Beast Brothers

I glance down at Billy a few times, but he doesn't meet my eyes.

After the meal, we all head out together to the parking lot, and my belly does a little flip-flop as we round the corner to the site of my indiscretion. To the place where Billy had me pressed up against the wall.

I'm hoping to leave quickly, but everyone stands around outside, gathered in little clusters, still talking, discussing details about the wedding tomorrow. I risk a quick glance in Billy's direction and see that he's staring straight at me. I quickly look away, but I continue to feel the heat of his gaze. I know then that he's remembering our time here together, just like I am, and I wonder how I'm going to make it through the day tomorrow.

Chapter 14

You wouldn't necessarily expect a forty-nine-year-old woman to be nervous at her wedding, but the next morning, my typically calm and confident mother looks a little jittery.

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?" I tease as I help her style her hair.

George spent the night at a neighbor's house so that my mom could use his house to prepare for the wedding without risking the bad luck of the groom seeing the bride before the ceremony. Some traditions just never die, I think with a smile.

"Definitely not," she says. "It's just that it's been a long time since I've done this, and I don't want anything to go wrong."

"It will all be perfect," I reassure her. "Relax."

Billy was here last night, but I haven't seen much of him today. He's either been outside or in his room, and I'm glad for that. Tommy is helping with setup outside, and Clay is "staying out of our way," as he puts it.

He tried to initiate sex last night, up in the guest room bed we shared, but I just couldn't do it. "We'll be quiet. No one will know," he said, trying to convince me when I gently moved his hand off of my hip. I told him I was tired after the car trip, but the real reason was that I couldn't even consider having sex just down the hall from Billy's bedroom. For some reason, it would just feel wrong.

"Do you think we have enough here for everyone to drink?" my mom asks when we're nearly done with her hair.

"Relax," I tell her again. "All the details are under control."

The rest of the morning passes quickly, and soon enough it's time for the big event. My mother looks beautiful in her ivory dress, and her nerves seemed to have passed. She looks simply radiant.

The weather is clear and beautiful, and the florists have done a terrific job setting the stage for the ceremony. The gentle background music that's been playing pauses, then the tune changes — it's time for my walk down the aisle.

Heads turn to watch as I slowly make my way toward the altar. I see Clay sitting a few rows from the front. He gives me an encouraging grin, and I can't help but wonder what it will feel like to walk down the aisle again sometime as a bride. The thought of walking to meet him at the altar doesn't fill me with happiness as it once did.

I turn my focus toward my destination and see George, looking proud and handsome in his suit. And behind him, Billy. I almost don't recognize him. I've only seen Billy in jeans, and sometimes in muddy boots, and even with mud on his face. But now he is wearing a fitted light gray suit that further accentuates his broad shoulders. His dress shirt is bright white against his tanned skin, and his normally tousled hair is styled is handsomely tamed. He looks good enough to be the groom himself, and I have to look away.

But before I do, I see the expression on his face as watches me approach. His eyes are bright with appreciation, and it makes me a little weak in the knees. Has Clay ever looked at me that way?

I reach my spot and turn to watch for the bride. The Bridal Chorus begins, and my mother appears. All lingering conversation stops as everyone turns to see her. I look over at George and melt at the love I see for her in his eyes. I want what they have.

I look toward Clay. He's standing, turned in the direction of the bride, but he's not looking at her. His head is angled downward, and I get the impression that he's looking at his phone.

My mother moves gracefully up the aisle, hands me her bouquet, and the ceremony begins. I manage to hold back tears until they are pronounced husband and wife, and then I can't help but let a few slip out. They kiss, the guests cheer, and it's time to leave the ceremony. This time, I'm not walking alone. After my mom and George depart, I'm facing Billy, who offers his arm.

I wipe away the few remaining tears as I put a hand lightly on his forearm.

"You okay?" he asks. His expression is so kind that it makes me want to cry some more. Instead, I take a deep breath, nod, and smile at him, and then we follow our parents down the aisle.

Chapter 15

A breeze picks up while we're standing in the receiving line. There's no sign of rain, but the temperature drops noticeably and I can see tablecloths fluttering under the tent. As soon as I can get away, I hurry off to make sure things are secure and to check on other details for the reception.

After I check in with the bartender and the musicians, I swing by to visit Clay, who's sitting at a table by himself.

"Hey, beautiful," he says.

"Hey, yourself. Did you get some appetizers?"

"Two plates full." He smiles briefly and then his smile deflates.

I move behind him and rub his shoulders. "I'm sorry to leave you alone so much. I know you're probably bored."

"It's fine," he says, but his protestation sounds hollow.

I lean down to wrap my arms around him and kiss his cheek, feeling like I need to do something to patch over the cracks that I keep feeling between us, when a gust of wind raises goosebumps on my arms.

“Would you mind if I borrowed your jacket?" I ask. His suit jacket is draped on the chair behind him.

He leans forward, but there is a reluctance about his actions. I slip his jacket over my shoulders anyways, feeling awkward. "Thank you. I'll be back soon. I promise." I give him another quick kiss and cross the tent to check the buffet table, then I head to the house to find the caterer and make sure more food is on the way.

As I cut across the yard, I'm grateful for the warmth of the jacket. The day is still bright, but a stray cloud has moved over the sun, and the sudden shade makes the air feel cooler still.

I meet one of the catering staff as they're coming out of the house. As we're talking, I feel a vibration against my hip and it registers in the back of my mind that Clay's phone must be in the pocket of his suit jacket. I carry on with my conversation, wanting to make sure that someone will monitor the chafing dishes in case the wind extinguishes the heat sources, but when the phone vibrates a reminder, I take it out and glance at the screen without thinking about what I'm doing. I look at it out of habit, as if it's my own phone.

But it's not. It's Clay's. And there's a message from someone simply identified as "N" who has written, "I miss you. Will I see you tomorrow?"

I excuse myself abruptly from the caterer and

step around the corner of the house, out of view entirely from the reception. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as if I'd just been running.

I didn't mean to look at his phone. I'm not the type to snoop or pry. But I can’t just put the phone back into the pocket after seeing the message. With everything that’s happened, I feel justified in playing dirty to find out what's going on.

I type a response: "Maybe. What's up?"

"I hope you can come by and see me. I'll make it worth your while,” writes N.

N? Is this Nikki, the admin at his office, the woman he claimed he was “comforting” that night at the pub? I scroll up to look for previous messages between them, but there aren't any. I pause, wondering what to write to elicit more information, but it turns out I don't have to say any more, because another message from N. buzzes in: "I've been a naughty girl, and I think you need to spank me again.”

Goddammit! I am the biggest fool, and Clay is the biggest asshole! I roll my shoulders back so that his jacket falls to the ground. I am no longer cold; I'm burning with anger and something that feels strangely like relief.

I round the house and head toward the reception tent, intent on telling Clay off, once and for all. On the way, I catch sight of my mom and George talking with well-wishers, and my pace slows. I realize that I don't want to make a scene; I don't want to ruin their day.

I reverse course and head back to the house. Clay's jacket is lying in a bit of mud. I step on it, grind my foot down, then pick it up, rolling it into a messy ball. I slip into the house and head upstairs unnoticed, where I throw Clay's belongings into his travel bag and stuff the dirty jacket on top of everything.