Page 69 of Brushed and Buried
“You and Olivia have got this locked down tight,” Trevor says, approaching with his hands shoved in the pockets of his chinos.
“Anything for you and Becca,” I reply with a smile. “Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be getting ready for rehearsal? Olivia will want to start soon.”
“Yeah, the whole crew’s assembled. Lance is giving George grief about whether he needs to iron his shirt, and Vince looks like he hasn’t slept in about three days, but we’re ready.”
The mention of Vince’s sleepless appearance sends an unwanted jolt through me. I wonder if he spent the night thinking about our session the way I did, replaying every moment of charged silence, every catch of breath. I accepted days ago that whatever we had, whatever we might have been, died that night at this resort when we decided to walk away from each other again. I built my walls back up, stronger this time. But the man who posed for me last night, who let me see the real him like an act of contrition, threatens everything I’ve worked to rebuild.
The rehearsal takes place on the beach itself, where tomorrow’s sunset ceremony will unfold. White chairs arranged in neat rows face an archway at the water’s edge. It’s intimate without feeling cramped, elegant without being stuffy. It’s exactly what Trevor and Becca wanted for their late-afternoon vows.
“Right, everyone listen up,” Olivia calls out, consulting her timeline. “We’re going to walk through this twice. First time to get the timing right, second time to make it look natural. Trevor, you’ll be positioned at the altar with Reverend Martinez.”
The bridesmaids cluster near the chairs, with Claire fussing with her sundress and Stephanie glued to her phone. Dinah lingers a little apart from them, and when her gaze drifts to Vince, it’s too obvious to miss. She’s gorgeous in that sun-drenched, California-born way, with blonde hair lit up likea halo, blue eyes catching everything, and curves filling out a plain pink dress like it was made for her.
“George and Claire, you’re first,” Olivia calls, scanning her clipboard. “The music will set the pace, so take it slow. Then Lance and Stephanie. Vince and Dinah, you’ll be last as the best man and maid of honor.”
The rehearsal drags on for half an hour, family and friends shifting between standing in line, walking the aisle, or loitering off to the side. They run through the entrances, the exits, where to stand, when the music swells. I should be paying attention, but my eyes keep drifting to Dinah clinging to Vince’s arm. She presses herself into him, graceful and practiced, like the aisle is her runway. Vince barely reacts, his expression calm, his posture steady, his stride polished. He’s an athlete. He’s a model. And here I am, watching the two of them look like they belong on a magazine cover.
When the rehearsal breaks, everyone scatters. Olivia chases Trevor and Becca with another checklist, while the groomsmen and bridesmaids drift toward the cabanas. I’m adjusting one of the side flower arrangements, pretending to care about the angle of a fern, when I see Dinah approach Vince. Her body language screams interest, with the tilt of her shoulders, the calculated smile, and the hand sliding to his arm like it’s already hers.
“So,” she says, her voice carrying just enough to reach those of us nearby, “I was thinking maybe after the reception tomorrow,you might want to hang out together? I know this amazing place in town that stays open until really late.”
Vince glances at her, then his eyes find mine across the space. For a heartbeat, something passes between us that feels like a challenge, like he’s asking permission for something I have no right to give or deny.
“That’s generous,” he says, his voice carrying that easy charm, “but I’m taken.”
Dinah laughs, clearly thinking he’s joking. “Oh, I’ve looked you up. I don’t think you’re dating anyone at the moment.”
“No, we’re not exactly dating yet, but I’m taken. He’s clearly yet to come around.”
Dinah’s smile wavers a little. The others within earshot are clearly more interested in listening to this conversation now. “You mean, ‘her’?”
“Him.” Vince nods in my direction without hesitation, like pointing out the weather. “Adrian.”
The matter-of-fact certainty in his voice makes the flower arrangement slip from my suddenly nerveless fingers. Petals scatter across the sand as conversations die mid-sentence. George stops adjusting his collar. Stephanie’s phone nearly slips from her grip. Even Olivia looks up from her clipboard with wide eyes.
“I’m sorry, what?” Dinah’s voice pitches higher, confusion replacing flirtation.
“Adrian Callahan,” Vince says, stepping closer to where I’m frozen among scattered flowers. “We’ve got history. Quite a bit of it, actually.”
My chest constricts. This can’t be happening.
“But he’s…the stripper,” Dinah says softly, sounding defeated. “You two actually know each other?”
“Yeah. He’s a very talented stripper. Five stars. Also, he’s a gifted artist, and now an honorary member of not only the groomsmen but also the wedding coordination team.”
“Vince,” I start, but he’s already moving with that focused determination I remember from football, closing the distance between us with measured steps.
“You’re gay?” Dinah blurts out, clearly trying to contain her shock but failing.
Vince looks at her and seems to consider his words before speaking. “I’m not sure. It’s only been him. He’s the only man I’ve ever wanted.”
The gasps from the small crowd hit me like a punch to the chest. I don’t want to look, don’t want to see their faces, but I feel their attention pressing down on me, heavy and sharp. Vince is risking everything, his privacy and reputation as a high-profile football star. The media would devour this if it ever got out. My chest goes tight, my stomach knots, and I can feel heat crawling up my neck. Why here? Why now? Why me? He’s clearly insane, and yet the urge to lean in is overwhelming, to close the space between us, to let him prove it. I resist.
Trevor laughs. “I can’t believe you’re finally saying these things, mate! Who are you and what have you done to my best friend?”
“Ten years of history, to be exact,” Vince continues conversationally, like he’s discussing dinner plans instead of turning both our lives upside down. “I’ve been crazy about him since high school. It took me a while to get my head out of my ass and admit it, but some things are worth the wait.”
Lance lets out a surprised laugh. George’s eyebrows climb so high they nearly touch his hairline, but he smiles at Vince like he’s a proud dad. Becca claps a hand to her mouth, but the corners of her lips betray her delight before she can hide it.
