Page 60 of The Bridges I've Burned

“But your best friend—” I began to argue.

“Will understand,” he countered, leaning back in his seat, suddenly much more relaxed. “It was always the hope that you’d make it here and take his place anyway.”

“I don’t know, Macon.”

“Look,” he persisted. “I know there is still a lot we need to work through.”

That’s the understatement of the year.

We might be brothers, but we might as well be strangers at this point.

“But there is still no one else I’d rather have as my best man than my baby brother,” he said.

God, just stab me in the fucking heart, why don’t you?

“And besides”—a sly grin spread across the fucker’s face—“you said anything.”

Well, shit.

“Fine,” I relented. “But I hope you don’t expect me to plan a bachelor party in three weeks.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. Billy and Eli already have that covered. All you need to do is get fitted for a suit and walk Elena down the aisle. Oh, and make sure I don’t pass out.”

Elena was the maid of honor…

How had I forgotten that?

“So, what did you mean when you said you were between gigs?” Macon asked.

My attention turned sharply away from Elena.

Right…

Macon had no idea what I did for a living.

How did I tell him that his little brother was a…rock star?

CHAPTER NINE

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I said as I struggled to regain my breath. “But aren’t pregnant women supposed to—I don’t know—rest and shit?”

Marin grinned at me from across the room, not even the least bit winded. She was on mile five or six? I’d lost count.

“It’s annoying, right?” She laughed as she took a gulp from her water bottle, not even bothering to slow down. “I never used to use the treadmill, much less visit the gym, but since I met Macon?—”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I know. Now, you’re the workout queen.”

She’d been reluctant, to say the least, when Macon challenged her to start running with him. But now, it was one of their favorite things to do together.

“Don’t act like you don’t go to the gym, too.”

My legs burned and felt sort of like Jell-O when I stepped off the elliptical. The Ocracoke Gym—I had to give it to them on originality when it came to names—was small, but thankfully clean. With only a few machines and a set of weights, I couldn’t imagine how stifling it might get in here with more than a few people.

Today, it was just the two of us.

Lucky me.

“I work out, sure,” I answered, reaching for a towel from a large stack in the corner. “But I am starting to realize my definition of the word and yours are vastly different.” I wiped the fluffy terry cloth over my brow and down my face. “When I go to the gym, I get my cardio in while I read or catch up on a show. You? You seem to be training for a marathon or the Olympics.”

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