Page 3 of Finally a Bride: Best Friend's Brother

I should leave.

My mother smothers me in a bear hug and for a hundred-twenty pounds dripping wet, it’s quite the pressure-filled gesture. I grunt.

“Mom, thanks.” I wriggle in her grasp. “I can’t breathe.”

The brunette across the ballroom seems to chuckle, finding my discomfort amusing and her eyes dance in the twinkle lights she’s starting to attach to the ceiling behind the bridal table.

Mom tightens the hug like I’m going to evaporate if she’s not holding me. “It’s been too long, my boy. I can’t believe you’re here. I need to make sure.”

“By squeezing the crap out of me? Literally? It was a long flight and plane food isn’t exactly fiber-filled, Mom.”

She stops hugging me with the delicate laugh that I’ve missed. She was always the one with humor in my parents’ relationship.

“Oh, sorry!” She steps back. “Definitely my spirited one.”

Spirited? Is that just another phrase for bad?

“Great to see you, too, Mom. We’ll catch up at the rehearsal dinner.”

“Sounds good.” She steps back and I start on a mission.

A mission to find out just exactly who that woman is.

“McCabe!” My father’s voice echoes around the room and the woman flinches. I stop in my tracks and look back over my shoulder.

“Yes?”

“You need to go to Tuxedos Tonight and get fitted. They’re making a special exception for the soldier.”

So he does remember…

But I don’t want to wear a monkey suit. “I’m wearing my dress blues.”

Mallory’s eyebrows lift.

“If that’s okay with Mal…” I add.

She nods. “Sure.”

“Then it’s settled.”

Now, leave me alone.

“Then come help me put together the gazebo.”

My chest burns with regret for deciding to come back, but I remind myself that I love my sister. She’s the only one who has truly kept in touch with me. Granted, I could make more of an effort to do the same with all of them. But the past has grey shaded my glasses and I don’t think that rosy ones would work for me.

“Dad, I need some time to unwind. I just spent thirty-two hours traveling.”

“I’d think the military would have beat the lazy out of you,” he spits at me. He’s out before the ricochet of the comment has time to hit me and almost take me to my knees.

A warm hand hits my forearm. My sister looks up, her 5’2” height a full foot under my height. “Hey, he’s just surprised. He’ll get better.”

“Better?” I chuckle. “People shouldn’t be expected to get better.”

“You did.”

My jaw tightens and I recognize the move is inherited. “I was never like that.”

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