I wanted him out, but he and Keegan got along and Henry found him funny, so he stayed in. Sam and I didn’t care much for the guy. Too high strung (or strung out) and too much of a kid. Mason, bleeding heart that he was, seemed to think that he’d grow out of it with guidance, but I’d bet that the only thing Twain was going to grow out of was what little morality he still had.
“I’m not telling you shit,” I growled. “Get outta my ear.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with Beck does it?” Twain also had a really annoying habit of seemingly being able to read thoughts.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Patience… I really was trying not to be a cantankerous idiot, but old habits did die hard.
“What the hell are you even talking about?” I asked, just to keep my silence from being an answer.
“You jealous? ‘Cause here I was thinking you wanted to fuck her friend. What was her name again?”
That was it. I stood quickly and turned around, towering over Twain with murder in my eyes. Well, maybe not murder. But at the very least aggravated assault.
Twain fell back into his seat as if the glare I gave him had physically shoved him back. He looked up at me with a lazy grin. “Come on, man. Don’t be a dick. I’m just joking around with you.”
It was always ‘just a joke’ with Twain. Maybe he’d recognize the line if he understood the consequences for crossing it. The way I was feeling, a fight would do me some good anyway. I hadn’t properly gone at it in a while, and if it had to be one of the Knights whose ass I kicked, I’d rather it be Twain’s any day of the week.
“What’s going on, Mac?”
Well that was fast. Mason had come over to keep the peace. As usual.
My friendship with Mason Reads was a paradox to everything that I knew about myself. If you’d told teenage Mac that one day he’d be friends with — even hold a lot of respect for — a man who’d never once been in a fight, didn’t know shit about motorcycles, and probably fucked like a lover, he’d never have believed you (and then probably would have beat your ass for even talking to him in the first place). And yet, somehow, Mason tended to be the only one out of the Knights that could back me down or even keep me from getting worked up in the first place.
He also tended to get on my last ever-loving nerve with his hippy-dippy, emotionally-intelligent bullshit, but we all have our flaws.
Mason stood with his hands tucked into the pockets of his light-gray suit pants. His eyes flicked from me to Twain like a principal catching two boys fighting in the hall.
“Twain’s being a piece of shit. Though what’s new?” I spat.
Twain’s cat-like eyes narrowed. “I’m just making conversation,” he said, punctuating the sentence with a yawn. “I don’t know what Big Mac is on about.”
“That’s it—” I started. He knew I hated that nickname.
Mason put a hand on my arm. “Mac…” he said.
I shook it off, but didn’t go further. Behind us, Henry and Keegan still had Sam distracted on the other end of the plane.
Mason fixed Twain in his cool gray eyes. “Dude, it’s four hours on a plane. Can’t you go that long without antagonizing someone?”
“Suppose not,” Twain said, examining his fingers.
“Well, we’re going to land soon,” Mason said. “And then you can go find something to stick your cock into.” He jerked his head back toward the guys. “Just go entertain Sam. I want to talk to Mac.”
Twain hesitated, looked for a moment like he might even refuse, but then got up and walked, smirking, past me. God, what a rat-faced little feck…
“Your fists are clenching,” Mason noted, taking a seat across from the one Twain just vacated. “You need to chill out, man. You’re not gonna make it through the week.”
I took a deep breath and sat down across from him. “I’m fine,” I said, though my tone told the truth. “Just ready to get off this fecking plane.”
“Come on, Mac,” Mason said. “I know you. You’ve been off for a while now. What’s getting you?” He looked over at Sam. “Is it Sam getting married?”
Bingo, nail on the head. Of course Mason could guess, maybe he already knew. He and Sam were close. I’m sure my less than subtle hints had made it back to him.
“Hey, if Sam wants to throw his life away, it’s not my problem,” I said, downing the rest of my scotch. “It’s up to him.”
Mason nodded slowly. “Okay, Mac,” he said. “I want you to listen very closely to me. And retain this, for god’s sake.”
I nodded absentmindedly. Mason always had a saying or a lesson or some shite.
“Look at me, Mac,” he said.
I rolled my eyes, but looked into his.
“Do not, under any circumstances, fuck up this wedding. This week is not about whatever issue you’re dealing with. It’s about Sam. And he deserves to be happy.”
I scoffed. “You think I don’t know that?”
“I’m serious, Mac,” Mason said, standing. “Sam is happy. Beck is good for him. And I don’t know if it’s jealousy or if you just don’t like to share, but if you have any surprises, I’d leave them on this plane. For your own sake.”
He walked back to the front of the plane where the rest of them were talking and laughing. I stayed where I was and glowered at his back.
Who the hell did Mason think he was, telling me what to do like I was an impertinent child? I had no ‘plans’ for breaking up Sam and Beck.
But at the same time, if your buddy was about to be run off the road, wouldn’t he want you to tell him? To make him see the error of his ways?
I watched Sam drink and smile and slap Mason on the back once he joined them. Poor guy didn’t know what he was in for. Didn’t see that this life, these happy times with the Knights, were all coming to an end. This week might as well be the wake, funeral, and goddamn burial for our friend group. No, I wasn’t about to let that happen so easily.
I pushed the issue away for later and, in its absence, Twain’s words nudged at my mind. I thought back to what he’d said right before I stood to tower over him. I thought you wanted to fuck her friend.
I frowned. What the hell was he talking about?
2
Alice
Alice: The flowers look horrible. Please tell me it’s not too late to fix them.
* * *
I pressed send and then stared at the screen, unblinking, willing Mariana to answer. Now.
We’d just landed at the Tuzas International Airport, and I had beautiful, glorious cell service again. I’d made the mistake of opening my e-mail just before take off and then had to endure the last four hours hoping the terrible arrangements were fixable.
Unfortunately, the wedding planner didn’t seem to be on her phone at the moment. Hopefully she was doing something important, but, just as likely, she was sitting by the pool, enjoying the resort before her boss showed up to make sure she was doing her job.
Kylie’s light pink nails snapped in front of my eyes, jerking me from my concentration and back to reality.