Page 54 of Brushed and Buried
Another pause.
“I know we only just met, and you’d think we don’t know you well enough. I know things got a bit too…complicated too fast,” Trevor says, his voice shaky and almost breathless. “But I don’t believe for one bloody second it’s over, yeah? Besides, we need your artistic perspective on this.” He looks at us and winks.
“Friday morning? Tomorrow? Perfect. That gives you time to make calls and line things up. What…what do you mean you’ll doit for free? Of course you’ll be paid for all this. And don’t worry about your flights either. We’ll take care of that.” He falls silent again, letting Adrian push back, but I know Trevor never goes back on his word.
His voice softens, quieter and more sincere. “And honestly? Becca and I really want you at the wedding. We all do. This just gives us a proper excuse to ask.”
When he hangs up, Trevor looks both relieved and a little emotional.
“He’s catching a flight tomorrow,” he announces. “He should land first thing in the morning.”
“That’s good,” Lance says, clearly excited.
“Good? It’s a bloody miracle.” Trevor slumps back in his chair. “He’ll make calls to the vendors in the area. Apparently, he knows a florist shop that his high school friend owns in Santa Barbara, and there’s a lighting guy in Ventura who owes him a favor from some event space opening last year. He can help.”
“So, crisis averted?” George asks.
“Crisis managed, maybe even upgraded.” Trevor pulls out his phone, likely to text Becca. “Adrian said he’s handled similar logistics before. Vendor management, timeline coordination, troubleshooting when things go sideways.”
The thought of Adrian coming back fills me with a mixture of anticipation and dread that I don’t want to examine too closely.
“I’m heading to the gym,” I say, pushing to my feet. “Might as well get a lift in before the afternoon crowd shows up.”
“We’re picking Adrian up at the airport tomorrow morning,” Trevor calls after me. “Are you coming with us?”
The question hits me in the chest, but I don’t let it show. “No, I don’t want to crowd the car. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”
It’s a reasonable excuse. There’s nothing suspicious about not wanting to cram five guys into a rental sedan. But as I walk away, I hear Lance mutter something that sounds like “stubborn bastard” under his breath.
He’s not wrong.
Later that afternoon, George and I end up at the resort gym, running circuits because neither of us knows what else to do with the restless energy coursing through us. I’m on shoulder presses, George working through cable rows like the machine owes him money. The place smells like disinfectant and old sweat, a pop remix playing overhead that’s too fast and loud.
George breathes out slowly and evenly, pulling the cable toward his chest. “Good thing he’s actually coming back.”
I rack the dumbbells a little too hard. “Who?” I ask dumbly.
He gives me that dry, knowing look. “You know who.”
“He was never meant to stay long-term.”
George stays quiet.
I move to the pull-up bar, burn through a set in silence. I try to focus on the ache in my shoulders instead of the one twisting behind my ribs.
“Look, he was just some guy we hired,” I push it, trying to believe what I’m saying. “It was always gonna be temporary.”
George tilts his head. “That’s the thing. For some reason, it felt like he wasn’t just passing through.”
The bar creaks in my grip. At that time, back when we were practically kids, he definitely didn’t feel like he was passing through in my life.
George stands and grabs a kettlebell off the rack. “Honestly, I think we all treated him like a novelty act, a fun story to tell after the wedding. But somewhere along the line, it shifted.”
Something in my chest pulls tight.
“He wasn’t just a show, not by the end.” George’s brow furrows as he does a clean press. “He got closer than I expected, closer than I let most people get.”
I drop from the bar, fists tightening at my sides. My chest twists, stomach rolling with sourness I didn’t expect. “You sound like you caught feelings,” I say loudly, the words harsher than I intend.
