Page 36 of Never Marry the Best Man (Whatever It Takes #4)

“Martini out,” she said firmly, and the radio clicked dead.

Martini out.

In more ways than one.

Chap tucked it away without comment. The other men were already joking, shouting about robot spies and how Ani would kill Charlie if he came home with bullet holes in his cast.

Tom stayed quiet, line drifting on the current, heart still thundering with the echo of her voice.

Charlie stomped out of the river, his waders squeaking like deflating balloons.

“Well, that’s it then! Gunfire, drones falling from the sky—of course the trout have buggered off.

Not a fish within ten miles will come near this stretch now.

” He shook his good arm dramatically and nearly toppled over.

“We may as well admit defeat. Back to the lodge. Sauna, ice plunge, proper whisky. That’s the only sensible course of action. ”

Chap reeled in slowly, expression unbothered. “Plenty of fish still feeding under those riffles. Give it ten minutes, you’ll see rises again.”

“No, no,” Charlie cut him off, already sloshing toward the bank. “It’s settled. The river’s cursed. Nothing left to do but heal my broken arm with bourbon.”

Tom hid a smile. Chap’s mouth twitched—whether from amusement or annoyance, Tom couldn’t tell—but the guide finally lifted his rod and trudged out too, shaking his head.

“You just want an excuse,” Chap muttered.

Charlie grinned wickedly, water dripping from his cap. “You’re damn right I do. An excuse to enjoy myself. You know, like a normal human. Not everything’s about fish, Chap. Sometimes it’s about women.”

Chap paused, eyebrow arched. “Women?”

“Don’t play innocent. Claire.” Charlie’s grin spread wider, positively indecent. “I saw her eyes light up when you walked into the lodge last night. You’ve caught something, my friend, and it’s not trout.”

The other men roared with laughter, Nico elbowing Tonio, Nigel rolling his eyes as if above it all.

Chap’s ears went slightly pink, though his voice stayed even. “Focus on your own bride, Charlie. You’ve got enough to handle.”

Charlie just slung his good arm around Nico’s shoulders, limping up the bank like a victorious gladiator. “Ani’s perfect. But that doesn’t mean I can’t recognize romance when it’s dangling right in front of me. Come on, lads—sauna awaits!”

Tom followed last, rod still in hand, stealing one last glance at the river’s glittering surface. The fish were fine, just as Chap said. It was the people who were hopelessly, gloriously rattled.

The men clomped up the bank in their waders. Chap led the way toward the gravel lot where his mud-caked MegaBronc waited, looking every bit like a river warrior’s chariot—rod tubes strapped to the roof, drift-boat hitch at the back. The cab smelled faintly of cedar and damp wool.

Charlie, still dripping and muttering about bourbon, suddenly stopped short. He turned to Tom, his expression shifting from comic exasperation to something more serious.

“Tom,” he said, voice lower than before. “I need to ask you something.”

Tom paused, rod still in hand. “What’s that?”

Charlie’s mouth twisted, as if weighing the words. Then he blew out a breath. “With Jack gone back to England—well, I can’t have a wedding without a best man."

"Sophie's having a baby, Chunk. He's not hiding in a cave. Jack'll be back."

"Backup, then. You're Jack's understudy. I need you. Not just as my cousin, but… as my extra brother. Will you do it?”

The river noise faded. Tom felt a sharp tug in his chest, unexpected and fierce. He thought of childhood summers in Devon, of university scrapes, of Charlie’s relentless optimism and his own quieter steadiness.

“Of course,” Tom said softly. “I’d be honored.”

Charlie grinned, eyes bright. He shoved his rod into Nigel’s startled hands and pulled Tom into a clumsy hug, waders squelching, water dripping down both their jackets.

“You’ll do brilliantly,” Charlie said thickly. “Ani will be over the moon. And Jack, well - just a gut feeling. Something feels off. Having you as best man in a pinch helps us relax.”

Tom frowned, throat tight. “I don't like the sounds of that.”

"Broken arm, early labor for Sophie - just worried a bit. Bad things come in threes."

"Don't you dare curse me."

The others had already reached the truck, Nico banging on the side panel, Tonio hollering something about the sauna. Chap glanced back, face unreadable but patient.

“Come on, lads,” he called.

Charlie slung an arm around Tom’s shoulders, grinning again. “Best man, eh? Now let’s go drink like it.”

Together they trudged toward the waiting Ford, boots squelching in comic unison.

Tom had never been a best man before.

Then again, he'd never been a husband before, either.

First time for everything.

The drive back to the lodge took nearly an hour, Chap’s beastmobile growling as it bounced over rutted roads and switchbacks.

Dust plumed behind them, windows rattling with every pothole.

Tom’s knees jammed against the back of the seat in front of him, but he hardly minded.

Charlie, triumphant as if he’d planned the whole excursion, produced a silver flask from somewhere beneath his coat and passed it around like communion.

“Good Scotch,” Nico declared after his swig, coughing.

“Good anesthetic,” Tonio corrected, wiping his mouth.

Charlie simply grinned. “Wedding survival kit, lads. Rule one: never travel without it.”

By the time they rolled back into the gravel lot at the lodge, their laughter carried over the engine noise.

Chap parked with the ease of a man who could drive blindfolded.

Charlie was already halfway out the door before the truck stopped fully, declaring, “Sauna first, ice plunge second, whisky third. In that order!”

They trooped into the locker room like conscripted soldiers, shedding waders, boots, and damp clothes in a chaotic flurry. Steam already fogged the tiled mirrors as they showered off river water, trading jokes about whose waders smelled like swamp death and who had the worst tan lines.

Then, bare but for towels, they piled into the cedar-scented heat of the sauna. The benches creaked under their weight, the air thick and punishing. Charlie immediately launched into a monologue about Ani’s virtues, how she made him laugh at himself, how she loved him despite his quirks.

"Of which there are too many to describe," Tom said drolly.

Nigel offered dry commentary about his own girlfriend’s insistence on ordering throw pillows by season. Nico and Tonio argued over who had been dumped in more creative fashion—one by text, the other by emoji.

The laughter was real, the teasing affectionate, but Tom sat back against the hot wood, eyes half-shut, letting the steam wash through him. His skin prickled, pores opening, tension seeping out drop by drop. He listened, he laughed where expected, but inside he was elsewhere.

Ranney’s voice still echoed in his head, crisp and controlled over the radio. Her mouth, her body, the feel of her pressed against him in that hallway—it hadn’t been a dream.

And yet she’d chosen distance, professionalism, the cold sanctuary of rules.

It hurt.

The sauna heat pressed down, forcing everything out of him—frustration, longing, doubt. For a fleeting moment he almost welcomed it.

Almost.

The others hooted at some new joke, Charlie crowing about married life. Tom smiled faintly, towel draped over his shoulders, and let the burn of the heat and the echo of her voice fight for space inside him.

The heat was nearly unbearable now, the air shimmering. Tom leaned forward, elbows on his knees, trying to let the burn scour everything from his system—the drone, the sleepless night, the memory of Ranney’s lips.

And then the door banged open.

A gust of cooler hallway air swept in, along with a chorus of feminine giggles.

Tom’s head snapped up.

His stepsister, Thea. Wrapped in a towel far too small to be appropriate, and trailed by two of her equally underdressed friends. Their perfectly-painted faces were the picture of exaggerated innocence, but their eyes zeroed in on Chap, Nico, Tom, and Tonio as if the sauna were a man buffet.

“Oh!” Thea gasped, covering her mouth in mock horror. “Wrong room!” She didn’t move an inch.

Her friends tittered behind her, deliberately adjusting towels that threatened to slip.

Nico sat up straighter, suddenly interested. Tonio grinned like he’d just won the lottery. Even Chap, stoic as ever, raised an eyebrow when one of the girls purred, “Is it always this… hot in here?”

Charlie howled with laughter, pounding his good fist on the bench. “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! Come for the trout, stay for the sauna show.”

Tom shot to his feet, towel knotted tightly at his waist. “Out. Now.”

Thea rolled her eyes. “Oh, come off it, Tom. Don’t be such an uptight old man. We were only having a bit of fun.”

“You’ve had quite enough fun,” Tom snapped, aware he sounded exactly like the headmaster he never wanted to resemble. “This is a private space.”

That earned him another round of laughter—from the women, from his so-called mates, even from Nigel, who usually kept his humor under lock and key.

“Old man!” Thea sang, wagging a finger as she and her friends finally, reluctantly, turned and swept out, towels swishing like stage curtains.

The door clicked shut. Silence hung for a moment. Then Charlie sprang up, face split in a grin.

“Time for the plunge!” he roared, charging out, towel flapping.

The others followed like lemmings, shrieking and laughing as they barreled into the icy bath outside the sauna.

Tom stayed back a moment, pulse thundering, fury and embarrassment tangling with something else. The sight of Nico and Tonio gawking, Chap actually entertained, his stepsister draping herself around the room like a chorus girl—it all needled him.

Because the only woman he wanted anywhere near him had chosen distance.

Ranney wouldn’t laugh at him like that. But would she now, if she heard?

He wrapped his towel tighter and followed the others into the cold, steam rolling off his skin, heart caught somewhere between rage and longing.

The shock of cold was a welcome escape from his own mind.