Page 12 of Worlds Collide

I scrub as fast as possible in the shower and reach the conclusion that I really fucking hate weddings.

Before my brother’s wedding, the last one I went to was my Aunt Lyla’s second wedding more than three years ago. And I liked it that way.

These events are stressful, and if I pay attention to my history, I should be fucking avoiding stress, not flying across the country right toward it.

I spend half the time I have to get ready taming my hair into something presentable—I’m letting it get longer just for funsies. Then I find a pair of boring khakis that were hidden under a pair of my cargo shorts which are the exact same color, so even though I know I’m going to be praying for AC, I put those on with a simple white T-shirt I also find by the grace of God.

Good, now I don’t look like a total asshole and I can spend thenight not attracting any attention to myself and just letting everyone around me have a good time.

The rehearsal dinner is... fine. Again I’m not really surewhyI was invited to such an intimate part of the weekend’s events but I’m here, I behave, and I’m even nice—mostly I’m decent but whatever.

There’s only one speech, from Mike’s brother. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, he makes fun of his brother for his love of food—“The odds of you marrying a baker were always high, but you really outdid yourself by finding the most talented, kindest, and most loving baker in the world, bro”—then he welcomes Theo into the McKinnley family. It chokes me up a bit, not gonna lie, but I keep my dignity and my tears inside my body. Unlike Hawk, who has no issues letting everyone see the steady streams of tears running down his face.

Theo’s sister, Iris, goes to stand right after, but their grandmother yanks her back into the seat. “You’re not saying anything outrageous and embarrassing your brother tonight, young lady.” The Crawford matriarch shakes her head disapprovingly and from the laugh that bursts out of Iris, that was exactly her plan.

But other than that, it’s just friends catching up and everyone getting to know Theo and Mike’s family.

I keep quiet for most of it, though I do spend a while talking to George—another one of Derek’s college friends—about music, and actually enjoy it. It’s been clear since I first met him that he’s a huge fan of ours but thankfully he doesn’t act like a crazed groupie, he’s just really interested in the way we write songs and everything that comes with being a musician.

I do love it when he compliments a line of a song that Mom wrote, because hell yeah, I’m proud of every single word she ever put into lyrics. She was amazing at weaving a song and the world knew it—knows it still if the demand for our next album is anything to go by.

Birdie and I released a song late last year that was mostly written by her. The chorus is actually a lullaby she wrote specifically for us when we were babies. She sang it to us all our lives, and when our fans, and the world in general, found out what it was and that we’re planning on releasing more of her songs, they went a bit feral with how bad they want it.

But Birdie and I haven’t been working—like, at all—so it’s a good thing we haven’t given anyone a release date. I don’t know what needs to happen for us to sit down and start writing. At first we thought we’d start when the build of the houses at the ranch was done, and then we said after the wedding, and then we said after the summer.

But I know damn well Birdie’s going to be very distracted the second the pre-season starts in two weeks. Hell, I think he and Deedee are even looking for a condo closer to the Warriors Stadium so Derek doesn’t have such a long drive.

What do I think about that?

Well, if they’re going to want to live closer to the city then what the hell did we buy the ranch for?

And also, isn’t this precisely why we have a driverandbodyguards?

But no one has asked for my opinion, so I keep my mouth shut and let them get on with their lives. It’s not my business and I don’t want them butting into mine, so I stay out of theirs.

Aaaaanyway.

Other than the chill conversation with George, I don’t have anytype of meaningful conversation with anyone, I simply spend all that time and every last bit of energy I have making sure I’m not staring at CJ for the whole damn event.

He makes it hard though. Smiling happily, asking Hawk all sorts of questions like he didn’t ghost my brother for a month, and Birdie doesn’t seem to have a problem with CJ’s disappearing act either.

CJ looks put together like always. Seems effortless too, which infuriates me because I feel like a slacker and spent more than half an hour working on looking presentable. He’s wearing a linen shirt that hangs loosely off his arms and torso. The top two buttons are undone and show a tantalizing patch of his chest with just enough chest hair peeking out. His hair is sexily messed up... He looks like he could walk a runway show and like he just got out of bed and threw on whatever clothes he found on the floor at the same time.

I hate how much I want to run my fingers through his hair, how much I long to cup his cheek and taste those insanely kissable lips.

I curse mentally and make myself look away as everyone stands to go.

I’m thankful that no one seems bothered by how quickly I wish them goodnight and escape to my room whereI don’ttouch myself thinking about CJ’s lips.

Of course not.

“How are you feeling?”Birdie asks me in a whisper the next morning as I’m pouring myself a second cup of coffee.

He’s smart, I think, as I let out a long breath and decide to take a sip before I answer him. My brother knows to wait until after I’ve drunk my second cup if he wants a kind answer out of me, so ofcourse he let me be when I came over to the Crawfords’ house for breakfast. I also know what he’s thinking, why he’s asking, so that makes it easier to tamp down my annoyance at being treated like a wounded, fragile animal.

“I’m fine.” I think I sound pleasant enough.

Three months ago I had one drink, and I had no problem making it only one drink, didn’t I? Well, it’s not like my brother knows this, but I’ve told him I’m fine about a million times since I got sober, and still he won’t stop asking. He doesn’t believe me.

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