Runaway Bride’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #1)

8. Emmett

8

emmett

There are some phrases I never thought I’d say in my life. To this day these are ones that are holding strong:

Roll Tide. (Over my dead Tennessee Volunteer body.)

I like my bacon floppy. (Crispy or I don't want it.)

I'll hire someone to fix that. (It'll be a cold day in hell before I let a stranger fix anything that belongs to me.)

Until today, “I can’t wait to go to Florida” was on there.

Not anymore.

Because I can’t wait to get the hell out of this town. Even if it’s just for a few days.

When Simon asked me last week to head to Destin to check on our rental properties, I admittedly pushed back. We have locals who we keep on retainer to check on things. Simon insisted I needed to be the one to check out any storm damage.

Now I’m glad he did.

It’s been roughly three days since my night with Tiger that somehow fucked me up more than I care to admit. So, yeah, maybe a change of scenery will do me some good. Even if it’s at the beach.

I hate the beach. Too much sand. Too many people. And frankly, I don’t fuck with sharks .

I’ve been on the road for roughly two hours on my way to Florida, and this is only the third time I’ve thought about her. I think that’s an improvement. I don’t know what spell she put on me, but I can’t get her out of my head.

When I woke up Sunday morning, I knew she left. I just had a feeling. I mean, if it were me, I would’ve gotten the hell out of Dodge too. On the rare occasions I spend the night with a woman, I usually leave before the sun rises. And those nights weren’t fueled by the worst day of my life. So I don’t blame her one bit.

However, when I went to the kitchen and saw the note she left, I felt a pain I wasn’t expecting. I can’t describe it, but I know it wasn’t pleasant.

I shook that off and was fine for most of the day. That was until I sat down at night with my beer and my dog and turned on the television to an Avengers movie.

Fucking Captain America…

That was my sign that I needed to get the hell out of Nashville. I needed to get my mind right. On that same note, I hope Tiger’s taking some time as well. If it was me in her situation, I’d have been out of town the minute I ran from the wedding. A lying and cheating fiancé that you found out about right before the wedding? No one deserves that. Especially her.

Luckily, I can’t get too much more in my head about Tiger as I see my sister’s name on the dashboard signaling an incoming call.

“Winnie secured?”

I hear my dog barking in the background. So I guess the answer is yes. “Yes, she is. I always forget how much she loves car rides.”

“They’re one of her favorite things. And if you go get her a pup cup, she’ll never come home to me.”

“Wouldn’t you know it? I was thinking I needed to make a coffee run. This seals the deal. ”

I laugh as I change lanes. “Thanks again. I hated the thought of boarding her.”

“It’s no problem,” Maddie says. “You know I love her. Jack was over the moon that we get to watch her for more than a night. We’re already headed to the dog park.”

I smile when she brings up my nephew. Jack is three years old and the best damn kid in the world. Granted, I’m a biased uncle, but my sister hit the jackpot with him. And he’s all hers, since the sperm donor bolted the second she told him she was pregnant.

“Well, thanks again,” I say. “Now, to change to a less pleasant subject. Have you talked to Mom?”

Maddie lets out a long sigh, which is the normal reaction when bringing up our mother. “I did. She’s on a trip with Larry…or is it Gary? Something with an ‘ary.’

“I thought it was Barry?”

“Maybe? Who knows. Honestly I quit learning their names until they get married.”

“I mean, she’s been seeing him for a month, so it’ll probably happen soon.”

“And they did go to Vegas, so it’s completely possible.”

“Fucking great…”

Our mother is…how do I put this? Incapable of being alone. Single isn’t in her vocabulary. Never has been and never will. It’s just something Maddie and I have come to terms with when it comes to Rhonda Collins-Marrs-O’Leary-Moscowitz-Giordano-Zaharopoulos-Smith.

Yes. That’s seven marriages. Eight, if Larry Gary Barry sticks around. I’m the product of marriage number one. Maddie came from number three. At her ripe age of twenty-five years old, that’s a twelve-year age difference between us—so do the math of the average amount of time for each husband. I liked Maddie’s dad and was sad to see him go, though I do talk to him every once in a while since he still lives in Nashville and has a great relationship with Maddie. My father, on the other hand, didn’t even lie and say he was going for milk and cigarettes before leaving. I had just turned four.

I was the ring bearer in wedding number two before I started kindergarten.

Thus began the revolving door of boyfriends who turned into husbands, who turned into ex-husbands.

And that is the reason why I’m in no rush—and really have no desire—to ever get married.

I’ve seen marriage. Many times.

Fuck that.

“So when Mom inevitably comes back married from Vegas, I’m sure there will be a reception. Will my brother be bringing anyone?”

I huff out a laugh. “Not subtle, Sis.”

“What? I was simply asking if there’s a woman in my brother’s life?”

Don’t think about Tiger…Don’t think about Tiger.

“And, just like the last time you asked, the answer is no.”

And the time before. And the time before that.

“Unacceptable. I command you to go to Florida and meet someone. Have a fling. A vacation romance. Something.”

“I don’t fling.”

“You should.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because…” She pauses before continuing. “You don’t date. At least, that I know of. I’m sure there are…women…you meet when…things need done.”

I cringe. “Please don’t talk about my sex life.”

“Do you have one? I’m not being sarcastic. I truly don’t know. And if you do, that’s great. Because you don’t date. I’ve never seen you with a woman. Aren’t you lonely, Emmett? I know Rhonda didn’t give us the best example of a healthy relationship, but you do know that being with someone doesn’t make you her, right? ”

I know this. The rational part of my brain knows that just because she birthed me, doesn’t mean I’m like her.

My true worry is that I’m like him. The parent I don’t know.

So I made the decision a long time ago not to experiment with “which parent am I” and have opted to stay single.

Honestly, it’s worked out well so far. I get what I need when I need it. The Nashville bar scene usually leaves plenty to choose from when I need to scratch the itch. And even better, I can usually sneak out before the sun comes up.

No long term. No leaving. Nice, clean, and easy. Just how I like it.

“I know,” I say. “Please don’t worry about me.”

“I am and I will,” she says. “It’s not healthy to be that alone.”

“I’m not alone,” I protest. “I have Winnie.”

“Your dog doesn’t count.”

“Quiet!” I scold mockingly. “She’ll hear you.”

“She’s too distracted by Jack. And I’m getting her a pup cup. She’s on my side now.”

“Even getting my own dog to turn against me,” I groan as I pass the signs that say I’m entering Florida. “Are you done with the brother bashing?”

“For now,” she says. “But please, I know you’re there for work, but try and have a little fun. You’re in Florida. Maybe see a beach. A night club.”

“I’m too old for night clubs. And I hate beaches.”

“Not in Florida you aren’t,” she says. “And who hates beaches?”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Love you, big brother!”

I sigh. “Love you too.”

As I head to a rest stop to fill up on gas and grab something to drink, I try to picture myself at a nightclub. It’s laughable. I didn’t even like going to dance clubs in college, when I was admittedly more fun than I am now. My idea of a night out starts at a reasonable time—no later than seven—and it’s at a bar with a reasonable volume for music, a few beers, and a game to watch on the television.

Night club? Thumping music? Sweaty bodies and shoulder-to-shoulder crowds? No fucking thank you.

As I put the car in park, my phone vibrates with a text message from my best friend and boss. Good. Work things. That I can get behind.

Simon: When you get down there check on 2254 first. That’s where Stella’s staying this week.

Ah yes. Stella. The sister who got married. I forgot she and her husband were using that unit for their honeymoon.

Emmett: Will do, boss.

Simon: Thanks, man. And check on her, won’t ya? I’d appreciate it. Oh. And have some fun.

Check on her? On her honeymoon? That’s fucking strange. Then again, I’ve met her now husband. He’s…a piece of work is one way to describe him.

Jackass would be the other.

So without thinking I type back “no problem” before tossing my phone to the side and filling up the truck. Fifteen minutes later I’m back in the driver’s seat, ready to make the final haul for a week of work and…beaches.

Nope. Won’t be doing that either.

Destin, here I come.