“No deal,” I said. “Just airsick. Floatplane.”
Total bullshit, but the best I could do just now was spit out a few two-word sentences and turn away before they asked more questions.
I was glad to find Dolly when I did, waiting for a hug. Zane had brought her as his date, though she would’ve been invited anyway. Dolly was Zane’s grandma; she was also the woman who’d raised him from the time he was two years old, and it was her garage that Zane and Jesse jammed in with all the shitty little garage bands they formed before we put Dirty together.
Grandma Dolly had also helped raise Jesse and especially Jessa while their mom battled her illness. When she died, it was Dolly who’d taken Jessa in, given her stability, a sense of family and three meals a day so Jesse could pursue the gonzo life of a musician on the brink of superstardom.
I had big, big love for this woman. We all did. Tiny and white-haired, she was pushing ninety and still going strong; at least, strong enough to take the flight out here, be a part of this crazy shindig, and keep putting up with Zane’s shit.
I wrapped her up in a careful hug and kissed her soft cheek. “Zane taking good care of you, Doll?”
“Oh, he always does.” I could hear the joy and the pride in her scratchy voice. “Everything has been just lovely, and all my babies together.” She patted me on the back before letting go. “Everyone’s so happy that Jessa’s come home. Have you seen her yet?”
“I picked her up at the airport, actually.”
“She looks like she’s doing well, don’t you think? Such a beautiful girl.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Beautiful. Dolly, this is Amanda.”
I introduced Amanda around to all the usual suspects, including Dylan’s “date,” Ash, lead singer of the Penny Pushers, one of the bands Dirty often toured with. Dylan and Ash had been besties since they’d met playing a festival about five years back and because he was Dylan’s plus one, Ash was the only Pusher who’d be attending the wedding. That’s how selective the guest list was.
I’d told Jesse not to sweat it. If anyone was pissed about not getting invited—and they would be—I’d deal with it.
The only member of Dirty who wasn’t here yet was Elle, our bass player and Jesse’s ex-girlfriend. She was invited, of course, but wasn’t in the wedding party, so she wasn’t here for the rehearsal. She’d be arriving sometime tomorrow with the other guests. Awkward, sure, but this was Jesse and Katie’s thing and that’s just how it had to be.
I’d be checking in with Elle and I knew my partner, Maggie, would too, to make sure she was doing okay. But this was what it was.
Jesse was happy as fuck, he was marrying Katie, and Elle just had to deal.
As long as it didn’t fuck with the music, we’d be fine.
Maggie had materialized to greet us, looking pretty as usual in a silky gray cocktail dress that matched her striking eyes, her dark hair slicked back in a ponytail. Even in her heels she was petite; I had to lean down to kiss her cheek. Despite the pretty package, Maggie was pure kick-ass. I’d never met anyone who could rally people and bend them to her will the way she could—not even Jude’s security guys, and they often carried guns.
She showed us around the room, essentially a giant yet cozy banquet hall, with a massive fireplace at one end, opposite the towering windows overlooking the cove. She gave us the lowdown on where the ceremony would take place—in front of the windows—and showed us the stage toward the back of the hall where Zane’s side project band, Wet Blanket, would play tomorrow night. The floor in the middle would be used for seating during the ceremony, then dinner, and later cleared for dancing. Right now it had a cluster of eight round tables set for the rehearsal dinner. The tables were lit with dozens of candles, chandeliers glowing above.
If Maggie ever decided to quit the music business, she could probably make a solid career as a wedding planner. I wasn’t gonna tell her that, though; I needed Maggie taking on more work, not planning her escape. On paper, she was my assistant, which was fucking ridiculous. In reality, she did a lot more for all of us than her fair share. I’d been trying to officially promote her for years, but apparently she didn’t want any more “responsibility.” Which I translated as: I already put up with enough of Zane’s shit, don’t make it any easier for him to abuse me.
Katie’s best friend, Devi, joined us, and the two of them chattered on for a while about wedding stuff. Jesse had given them a blank check to do whatever they wanted—meaning whatever Devi thought Katie would want, and what Katie wanted, evidently, was an intimate yet glamorous wedding in the Canadian wilderness. Glad no one asked me how to pull that off, but somehow, Maggie and Devi had.
The both of them had been obsessed with it over the past five months, calling me ten times a day with inane questions. I gave them the best answers I could, but really, I did not give the last shit about weddings. Weddings, and marriage in general, were, in my limited experience—as the child of not one but three ugly divorces—pretty much a farce.
I did give a shit about Jesse though, which was why I’d agreed to be one of his groomsmen when he asked. And what Jesse gave a shit about was Katie Bloom, that cute-as-all-hell girl in his arms with the dark hair and blue-green eyes. Apparently, the spoiled fuckwit she’d almost made the mistake of marrying a few years back—or rather, his fuckwit parents—had insisted on a big, grandiose summer wedding, but Katie had always dreamed of a
