Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)(7)

“You look ridiculous in one too.” Rhett laughs with a shake of his head, always harassing his older brother.

But it’s the middle brother, Beau—who I’m closest with—that I’m really looking around for. The fact he isn’t here yet is making me antsy.

He tried to request his time to line up with the wedding. He’s supposed to have a few weeks off at home before he ships back out. But he hasn’t shown up yet and neither has our dad, Harvey.

“Fuck you, Fabio,” is Cade’s agitated retort as he fiddles with the tie around his neck. Making fun of Rhett’s long hair isn’t new territory. I’ve been watching this exchange for years.

“Where are the girls?” I ask, trying to get them both on track. The harpist is playing. People are mingling in front of the imposing church. It’s gray and cold and depressing outside. And all I want to do is run away.

“If you call Willa a girl, she’ll castrate you,” Cade grumbles, yanking the tie off and shoving it into his suit coat pocket.

“She’s going to castrate you for not wearing the tie she picked out.” Rhett chuckles.

“She’ll get over it when I tie her up with it later.” Cade inspects the front doors of the church—his radar is that perfectly honed—as Willa pushes the door open, hand slung protectively over the small bump she’s sporting. Her eyes search for Cade in the sea of people. She smiles softly when they land on him, but it slips away quickly.

Then Summer, her best friend and Rhett’s fiancée, is there too. They move toward us and both look a little chagrined.

“That was quite the bathroom break,” Rhett announces when they get near enough to hear us.

Summer snuggles up under his arm while Willa regards us with a wary expression.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, gaze bouncing between the women. Because I can tell something is up, and they’re not saying it.

“Willa is a nosy little eavesdropper,” Summer says. “That’s what’s wrong.”

“Shut up, Sum. It’s not eavesdropping when you can hear a person yelling from the other side of a closed door.”

“I think that might still technically be called eavesdropping,” Cade says as he pulls Willa toward him.

My brain is stuck back on one word. “Sorry. Who is yelling?”

Summer’s lips roll together, dark eyes wide and concerned. “It would seem the bride and groom are having a disagreement. And the groom has no volume control.”

“He’s a slimy little prick,” Willa adds simply. “I can tell just by looking at him,”.

Before anyone says more, I’m in motion through the heavy door, checking left and right to get my bearings, and picking a hallway that appears to have several doorways leading off of it. I take long strides in that direction until I can hear the raised voice.

Violet is standing outside the door, doing an excellent imitation of a deer in the headlights, while her massive husband, Cole, towers behind her like he’s ready to murder someone. He always looks like that though.

“You’ll embarrass yourself more than me,” Sterling’s scolding tone assaults my ears from the other side of the door.

I peek at Violet and her husband. His lips are flat, and he cants his head at me as if to say, Are you going in there or am I?

I’d happily let him put Sterling in his place. But I’d be even happier to do it myself.

“Are you kidding me?” Disbelief resonates in Sloane’s voice. “You fuck a stripper nights before our wedding and I’m the embarrassing one?”

Other people in the church appear to be staring—listening—which is why I open the door into whatever maelstrom is taking place. Sloane needs backup. And she needs to know everyone is privy to their dirty laundry right now.

At least I tell myself that’s why I’m marching into this room unannounced. It has nothing to do with the fact that Sterling has me seeing red.

“It was my stag party! A last hurrah!” I catch sight of Sterling’s back, his arms held out wide as Sloane sits on a dainty antique stool, looking impossibly small, while he stands over her, yelling at her.

Protectiveness courses through me.

“Get out and shut up!” I bark, slamming the door behind me. “Everyone out there can hear you.”

Sterling spins on me, eyes narrowing, venom spewing. “Fuck off, Gervais. I don’t need a dumb jock’s advice. This is between my wife and me.”

I cross my arms and stand my ground. I’m officially done being nice to Sterling Woodcock. “She’s not your wife. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s not as tall as I am, and the only reason he rivals me in weight is because he’s a little thick around the middle. Soft, like he sits at his desk all day long and drinks too much at night.

“Excuse me?” He’s completely turned to me now and taking aggressive steps in my direction. His soft, shaved cheeks are all puffed up and red, contrasting against the white and black of his tuxedo.

“I said I’m not leaving. But you need to.”

From beyond him, Sloane stares at me wide-eyed. I expected to find her crying, but there isn’t a single tear on her immaculately made-up face.

Sterling rushes me, arms outstretched and ready to shove. Like a fucking kid having a temper tantrum. But I press my palm into his damp forehead and straight-arm him before he can lay a finger on me. He lands a few lame blows on my arms, but he’s too fucking soft to know what he’s doing. Too short. Too weak.