I lumber over to Jamie, who immediately claps a hand on my arm and murmurs, “Look.”
I follow his gaze to the self-serve dessert station. Wesley is there with his mom. No, Wesley is there hugging his mom.
“How on earth did you make this happen?” Jamie sounds astonished.
“What do you mean?”
“How’d you get Angela Wesley to come to the wedding? My mom and sister have been calling her for months. Hell, I even called her.” His guilty expression darts toward his new husband, as if he’s scared Wes might overhear us all the way across the lawn. “I called her three times,” he admits. “Called his dad’s office, too. They hung up on me every time.”
“Samesies. I was starting to get a complex. I mean, not even my high school girlfriend Katty hung up on me that much, and bro, she did that a lot.”
“Katie?”
“No, Katty. Like cat but with a K. Katty. She had huge tits.”
Jamie snickers. “Of course she did.” He pauses, his voice thickening. “So you just kept calling?”
“Every day since you got engaged.” I wrinkle my forehead at his wide eyes. “I knew it’d make him happy to have at least one of his folks here. What? That’s not normal?”
“Um, no. It’s not.”
The next thing I know, I’m swallowed up in a bear hug.
“You’re a good friend, Blake. Like…the best.”
I reach around and smack him on the ass. “Right back atcha, J-Bomb.”
Jamie glances at Wes and Ang again. So do I, and I notice that Wesley’s eyes look a tad shiny. Awesome. More man-tears.
“I think my hubby needs rescuing,” Jamie says wryly. “If that photographer Jess hired gets a picture of him sobbing, he’ll kick the guy’s ass.”
Speaking of Jess…where’s my angel at?
Jamie walks off to join his hubby, and I search the crowd again until I find Jess. She’s hugging her mom, too. Lots of mom hugging going on tonight. And now she’s walking off, but not back to the party. She’s hurrying down the limestone steps that lead to the gardens.
This property is awesome. I walked down there earlier with Granny Canning, and there was a cool flagstone path that wound through the gardens. A really nice koi pond, too.
But it’s weird that Jess is disappearing mid-reception. People have barely started dancing, and we still need to do the toss-the-jockstrap-bouquet thing. (At least I’m hoping we do. Though someone probably vetoed that idea, too.)
I drop my empty flute on the tray of a passing waiter, then head toward the stone staircase, reaching the top in time to see a flash of purple near the path.
I take the steps two at a time and duck past a row of hedges toward the path. My legs are about twice the size of Jess’s, so my stride eats up a lot of ground. I reach the koi pond just as Jess is flopping down on the stone bench across from it.
Oh, and she’s crying her eyes out.
Cheezus. Is this a fucking party or a screening of The Notebook?
“Go away,” she croaks when she spots me.
Yeah, right. I march over and sit beside her.
“I said go away,” she growls.
I hide a smile. Now this is what gets me going—a woman who doesn’t give a shit that I’m Blake Riley the hockey player. A woman who’d rather shoo me away than impress me. It’s…refreshing.
I’m surprised there aren’t any lights out here lining the walkway or shining at the pond, but it’s dark. We’re in the shadows, so it’s hard to see her expression. I don’t really need to, though. If she’s crying, I’m pretty sure that means her expression ain’t sunshine and rainbows.
“Aw baby, why are you crying?” I ask gruffly. “Don’t do that anymore.”
A choked sob tickles my ear. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t like it. Makes me want to beat up whoever did this to you.”
“You can’t beat up my mom.” She laughs weakly.
“Cindy did this?” I’m surprised. Jess’s mom is the sweetest lady on the planet. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a bad word leave her mouth.
Jess lets out a long, unsteady breath. “She said she was proud of me.”
I gasp. “The nerve of her!”
My angel doesn’t even crack a smile. My jokes aren’t doing it for her? Shit. This must be really bad.
“She told me I planned the best wedding she’s ever been to,” Jess whispers.
“Again, not seeing the problem.”
“You don’t get it.” She shakes her head forcefully, and a chunk of hair falls out of her updo and into her eyes.
I tuck it behind her ear, and she lets me. Yup, shit’s bad if she’s letting me touch her like this. Lately she has an aneurysm if I so much as smile at her. Not sure why. I mean, I rocked her world this spring. We both know it.
“This doesn’t happen often,” she goes on. “I’m not someone who gets a lot of compliments from my family—I’m the one who screws everything up. I’m not like Tammy, who’s super smart and turned down a million scholarships. Or Scott, who’s wanted to be a cop since he was five. Or Jamie, who fell in love with coaching the moment he started his job. I can’t even tell you how many jobs I’ve had and failed at.”
“You didn’t fail at this.” I gesture to the party that’s in full swing up on the lawn.