Page 93 of Worth the Fall

I have the very best.

The bachelor party is somehow even worse.

"I promise it'll be classy," Hector had said when I foolishly let him plan it.

"Classy" apparently means dinner at a steakhouse followed by karaoke at a bar with sticky floors and a man in a glittery Elvis costume who serenades me with "Can't Help Falling in Love."

"You're up next!" Hector shouts over the music, his face flushed from one too many shots. He drags me toward the stage, ignoring my protests.

"Not happening," I say, digging in my heels. But Hector is nothing if not persistent, and before I know it, I'm standing under the too-bright lights, squinting at the lyrics on the screen.

"Sing it, Mikey!" Austin hollers from the crowd, using the nickname he knows I hate. He's grinning like the Cheshire cat, his phone held aloft to document my humiliation.

I shoot him a glare, but it's lost in the glare of the stage lights. The opening notes of "Livin' on a Prayer" start to play, and I resign myself to my fate.

What follows is less a performance and more a massacre of a classic rock song. I'm hoarse by the end, my dignity left somewhere on that sticky floor, but Hector and Austin are cheering like I'm Jon Bon Jovi himself.

"Encore!" Hector shouts, trying to shove the microphone back into my hand.

"Not a chance," I say, shoving it at Elvis instead. "I'm done."

Elvis winks at me, his rhinestones glinting. "Thank you, thank you very much."

I make my escape while Hector is distracted trying to get Elvis' number "for future events, man, he's amazing," and find Austin by the bar.

"Having fun?" he asks, sliding a beer my way.

I take a long pull, the cold liquid soothing my abused throat. "Time of my life," I deadpan.

Austin chuckles. "Hey, it could be worse. Remember Pete's bachelor party?"

I wince. "I've been trying to forget."

"I'm pretty sure my liver is still recovering from that night."

"Your liver and my dignity."

We clink bottles, a silent toast to our fallen comrades.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of more bad singing, too many shots, and Hector trying to convince the Elvis impersonator to officiate the wedding. By the time we stumble out of the bar, I'm exhausted, pretty sure I smell like a distillery, and more than ready to put this particular "classy" event behind me.

But as we pile into a cab, Austin on one side and Hector on the other, both of them belting out "Livin' on a Prayer" at the top of their lungs, I can't help but smile.

These are my guys. My ride or die. The ones who'll stand up with me on the biggest day of my life and then promptly embarrass me at the reception.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

The next morning, I wake to the sound of giggles drifting down the hallway. I groan, my head pounding and my mouth tasting like something died in it. I'm getting too old for this.

But the giggles are persistent, growing louder as they approach the bedroom. I crack one eye open just in time to see Felicity burst through the door, Mia close behind.

"Daddy, look!" Felicity spins in a circle, her flower girl dress flaring out around her. It's a froth of white tulle and lace, with a big satin bow at the waist. She looks like a tiny angel, her dark curls tumbling around her shoulders and a megawatt smile on her face.

"I'm a princess," she declares, striking a pose.

"The prettiest princess," I agree, pushing myself up on my elbows. My head swims at the movement, but it's worth it to see the way her face lights up at the compliment.

Mia leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed and a soft smile playing on her lips. "She insisted on showing you first thing."

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