Thick as Thieves (Aster Valley 4)

“Mom and Dad, can you please deal with this while I get Parker out of here?” Even though I spoke to my parents, I met my sister’s eyes. She’d know to take over, to get my parents on board with helping calm Rod and Lorraine down and help tell the guests.

Dad nodded. “Of course, son.” He gave me a weak smile. “Take care of him.”

I yanked Parker toward the elevator bank and up to his room, reaching into his jacket pocket for his key card when he seemed to have checked out for the moment.

When I finally got us into the room, he threw his tux jacket onto the bed and then turned and buried his face in my neck, hugging me tighter than he had since the day we’d buried his grandmother.

I held him while he cried, running my hands up and down the crisp cotton of his shirt. His body was big and warm and solid, and it reminded me how rare it was that I was the one comforting him. Usually, it was the other way around. He’d always been braver and stronger than I was. He’d always been the steady one.

“Maybe Rod’s right,” I said. “Maybe she’ll come around.”

He shook his head and pulled back, swiping at his face to brush away the evidence of his momentary lapse. “No. She’s not in love with me, Jules. She doesn’t want to settle down. Or to be held back by repressive social constructs.” He rolled his eyes.

I narrowed mine, because something about that wording seemed extremely familiar. “Wait, did she say that? Literally that?”

Parker shrugged and nodded. “She said she and a friend were talking last night, and she realized she wants passion and adventure. She wants to expand her consciousness or something, and find the right…” He blinked at me in realization. “The right life path.”

Both of us muttered at the same time, “Nolan.”

“I’m going to fucking kill him and bury him where he can’t be found,” I growled, pulling out my phone, though my vision was too hazed with red to even see the screen properly, let alone find his name. “And then I’m going to go have a talk with Erin about what friendship means, and what fucking commitment means, and how to not be an utter—”

“No, you’re not,” Parker said.

“No?” I snorted, jabbing blindly at the screen. “Ha. Watch me. This is the last time she’s gonna fuck you over, Parker. Mark my words. Bad enough that she breaks up with you, then begs you to take her back a thousand times. Now she breaks up with you on your wedding day because she’s taken advice from fucking Nolan, that… that…”

“Charming, fun guy with a unique way of looking at the world?” Parker suggested wryly.

I remembered saying those words the previous night, and an icy wave of guilt and anger swamped me. I’d been such a fool. “You’re right. This is my fault. I brought him here, and he did this, and now I’m going to set it right. I will.”

“You won’t.” Parker grabbed my phone from my hand and shoved it into his back pocket triumphantly, like he didn’t realize that me having to manhandle him to get it out again was only more incentive for me to get it back. “This isn’t your fault. And it’s not Erin’s fault. It’s not even dumbass Nolan’s fault—”

“The hell it’s not!”

“It’s my fault, Jules. No, hear me out,” he insisted. “I was mad, too, at first. Hurt. But the truth is… Erin’s right. And I should have had the balls to call it off before it landed on her. I knew we were rushing into things. I knew I wasn’t what she needed. I should have been strong enough to tell her that.”

“Not what she needed?” I demanded. “You, of all people? If intelligent, sexy, ginger Henry Cavill look-alikes with hearts made of pure gold don’t do it for her, what the fuck does she want?”

I didn’t even realize what I was saying until the words were out.

The edge of Parker’s lip tweaked up. “You’re biased. But whatever I’m paying you, double it.”

I couldn’t hold back the chuckle. “Fuck,” I said, running fingers through my hair before taking off my own jacket and yanking at my bow tie. “This is fucked-up.”

“Did I ever mention that I love the way you lose your lawyerly vocabulary when you’re defending me?” He kicked off his shoes, pulling at pieces of his tux until he stood in the middle of the room in nothing but an undershirt and boxer briefs.

“That escalated quickly,” I muttered under my breath.

He peeled off the undershirt.

Goddamn. My best friend had a six-pack from his job on the slopes, and even in the midst of this situation, I couldn’t stop sneaking a glance at it.

I was a horrible person.