Page 8 of Finally a Bride: Best Friend's Brother

This woman feels it too.

But first, my sister needs me.

But what does Ella need.

And can it be me?

THREE

Ella

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear McCabe was fucking me with his eyes. And I didn’t hate it. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was giving him fuck-me eyes back.

Until Mallory screamed and I mean like sitting next to a blowhorn. This is about her right now, so I’ll skip anything more. My friend needs me and what I need is to be here for her.

Mallory spins in the middle of the room. “Forever is a lie. Fuck you, Cedric.”

So she’s moved on. Anger. She’s always been able to get in touch with her feelings unlike anyone I’ve ever met. It’s amazing how different her and McCabe were. She was open and loving and he always seemed so closed off. Almost… silent with words.

“Mall, let’s go home.”

“I can’t go to our apartment. I wanna go home-home.”

Her parents’ home. The place where we started being friends. Where I first met McCabe and where the family welcomed me.

“Let’s go.” I pull on her hand. “Sonja, I’ll come back and clean up tomorrow.”

“We got it.” She looks to the other three bridesmaids and the two groomsmen that I wonder if they’re sticking around because they think that Cedric’s out of his mind or they want to score with the bridesmaids. Either way, their help will be appreciated.

“Thanks.”

Everyone gives Mallory their best as she runs out like her ponytail is on fire. Being in there has to be hard.

Mallory’s phone buzzes as I’m parking on the street outside of her parents’ Craftsman style four-bedroom home. The four brick columns outside make it look like the house has eyes. And that it knows secrets.

“Hello?” She jumps out of the car and McCabe sits in the back seat of my tiny Prius, his knees practically to his chin.

I can’t help but giggle a little.

“There’s the sound I remember too well.”

I swear I misheard him.

“Too well?” I ask.

He clears his throat. “Never mind.” He climbs out.

I round the front of the car and he meets me there. My height only giving about five inches difference now and my eyes are about lip level. And what lips they are—red, full, and inviting.

My eyes dart from them to his eyes and he smirks with that devilishness that is all too fitting, but I don’t think it has the same meaning that it used to.

“Do you think she’s going to be okay?” he asks, leaning back and making me wonder if he’ll create a crease in my hood but most of me doesn’t care.

“My professional opinion or my friend opinion?”

“Professional?”

“Therapist.”

---