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This has to be a joke.
Brad cannot possibly be standing up a second bride a mere nine months after running out on Ivy.
They say prison can change a man, but apparently not in Brad’s case.
After taking a plea deal, Brad spent a mere five months in Club Fed, playing checkers with men convicted of white-collar crimes and becoming best friends with an aging mobster. He also fell in love with a woman who randomly wrote to him andthey are supposed to be getting married. Today. In Ivy’s new wedding venue.
I would hate to see Brad’s blushing bride, Lucy, stood up the way Ivy was, and I would really, really hate to see The Ivy Wedding Event Center’s debut wedding end in disaster.
SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET HERE NOW. I DON’T CARE IF YOU DIVORCE HER NEXT WEEK, GET TO THIS FUCKING WEDDING.
That should get my point across.
I’m in the hallway outside of the groomsmen lounge. Ivy has designed it with a speakeasy vibe, dark and moody, with a leather chesterfield sofa and hunter green walls. Harrison is in there with Brad’s fiancée’s brother, dressed and ready to wait on the beach for the bride to enter.
Except we have no groom.
Harrison and I weren’t even sure we wanted to stand up for Brad after everything he’s done in the last year, but in the end he explained to Ivy and to us that he ditched Ivy to save her from the blowback his illegal activities might create. He had gotten in over his head financially, made some really stupid and poor choices, thinking he could pay the money back, then realized his time was up. He deeded the house to Ivy as an apology for not telling her he was stealing money hand over fist.
I can’t say I’ve totally forgiven him, but we’ve been friends since we were five and Ivy reminded us that if Brad hadn’t bailed, our road trip would have never happened and we wouldn’t be the happiest—okay only—foursome in Honeysuckle Harbor.
If Ivy can forgive, so can I.
But now I need to go find Ivy, who is dashing around the venue sorting out final details and making sure everything isperfect. Liam is with her, holding anything she needs held, moving furniture as needed, and making sure she has water and caffeine.
Taking a deep breath, I open up the door to the groomsmen room and tell Harrison, “Hey, I need you out here.”
We’re a team. The four of us. We do everything together.
We’re all financially and emotionally invested in making all of our dreams come true. From Harrison’s expanding property portfolio, to my desire to expand Raw’s product line, to Liam working on a science fiction novel while still writing for his show back in L.A.
And Ivy’s event center.
She’s poured her heart and soul into this space.
We’ll be damned if Brad fucks that up.
“So Brad just texted me that he’s not coming,” I say to Harrison in a low voice, gesturing for him to follow me.
Harrison’s jaw drops. “Get the fuck out of here. I will rip that son of a bitch apart!”
I believe him. He looks ready to throw hands and easily win. “Does Ivy know?”
“We need to go tell her. Together.”
He gives a short nod, taking a deep breath and running his fingers through his hair. He visibly restrains himself, because he knows that Ivy doesn’t need his anger right now. She needs our support and cool heads to prevail.
Since the four of us have been together, we’ve learned how to be there for each other with whatever each of us needs at that moment. It’s honestly been a fucking beautiful experience to blend my life with that of three other people.
We can get through anything together.
Even Brad 2.0.
But when Harrison and I turn the corner to the main dining space, with floor to ceiling windows, Brad is standing there grinning, arms out.
“Hey! Looking good, boys!”
My stomach drops and I feel instant relief, followed immediately by the urge to punch Brad. “What the fuck was that?” I demand.