Flame (Fire on the Mountain #2) (5 page)

I drop back onto the bed, grabbing a piece of bacon from the plate as I go and sigh contently. I really have a great life. Amazing family. Good friends. Promising career plan. Regular hookup. All drama-free. I wouldn’t change it for the world.

So why am I still thinking about that damn button fly?

SATURDAY, JUNE 16

WEDDING DAY.

Ugh.

I know the minute I wake up something isn’t right. My skin is clammy, my teeth are chattering even though I’m sweating, and my hand feels like it’s been shot when I accidentally bump it against the headboard. All that means one thing:
fever
.

I’ll be the first to admit I’m a fucking pussy when I’m sick. On my bike, I’ve cracked three ribs, broken my left ankle twice and my right forearm once, and dislocated my shoulder more times than I can count, but the crud kicks my motherfuckin’ ass. I haven’t been sick in over five years, and the fact I’ve come down with something today of all days gives me another reason to hate this stupid-ass day.

Exerting all the energy I can muster, I roll onto my side and snatch my cell phone from the nightstand, collapsing back onto the hotel pillow once the feat is accomplished. After three deep breaths, which also involves three excruciatingly painful swallows, I raise the phone up off the mattress and hit the “favorites” button with Emmy Sue’s picture next to it. Switching it into speakerphone mode before dropping it on top of the comforter next to me, I wait for her to answer.

“Levi, I swear to God you or Gunner better be dying or in jail to call me at six-thirty on the morning of my wedding,” she growls into the receiver, not bothering with any false pleasantries. This is why I love her; she’s always real. No fluff. I just wish she wasn’t taking my roommate away from me.

“Dying,” I croak. “I think I’m dying.”

“Shit!” She shuffles around on the other end of the line, probably sitting up in bed and turning the light on. “The sore throat from last night? I thought that was just an excuse to get out of the rehearsal dinner and hook up with Tori?”

I attempt to laugh—because I
did,
in fact, fuck her maid-of-honor Tori yesterday, only it was
before
the rehearsal dinner, not after. But the vibration of my voice feels like razorblades carving into my tonsils, and I end up hacking and coughing for several minutes, not getting a single word out in the process.

She waits for me to stop before continuing her inquisition, the panic in her voice growing with each word. “Wow, you do sound terrible. Are you running a fever? Do you have any medicine? Have you called Gunner?”

“No thermometer or medicine, but my bet is yes on the fever. It hurts to do anything. I don’t know where to go or what to do. Gunner doesn’t know. I called you first.”

“’Kay, let me call my mom and see if she knows anyone we can get you into first thing this morning. The good news is the wedding isn’t until six, so we have some time to get you well enough to make it through the ceremony.” She sounds a little more optimistic than a few moments ago.

Moaning in discomfort, I nod as if she can see it. “Just let me know what to do. I’ll be here in bed until then.”

“I’ll call you right back,” she replies before adding, “Oh, and Levi, you
will
be at the wedding. I don’t care if we have to prop you up on something. Gunner won’t do this without you there, and neither will I. You’re
our
best friend.”

Her words tug at my heart, and if I didn’t feel like hot, soggy dog shit, I might have gotten all sappy back. But right now, I just don’t have it in me. “I’ll try, Em.”

“I
know
you will.”

Four hours later, I’m at the wedding day brunch set up in the hotel for Gunner and all the guys in the wedding, and much to my surprise, I feel halfway decent. A half-hour after I hung up with Emmy Sue, her mom, Rachel, picked me up from the hotel and drove me to a local urgent care clinic, where they fixed me up with some strong shit—a shot, some pills, a bottle of throat spray, and something called Magic Mouthwash.

I didn’t really pay much attention to what was going on. All I know is I feel somewhat human as I sit here eating a made-to-order omelet that doesn’t taste like much of anything. I may have numbed my tongue and all my taste buds while squirting that cherry shit all over the back of my throat, but I’ll take tasteless food over choking on a thorn bush any day.

“If you want a Bloody Mary or a mimosa, they’re up there at the bar,” Gunner announces when he sits next to me, the plate in front of him overflowing with every breakfast food known to man.

Shaking my head, I finish chewing the bite in my mouth before speaking. “Nah, I can’t drink on this medicine if you actually want me to be upright and responsive for the ceremony, and I promised Emmy Sue I wouldn’t drink until afterwards.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea then. You don’t want to piss off Bridezilla anymore today. She sounded like she was on the brink of a meltdown when I talked to her earlier, and you’re at the top of her shit list.”

“Why? What else is going on?”

Popping a piece of bacon in his mouth, he smirks knowingly at me. “It seems Tori woke up sick this morning too. Symptoms almost identical to yours, except she’s allergic to like every fucking antibiotic available, so they can’t give her whatever they gave you. She’s still in bed miserable, and it’s doubtful she’ll be able to make it tonight.”

“Ah, fuck,” I grumble, dropping my fork on my plate. “She gave me this crap?”

He snickers before washing his food down with a big gulp of his Bloody Mary. “I don’t know who gave who what, but I know once you’re well, my soon-to-be wife is going to kick your ass for causing her this stress on her wedding day. She’s contemplating going without a maid-of-honor but says that’ll fuck up the pictures or some shit. I don’t know. I told her as long as she and I are fucking each other’s brains out tonight as husband and wife, I didn’t give a shit about anything else.”

Guilt settles uncomfortably in my stomach. For all the silent bitching I’ve been doing in my head about this wedding, all for completely selfish reasons of losing my best friend and roommate, I truly want it to be a great day for my two favorite people on the planet. Even if it means dressing up in a monkey suit and being on my best behavior. Gunner and Emmy Sue are my only family . . . well, the only family I claim, anyway.

“Dude, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Holding his hand up to stop me, Gunner pinches his eyebrows together and glares at me. “Don’t apologize to me. I ain’t mad at ya. You didn’t know bangin’ that chick would turn into all this. We’ll deal with it, and once we’re on the road to New Orleans, you can apologize to Emmy Sue if you still think it’s necessary. But for now, I need you to talk as little as possible, rest until it’s time to get ready, and don’t forget the fucking ring tonight.
Capiche
?”

“Yeah, I got it, man,” I reply, pushing my chair back away from the table as I stand. I still feel like shit for semi-ruining the day, but I guess there’s not much I can do except make sure I’m there to support them tonight. “I’ll be at your room around four with my tux.”

“And the ring, bitch!” he calls out after me as I walk out of the room. “Don’t forget the fucking ring!”

I flip him the double bird over my shoulder without turning around, and I know by the warm tone of his laughter that all is right between the two of us.

Whoever designed the first tuxedo needs to be shot. I mean, I know he—or she—is already dead, but I’d like to shoot them once or twice more, just for some personal satisfaction. Revenge for coming up with this torturous contraption that has way too many goddamn pieces and feels like a vise squeezing around my already swollen neck.
Fucker.

“Is everyone ready to go? The guests have all been seated and we’re heading out in five. Speak now, or forever hold your peace.” The Nazi wedding coordinator Emmy hired may be the most high-strung person I’ve ever met, but I guess that’s what makes her good at her job.

Glancing first at Gunner to my left, then Rhino on my right, I’m also guessing it was her idea for these brutal suits, because the three of us couldn’t look more out of place in these black bowties and suspenders if we tried. Between Gunner’s neck tattoos and the gauges in his ears, and Rhino’s electric blue Mohawk dyed this morning to match the wedding colors, I’m probably most suited for the look, except the tailor screwed up my alterations and the jacket won’t button around my chest, and the hem of my pants doesn’t reach my shoe. So I look like a fucking clown. A clown waiting for a flood.

Today has been shit, and I’m clearly not living up to my title of
best man.
Right now,
mediocre man
might be pushing it, and that’s with the help of the drugs.

“You ready, bro? Still sure about all of this?” I ask Gunner in a voice low enough no one else can hear. I don’t want anyone to think I’m trying to talk him out of it, but I don’t feel like I would be doing my job if I didn’t confirm one last time.

With a shit-eating grin on his face, his head bobs. “Abso-fucking-lutely. Not one single doubt.”

“Good. I’m really happy for you.” I offer a small smile as I nod along with him. “I love you both. Would do anything for either of ya.”

Angling himself toward me, he wraps his arms around me and pats my back in a man-hug. “I know, fucker, but now’s not the time to develop vaginitis. Go out there, dazzle everyone with your charming smile, and give me the ring when they ask for it. We can jack each other off using our tears as lube later.”

“Shit! I knew I forgot something!” My eyes grow wide while I begin to frantically pat around the five thousand pockets in the jacket and pants, acting like I’m searching for something.

Gunner’s face pales several shades. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What was the last thing I told you when you left this morning, dude?”

Our exchange catches the attention of the Nazi wedding coordinator, who’s been talking to God-knows-who in that earpiece since we got in the room two hours ago. She rushes over in a frenzy, throwing death daggers at me with her beady black eyes.

“Where is it? Where did you leave it?” she barks, her neck turning bright red as she fists my lapels.