Bobby

Best man Bobby Jordan quietly growled as he scanned the dance floor, taking in the sight of all of the happy couples having a blast at Ashton and Rosemary Boudreaux’s wedding.

Tonight was going to be the night he finally put an end to his misery.

If things didn’t work out with his oldest friend and maid of honor, Penny LeFleur, he was leaving town.

And then, as if the universe was hitting him on the head with a cue, the band struck up Penny’s all-time favorite song, “No Woman, No Cry.” He swallowed, unsure if this was indeed the right thing to do. Typical. His whole life was one decision left unmade after another; his wheel-spinning was of Hamlet proportions.

“Young man,” said a stern, authoritative man’s voice.

Bobby looked up from his aged Kentucky bourbon and saw that the voice came from the father of the bride, Lionel DuChamps. “I’ve seen you staring at that girl all day long, like she’s cake on a plate. I just thought you should know, I’m going to see her engaged before this party ends.”

Bobby glared up at the old man. “Oh really?”

Lionel continued and plastered a smile on his face while he spoke. “You got a lot of nerve kidnapping an old man. But the difference between me and you is I got something called grit.”

Bobby scoffed. “You know nothing about me. With all due respect, I think it takes a little bit of determination and grit to get your stubborn ass to this wedding.”

Lionel crossed his arms in front of him, amused at young Bobby. “You see, son, I’ve got a guest here, a powerful man, who owns a lot of land along the Gulf Coast, and some of that land butts right up against my shipping interests. His son has a promising future, but like you, he is a bit of a loser…adrift…doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life. If I give that punk’s father something he wants—say, a daughter-in-law—why, that would be worth more to him than continuing to cockblock me from expanding my business into the state of Mississippi.”

Bobby sipped his drink and smirked. “Have you lost your mind, Mr. DuChamps? You don’t own people, ’least not anymore. Seems to me the Civil War settled that matter. You remember that, right?”

Lionel chuckled. “Son, I don’t have to own people to manipulate things to go my way.”

Bobby stared incredulously at the old man and laughed. He was genuinely amused. Is DuChamps going senile? “Let me set you straight on one thing. You may be a very powerful man. But nobody here is your subject, least of all any member of the wolf clan. And Penny ain’t your daughter, and this ain’t no dowry society anymore. At least not since the last time I checked. But then what the hell do I know about how you inbred, old-money folks live.”

Lionel’s face turned red, and he pointed at Bobby’s glass. “It’s not, huh? Well, I paid more for this wedding—and all this free-flowing liquor—than I have ever paid to build an oil rig, so think again about who owns what.”

Bobby shrugged. “Your daughter’s married, she’s happy you were here to walk her down the aisle. You made your wife happy, too. If you want to try to marry off my friend to get back at me for the part I played in getting you here to this wedding, I’d love to watch your drunk old ass try.”

Lionel countered, “I’ll have plenty of chances ’cause as far as I can tell, you’re a drunk, cowering little chicken shit.”

Bobby shook his head and said, “You don’t know our history. It’s complicated. And I’m too drunk to try to explain PTSD to a privileged old man who never suffered a day in his life.”

Bobby met Lionel’s eye. There was a deep darkness in the old man’s gaze, and something told Bobby he had said the wrong thing.

Lionel leaned in and got close to Bobby’s face. His voice was low and sharp. If words could take form, he could have stabbed Bobby in the throat with them. “Boy, you do not know trauma.” Lionel pointed to his chest and gritted his teeth as he spoke. “I escaped the Sandinistas, barefoot, in the jungle, after my own government left me for dead.”

Bobby was shocked silent. He hardly knew this man, who happened to be the richest man in New Orleans. He would have thought Ash might’ve shared that interesting detail about the father of his bride, before enlisting Bobby’s help in wrangling him to the wedding by any means necessary.

“Are you telling me that my buddy Gavin and I kidnapped a former prisoner of war?”

Lionel straightened himself. “Technically, it wasn’t a war. Which made what happened to me all that much shittier. Don’t cross me, boy. You don’t know what you’re getting into. Things I’ve done would scare the piss out of your coddled, bony little ass.”

“My ass ain’t bony.”

“Nah, but you’re acting like kind of a pussy.” Lionel laughed and reached across the table, picked up Bobby’s glass and downed the bourbon.

“And you’re a drunk, mean old son of a bitch,” Bobby said.

“You gonna cry now ’cause the old bully drank your drink? Ah, the hell with it. Suit yourself.” And with that, Lionel sauntered off, slightly unsteadily, probably to find the restroom.

Bobby decided he hated that guy.

And then, Penny’s favorite song ended. And the moment had passed.

Bobby looked around again and homed in on her. There Penny was, chatting with some blond trust fund case with a preppy haircut, on the other side of the dance floor. She was laughing and looked as if she was having a grand old time. Jealousy reared its head.

Maybe he could not have Penny, but he’d be damned if he was going to let her hook up with some spoiled, old-money brat she just met at this wedding.

Unrequited love was a bitch.

Watching her flit around like a social butterfly in a silver ball gown like a damn princess, flirting with the social elite and looking stunning, was beyond a bitch. It was the absolute fucking worst.