Page 52 of Brushed and Buried
Trevor slides onto the stool. “Of course, just like how you saved me countless times in the past. Not in the mood?”
I shrug. “Not really.”
“Shame. That was Becca’s cousin. She is into emotionally unavailable guys. You two could have trauma-bonded.”
I let the jab pass, watching slowly dipping sun scatter off the water like it does not care about anything.
“You have been really off since Adrian left,” Trevor says, and there is an edge in his voice I have not heard before.
I look away. “No, I haven’t.” When I force a crooked smile at him, it must look worse than it feels, because he flinches.
Trevor studies me. “It hit all of us harder than expected. I think he got really close. Like, super close.”
A tightness gathers at the base of my throat as flashes of late nights, laughter, and the kind of reckless intimacy we pretended was just part of the wedding week rise uninvited. “Yeah. And he was hired. He was doing his job,” I say, low.
Trevor’s look sharpens. “Sure. But most strippers don’t stay four extra days, get added to the group chat, and end up basically an honorary groomsman.”
He is right. I hate that he is right.
“Still,” I mutter. “You are all acting like he is family.”
“And you are acting like he is poison,” Trevor says, his frustration a bit clear now. “Why did you nearly punch Lance when he joked about hiring him again just so he comes back here?”
I don’t answer because I don’t have one, not one I can say out loud.
After a beat, I meet his eyes. “Listen,” I tell him quietly. “You don’t need to waste a second worrying about me. This is your wedding. These are supposed to be the beginning of the best days of your life. So go. Laugh, drink, dance, enjoy every single part of it. Let me sit here and figure my own mess out.” With this, I vow to myself to be a better friend and best man so he wouldn’t have to worry about me.
Trevor lets out a laugh, choosing to let it slide, and that is when Becca arrives, glowing in a red bikini top and a blue wrap skirt, her smile lighting the place up. She kisses Trevor’s temple and rests a hand on his shoulder, effortless and grounding.
“You scaring off my cousin already?” she teases, glancing toward the lavender sundress girl.
“Vince is being himself,” Trevor says with a softened tone. “Emotionally constipated.”
Becca laughs. “That tracks.”
Her eyes find mine, steady and perceptive. She is magnetic like that. Gorgeous, yes, but it is not just style. She carries herself like she is certain of who she is, and it radiates.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Peachy,” I answer too fast. I give her the same crooked smile I gave Trevor.
She does not buy it. She does not need to call me out either. She just looks at me, and the look is enough.
Trevor laces his fingers with hers. They share a moment I almost should not witness, something private and raw, beyond wedding stress.
She turns back to me. “I get why people orbit Adrian. He’s magnetic in that strange, grounded way, like he knows the room and still dares to be the boldest in it.”
She glances at Trevor. “I have had my flings. Things that mattered for a season, or did not. But Trevor? He does not click fast, not like that. When he did with Adrian, I noticed.”
Trevor gives the smallest nod.
Becca squeezes his arm. “If someone makes you feel more alive, more seen, you don’t dismiss it because it is messy. Life does not care about convenience.”
Her gaze comes back to me. “Whatever is between you and Adrian, it is yours to figure out. But do not let fear or pride be the reason it ends before it starts.”
Trevor’s voice softens. “We have been learning that the hard way.”
Becca’s smile dims, not sad, just grounded. “We don’t get forever, Vince. We barely get now. Sometimes all you have is what you do with this moment. Do not waste it.”
