Once Upon a Time...There Was My Brother-in-Law

When Katie announced her engagement, no one knew what to think. There was something or another wrong with all the guys she'd brought home—at least according to her, eventually. Prior to Reese, every man she'd brought home was "the one," but shortly thereafter, each relationship inevitably imploded in spectacular fashion. In fact, next to Eric from the twelfth grade, this was the longest surviving relationship she'd been in. It had gotten to the point where we never even really built relationships with these guys anymore because it was just as painful for us to get to know them, to invest in them, only to watch them disappear from our lives as suddenly as they'd arrived.

I think Reese thought I hated him. The truth was more complicated than that. He was trying so hard to make me his new little brother, and I was trying to spare both of us the pain of losing that bond when things inevitably fell apart. I kept my distance, polite but guarded. Less than a week out from the wedding, he sent me a text that said he wanted to "grab a drink." I told my parents, and everyone immediately thought we'd gotten our hopes up for nothing—that this was it, the relationship was crumbling right before the ceremony.

Now, if only things had stayed at "grab a drink," then we wouldn't be here today. But there we are anyway.

"Mike!" I heard someone calling my name, but between the two games blaring from opposite ends of the bar and the crowd of people trying to order drinks for each other, it was difficult to make out anything clearly.

Then I heard it again, louder this time, cutting through the noise. When I turned around, I saw Reese trying to squeeze his way through the crowd, apologizing to people as he went. When he finally reached the bar, slightly out of breath, I removed the jacket I'd draped across the chair next to me and pushed it out for him.

"Hey man, sorry I'm late—traffic was a bitch," he said, settling into the seat.

"All good," I replied, still bracing for bad news. My stomach was tight with anticipation.

"So what are you drinking?"

There was this almost excited edge to his tone that threw me off. Was he celebrating his newfound freedom, or was this some kind of post-traumatic stress response in action? I couldn't read him.

"Just a vodka cranberry," I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.

The bartender walked up and Reese flagged him over with an easy confidence.

"I'll have what he's having," he said.

The bartender nodded and walked off. Reese seemed to let out a long sigh of relief, his shoulders dropping as he settled more comfortably into his seat. He looked relaxed, which only confused me more.

"Dude, what's wrong with your face?" he asked, studying me.

"What do you mean?"

"You look like you're about to head into war," he said with a slight laugh.

There was no mirror in the bar proper, so there was no way to verify what he was saying. I just sat there, trying to make subtle adjustments to my facial expressions, willing my features into something more neutral.

"So what's wrong?" I asked. It was time to pull the bandaid off and get this over with.

"What makes you think something is wrong?"

"You said so," I said, confused now.

"No, I said, let's grab a drink," he corrected me, his tone patient.

"That wasn't code?" I asked, genuinely trying to understand the situation.

"Yeah, for let's grab a drink," he said, just as the bartender walked over and dropped his drink on the table with a soft clink.

"Oh," I said, feeling stupid.

Everything I thought I knew was a lie, and I'd come here prepared to let this guy off the hook for wanting to break up with Katie. I'd had this whole speech prepared, too. It was good—tasteful but with a hint of sadness, acknowledging that sometimes things just don't work out.

"I mean, you're gonna be my brother-in-law and we've not really spent any time together," he said, taking a sip of his drink.

Now I felt bad. I hadn't really given this guy the time of day, but in my defense, Katie didn't usually either. She was predisposed me to the notion that no one was here to stay, that getting attached was just setting myself up for disappointment.

"I guess things have been kinda hectic, but you're right," I said, meaning it.

He was starting to get comfortable, leaning back in his chair, and I was trying to understand what to do next because I'd only prepared at most fifteen minutes of material for a breakup conversation, and now we were actually hanging out.

I did not budget my time accordingly.

An hour later and three drinks in, we were engrossed in the basketball game playing on one of the screens. Who was playing? I didn't know. All I knew was that we were for the guys in the yellow jerseys and we hated—with a passion at that—the other team. I had no idea what was actually going on in the game, I just knew that when someone with a yellow jersey scored a basket, I was supposed to yell like an actual crazy person, and when the other team did, I was supposed to boo. Express vehement dissatisfaction to the degree that it was audible across the bar.

An hour and another four drinks after that, it was time to go home. I remembered stumbling out to the street, the cool night air hitting my face like a slap. Reese caught me before I fell into the street, his hand firm on my arm, and there was some lady who was carrying her dog around in a stroller... or maybe that was just a really ugly baby. I couldn't tell anymore.

The Uber took us to my apartment, which really was within walking distance, but Reese kept saying I'd get hit by a car. Or at least that was what it sounded like to me through the fog in my head. We stumbled through the building's front door and nearly crashed into the wall, our combined weight making us unsteady.

"Shit! My neighbors are gonna call the cops," I said, trying to whisper but probably failing.

Once we got inside my apartment, I tried to get a glass of water, but once I was in the kitchen, I forgot what I'd gone in there for. I stood there, staring at the sink, my mind blank.

"I forgot who I'm where," I said, the words slurred on the way out.

"Who is that?" Reese said from the living room, just as drunk—if not more drunk—than I was.

He'd taken drinks from another group of guys who were sitting near us at the bar. At least two more shots than I'd had. When I got back to the living room, he'd found the bottle of vodka I kept in the console in the dining area attached to the kitchen.

I wondered how long I'd stood in the kitchen looking at the sink, because he would have had to have gotten the bottle with me standing right there. Time felt elastic, unreliable.

He had two shots poured out, the clear liquid catching the light.

"We're still drinking?" I asked, though I was already moving toward him.

"Last time," he said, his voice thick with alcohol.

The words were a mix of drunk promises. That wasn't the first time I'd heard those words from him tonight, coincidentally.

"Last time," I echoed, not believing it for a second.

He handed me a glass and lifted his to meet mine with exaggerated care.

"To... Mike!"

I sat down next to him on the couch, close enough that our knees almost touched. He tossed his shot back and I followed right behind, the vodka burning its way down.

"Smooth!" I said, coughing slightly.

"It tastes good," he said, which was absolutely a lie.

I didn't know how many shots we'd had at the bar, but they'd absolutely not worn off. He had this expression of joy on his face, and he looked like he was having the time of his life. I couldn't believe he was actually going to marry my sister, and if she dumped him in the next week, I was probably going to be sad about it.

"Katie said you disapprove of me," he said suddenly, his words careful and deliberate.

At first I didn't comprehend what he was saying, and it took me a moment to process the words, to arrange them into meaning.

"She did?"

"She said you said, um, wait, you said, she said—"

He was trying to find words he clearly didn't possess, and I was trying to understand why Katie would tell him that. What purpose would it serve?

"NO!" I said, the volume scaring even myself. "I told Katie I don't approve of her."

There was a quick moment of silence, and then we both burst into laughter, the kind that shakes your whole body.

"See, I knew it, we're gonna be brothers," he declared, pointing at me with emphasis.

"Hell yeah!" I said, feeling the warmth of the alcohol and something else—actual affection for this guy.

"And Katie said you're mad because you can't keep a guy."

Now I was starting to think Katie was feeling a little self-conscious, because there'd be no reason for her to tell him any of that. What was she trying to accomplish?

"I'm starting to think we're gonna play 'Katie Said,'" I replied, shaking my head.

He laughed with a soft intensity, his eyes bright.

"Katie sounds jealous," he said, leaning slightly closer.

"Huh?"

Then he leaned over and kissed me. He just kissed me like it was the most natural thing in the world, his lips warm and soft against mine. For a second, I was frozen, and then I pulled away from him, my heart pounding.

One kiss crossed the line.

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"Dude, you kissed me," I said, stating the obvious.

"I did? Oh shit—I didn't mean to," he said, his eyes wide with panic.

"You didn't?" I asked, almost irate, though I wasn't sure why that bothered me.

"Fuck!"

"It's okay, it's not the end of the world," I said, trying to calm him down, though my pulse was racing.

"Holy fuck, man!" he said, running his hand through his hair.

I didn't know what else to do, so I kissed him, leaning in and pressing my lips to his. I held there for a moment, feeling the heat between us, the way his breath caught.

"Now you kissed me," he said when I pulled back, his voice quieter.

"Well, you were freaking out," I said, as if that explained everything.

"Shit, man," he said, his eyes searching mine. "I think I'm drunk."

Then he leaned over and kissed me again—or maybe I kissed him. We kissed, and it was deep and tantalizing, his hand coming up to cup the back of my neck, pulling me closer. The taste of vodka mingled between us, and everything else faded away.

SIX DAYS LATER

The wedding was nothing to write home about. Honestly, my parents and I were shocked it even happened at all. Mom waited until the day before to buy her dress—just in case Katie had a change of heart at the last minute. Even as I stood at the altar in my rented tux, I half-expected someone to stand up during the "speak now or forever hold your peace" part. But no one did.

The ceremony itself was pretty vanilla compared to other weddings I'd been to. Standard vows, a string quartet playing Pachelbel's Canon, white roses everywhere. Katie looked beautiful in a way that seemed almost defiant, like she was daring anyone to question her choices. And maybe that was exactly what she was doing.

I skipped out on the bachelor party. The official excuse I gave was work, some deadline I couldn't miss. But the real reason? What happened the last time we got drunk. The kiss—or kisses, plural. The way his hand felt on the back of my neck. The heat of it all that I couldn't seem to shake, even a week later.

Standing there, two feet away from Reese as he recited his vows to my sister, was its own special kind of torture. The side of his face, the way his jaw tightened when he said "I do"—I was close enough that if I shifted my weight, our shoulders would touch. Close enough to smell his cologne, the same one he wore that night at my apartment.

The irony wasn't lost on me. I was literally standing beside him as he promised to love and cherish someone else. As he slipped the ring onto Katie's finger, I wondered if he was thinking about it too—about us, about what happened. Or if he'd conveniently forgotten, written it off as a drunken mistake that didn't count.

Watching the way he smiled at Katie, I wondered if he and one of his other groomsmen had a makeout session at the bachelor party. The thought made my stomach twist in a way I didn't want to examine too closely. The fact that I was standing right there, part of this wedding party, made it so much worse—like I was complicit in my own torment.

At the reception, we all danced like it was 1999. The DJ played everything from "Celebration" to "Uptown Funk," and the dance floor was packed with tipsy relatives doing their best moves. It was fun, actually—or it would have been if I weren't doing everything in my power to avoid Reese. But I felt like he made it his business to get into my orbit every chance he got. When I was at the bar, he appeared beside me to order a drink. When I was talking to my cousin near the cake table, he was suddenly there with Katie, her hand in his, introducing her to someone I'd never met.

We drank, we ate, we danced, and despite everything, we had a great time. For the first time ever, my parents and I lost the bet on how long Katie's relationship would last. We'd always had a running joke about her boyfriends—six months, maybe a year tops. But standing there, watching her glow in her white dress, even I had to admit this one might actually stick.

After the reception wound down, most people milled around the ballroom, not quite ready to let the night end. My parents had already gone back to their hotel room—my dad complaining about his feet, my mom already planning what she'd wear to brunch tomorrow. Katie and Reese had left a few hours ago in a flurry of sparklers and cheers, off to their honeymoon suite—they had an early morning flight to Hawaii. I was sure they were excited about the flight, about the honeymoon, about starting their new life together. But I was too busy getting hit on by the guy who worked at the front desk to think too much about it.

His name was Marcus, and he had dimples that appeared when he smiled. We were leaning against the lobby bar, and he was telling me about his plans to go back to school when his boss appeared—a stern-looking woman with a tight bun who gave him a look that said his break had ended ten minutes ago. He had to split, but not before slipping me his phone number on a hotel business card.

I could have gone home. My apartment was only twenty minutes away. But I'd already paid for the hotel room, and honestly, I'd assumed I'd be drunker than I was. The night felt unfinished somehow. Maybe I could get a hold of the night auditor, see if he was as cute as Marcus. Maybe I could go a few rounds with him and finally get Reese out of my head.

Once I got back to the room, I called down for room service. I was hoping for the night auditor to deliver it personally, but the voice on the other end was female and professional. I ordered chicken wings and fries—comfort food to soak up the champagne—and headed straight for the shower. It had been a long day, and I was eager to wash it all off me. The ceremony, the reception, the feeling of standing so close to Reese I could feel the heat coming off his body.

The shower was fine, nothing special. The water pressure was decent, but you'd think a place that cost this much would have washcloths that didn't feel like steel wool. I was scrubbing at my face when I heard a knock at the door.

"Hang on!" I yelled from the shower, my voice echoing off the tile.

I turned off the water and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around my waist as I made my way out of the bathroom and across the room to the door. Water dripped down my chest, pooling at my feet on the carpet. I assumed an order of chicken wings would buy me at least twenty minutes, and honestly, I questioned whether or not chicken could be cooked that fast, or if this was one of those situations where they'd been sitting there since nine this morning and someone had just stuck them in the microwave before bringing them upstairs.

"I'm coming," I said, adjusting the towel and grabbing the door handle.

As the door swung open, the color drained from my face.

"Hey there," he said.

My mouth went dry. "You're not room service."

"No, I'm not," Reese said. He was still wearing his tux, though he'd lost the jacket somewhere. His bow tie hung undone around his neck, and his white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. He looked like he'd been drinking—his eyes slightly unfocused, his cheeks flushed.

"What are you doing here?" My voice came out rougher than I intended. "Shouldn't you be with Katie consummating this whole thing?"

Instead of answering me, he just pushed me into the room and kissed me. His mouth was hot and tasted like whiskey, and for a second, I was too shocked to react. Then instinct took over. I grabbed the back of his head and pulled him deeper into my mouth, my fingers tangling in his hair. It was all instinct, muscle memory from that night at my apartment. Reese had barely been married for half a day, and here he was, kissing me like I was the last thing he was ever going to taste.

The door slammed shut behind us—I wasn't sure if he kicked it or if I did. My back hit the wall hard enough to knock a framed print askew, but I didn't care. Reese's hands were everywhere at once: one gripping my hip, the other sliding up my bare chest, his thumb brushing over my nipple. I gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound.

"Reese—" I managed to pull back just enough to speak, though his lips immediately found my neck. "What about Katie? What about—"

"Don't," he said against my skin, his voice rough and desperate. "Don't say her name right now."

The guilt twisted in my stomach, sharp and nauseating, but it was drowned out by the heat of his mouth on my throat, the way his teeth grazed my collarbone. This was wrong. This was so fucking wrong. He'd stood at an altar hours ago and promised himself to my sister, and now he was here, pressing me against the wall of a hotel room, his wedding ring cold against my skin.

But I couldn't stop. God help me, I couldn't stop.

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