hour, and we’re in a no-passing zone.

I cover the mouthpiece and whisper, “Blow the horn!” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Miles gives me a disgusted look. “No.”

“This is just a freaking dusting!” I shout, as if the person driving the old boat of a Volvo ahead of us can hear.

Miles puts his elbow against the door and leans on it, frustrated. Partly at the car in front of us, but probably mostly at me.

I go back to my phone conversation. “So have you seen Aaron?” I ask hopefully, reaching over and trying to press on the horn.

Miles swats me away before I can get there. “Don’t touch my wheel.”

“Yeah. He’s worried about you, obviously. We all are. We want you back,” West says, and I smile. “But I’m sorry, Dahl. That was a prick move. Forgetting the rings and then making you go back for them? I almost kicked his ass.”

I frown. My brother and Aaron are definitely on some shaky ground. They’re pretty different. “Don’t blame him. I was the one who wanted to go back for the rings. He told me not to.”

“He was the bonehead who left them behind to begin with. After all your planning. Shit, Dahl.” He sounds frustrated, like he wants to say more but he bites it back with a hard clench of his jaw.

God, but even when he says little, he knows just what to say. He’s one of the few people who gets how insane this wedding planning has made me, and how much work has gone into it. Aaron doesn’t. But to spend nearly two years of my life making every detail perfect, and not to be recognized for it…it stings. “Thanks, West. But it’ll still be fine. I know it. It’ll all work out.”

“Yeah. I mean, Aaron and I might not see eye to eye, but I know how you feel about him. And I want you to be happy. I want you to have the day of your dreams, Peanut.”

I laugh. He hasn’t called me that in years. “It will be. You’ll see.”

I tell him goodbye and hang up, feeling so much more relaxed.

But the second I do, Miles pulls his foot off the gas so we’re going less than twenty miles per hour.

What. The. Fuck? We’re never going to get there if we go fifteen miles per hour the whole way.

Before I can reach for the horn again, I see the red tail lights of a line of traffic, stopped up ahead.

Exasperated, I reach over and manage to get closer to the horn this time, but he drapes his broad chest over the wheel. “I don’t care if you’re getting married tomorrow,” he warns. “I will break your fingers if you touch this steering wheel while I’m driving again.”

Shooting him my fiercest scowl but properly scolded, I slump back in the chair like a sullen child.

I guess he’s right. The traffic is nearly stopped, cars as far as the eye can see. Blowing the horn won’t do any good.

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