Pretty sure he’d give her any-fucking-thing, if she asked.
Thing about Katie was, she never asked. Which was one of the many things I liked about her. Refreshing change from the other women Jesse had dated over the years, who were, for the most part—other than Elle—opportunistic airheads.
The man was brilliant on guitar; not so brilliant in his choice of women.
When I saw him with Katie, though, I could say he’d finally gotten it right.
He was smiling ear-to-fucking-ear when they came off the dance floor; he let her go long enough to give me a bear hug, lifting me right off the floor. It struck me, when he smiled, how much he resembled his sister; the both of them kinda dorky as kids, all lanky and over-serious about music, now tall and statuesque, more than their fair share of beautiful, with their flawless, chiseled features, big, dazzling smiles and soulful brown eyes.
“Brody. About time you graced us with your presence. Had to stop and get a new tattoo on the way, brother?”
“Just a quick one, of Katie’s name,” I poked back.
Where normally he might’ve dropped me on my ass for that, he just laughed. Of course, he had Katie. He had Jessa. The two people he loved most in the world were here, and nothing was gonna piss on his parade.
Even my general aura of funk.
I gave Katie a hug and a kiss and told her she looked gorgeous, which she did. I’d been informed that she wasn’t wearing a white dress for the wedding, so the little white cocktail dress she’d chosen for tonight was a nice touch. “Luckiest groom around,” I told her, and she smiled her sweet, disarming smile at me.
Then I introduced Amanda around to Katie’s family; I’d had a chance to meet them at the engagement party back in the fall. Nice people. Solid. Loved Jesse something fierce. And they took to Amanda right away, like everyone did.
Why wouldn’t they?
Amanda was charming in a genuine way, and easy to talk to. Not to mention easy on the eyes. Definitely deserved better than some distracted asshole who couldn’t even fucking see her.
Because the entire time I introduced her around the room, eventually landing at the bar where she got chatting with Katie’s parents, playing on repeat at the back of my mind—actually, at the front of it—was: Where the fuck is Jessa?
Where. The Fuck. IS she.
I would’ve liked to believe myself when I explained to myself that my interest in the answer to that question was purely for Jesse’s benefit. That as one of his best friends and groomsmen, not to mention his manager, it was my duty to help make sure this thing went off without a hitch, that Jesse was happy, that Katie got the wedding of her dreams; that as soon as they got back from their honeymoon, Jesse was going back into writing mode for the new album and it was important he not be distracted or dealing with the fallout of some bullshit family drama, courtesy of his disappearing-act of a sister… or some such shit.
But the truth was, I had to see her again.
Had to.
One glimpse of her, standing in the rain at the airport, her face tipped back as she grinned at the sky like she didn’t have a fucking care in the world, wearing my shirt—or at least, a shirt that looked a fuck of a lot like a shirt I’d once had, that she’d been wearing the last time I saw it—and I was done.
Done.
Sitting all of two feet from her in my truck? I was well and truly fucked. Because I’d forgotten how many colors there were in those soulful dark eyes. Forgotten how fucking pretty she was; how painfully fucking pretty. And I could still see the little girl she once was in those eyes—the little girl who’d looked at me like I ruled the fucking world.
I could barely look at her, could barely fucking breathe—that smell of her, fuck me, the smell of her that hadn’t changed in all the years since I’d met her, sweet and pure, like apples and blossoms and rain and fucking stardust and moonbeams; I couldn’t say what it was, but yeah. All I could do was grip the wheel and concentrate on driving and just try to keep from foaming at the mouth when I lit into her—try to pretend that none of it mattered; all my pissed off, miles-deep frustrations; all the disappointment; all the repressed agony and the pent-up clusterfuck of rage… that none of it destroyed me at all… that she didn’t destroy me, when she so fucking did… all of it, just broiling beneath the surface, ready to blow.
And her voice.
That fucking voice I hadn’t heard in six-and-a-half years, melodic and soft and so fucking her.
I had never in my life had to jack off so badly that I pulled my vehicle off the road, onto the shoulder of a fucking highway, and took my cock out while cars blasted by and I did not give one fuck who saw me.
But I did just that.
Not five minutes after dropping her off with Jude, on my way to pick up Amanda… because no one needed to see me like that. So totally fucked up.
Christ, who does that?
A maniac, that’s who.
And if I was a maniac, it was because Jessa Mayes, once upon a time, turned me into one. But shit happens, yeah? I was a kid then. Since then, I’d become a man. I wasn’t gonna unravel at Jesse’s wedding.
And I didn’t.
I was good. I had this.
Until I heard her name, just somewhere in the ether, and I knew she was here.
Jessa.
Someone said it, somewhere, and I turned to look across the room like a dog tossed a scrap. Pretty sure I salivated. My wine glass broke in my hand. It made an audible popping sound, and both Amanda and I looked down
