Chapter 2: Whiskey, Laughter, and Red Flags

"Wishing the newlyweds a baby on the way!"

“Ryan, take it easy tonight! We all know you’ve been single for over twenty years—don’t go wild, man!”

Someone hollered, raising a red Solo cup, and the crowd cackled, laughter bouncing off the walls. My cheeks burned—not just from the whiskey, but from the way everyone watched, waiting for me to snap. I wanted to crawl under the bed, but I had to stand there, grinning like it was all just a joke.

On Emily’s wedding night, I was shoved into the master bedroom by a crowd of relatives and friends.

They cheered and snapped pictures, nudging me forward like I was about to take the stage at a comedy club. The doorframe rattled with the noise, and for a moment, I felt like a kid again, caught in the crossfire of someone else’s prank.

“Tonight’s worth a million bucks! Hurry up, we’ll leave you two alone!”

My good friend Marcus winked at me, about to close the door, when a big foot jammed itself in the doorway.

“Hold up, what’s the rush? The night’s just getting started—hey, let go!”

Jake, Emily’s childhood friend, pried Marcus’s hand off the door and barged in.

He stumbled in with a swagger, smelling of cheap whiskey and aftershave, his cheeks red from drink and bravado. A couple of groomsmen groaned under their breath, rolling their eyes as he muscled his way inside, making sure everyone was still watching.

“Come on, man, it’s already nine, the newlyweds have been running around all day and are beat. Can’t we skip the pranks tonight?”

Marcus tried to drag him out, but Jake shot him a look of pure annoyance.

“C’mon, you really think I’m here to mess with you? Relax, man.”

He slurred the words, but there was a sharpness in his glare. The way he said it, I could tell he wasn’t just playing for laughs.

Marcus scowled.

I shot him a look and stepped up to greet Jake myself.

I put on my best host smile—the one you save for awkward family reunions—and squared my shoulders. No sense letting this get out of hand in front of everyone.

“Jake, haven’t you had enough to drink yet?”

Jake, reeking of whiskey, clapped me on the shoulder.

The slap was a little too hard, a little too familiar, but I forced myself not to flinch. His breath was thick with bourbon—cheap, sweet, and cloying.

“I’ve had plenty.”

“Ryan, congrats—you married our old high school queen.”

“But…”

Jake raised a finger, eyes glassy with booze.

“But don’t forget, Emily’s my best friend. Even though you’re her husband now, when it comes to status… hic~”

He hiccupped loudly.

The crowd giggled at his sloppiness, but something in his tone made my stomach twist. I glanced at Emily, but she just looked annoyed, like she’d seen this all before.

Emily quickly stepped over.

She moved fast, cutting through the crowd to put herself between Jake and me. I caught a flash of real worry in her eyes—a warning, maybe?

“Jake, you’ve had enough. What are you all standing around for? Get him out of here and let him sleep it off!”

A few of Emily’s friends tried to help, but Jake shook them off stubbornly.

He shrugged them off, arms flailing, nearly knocking a lamp off the nightstand. The guests tensed, not sure whether to laugh or step in.

“Let go, I’m not drunk!”

“Em…”

He leaned on Emily’s shoulder and dragged her to the bed. After flopping down, he brazenly wrapped his arm around her waist.

He sprawled across the comforter, looking up at her with the kind of goofy, helpless smile you only see in old wedding photos, except this was anything but innocent. The room went dead quiet, everyone waiting to see what I’d do.

Marcus looked ready to tackle him. I stopped him and said to Jake, “Take your hand off.”

My voice came out low and steady, but inside, I was on fire. The laughter faded into awkward silence. Even my own hands shook a little as I tried to keep my cool in front of the whole family.

My forehead veins were throbbing, but I tried to keep it together. With all our friends and relatives here, I didn’t want to make a scene.

The pressure was suffocating, like I was being dared to explode. The last thing I wanted was for our wedding night to end in a brawl—or, worse, on someone’s Instagram live feed.

The door slammed shut, and the laughter faded. All that was left was the echo of Jake’s words—and the sick feeling that tonight had just begun.