Can I Lean On You | Finley & Harlyn #2

Chapter 7

Harlyn

I knew that sharing a room with Marley and the other groomsmen would be chaotic, but my imagination could never have prepared me for the scene before me. Marley is digging frantically through his suitcase, tearing out items of clothing in search of...actually, I'm not sure what he's looking for. Christopher, Marley's best man and best friend from Uni is sprawled half dressed on the bed he shared with Jamie, the other groomsman, and is so very hungover. He's only just less hungover than Jamie who's throwing his guts up in the ensuite. I'm trying not to listen.

I'm a bit hungover as well, but at least I'm more dressed than anyone else. And I haven't thrown up.

"Marley, what are you looking for?" I ask, pulling my tie tight.

"My vows. I had them on a piece of paper, because I figured it would be a bit unromantic to read them off my phone in the church." He tosses a shirt over his head, and I catch it before it hits my face. "Now I don't remember where I put them."

I slide his vows forward on the dresser next to me. "You mean this piece of paper?"

He whips around, eyes wild and hair wilder. "Oh. Right. Thanks."

"Of course. You need to finish getting ready. We have pictures in fifteen minutes."

"What are you talking about? I'm ready." He snatches the paper and runs his eyes across the words he scrawled there.

"Marley." I snap my fingers in his face when he doesn't answer. "Marley!"

He finally looks up at me. "What?"

"You're not wearing pants," I inform him.

The realization dawns on him far too slowly for how behind we are, so I yank his tux pants off the hanger and dangle them in his face. It seems to finally jumpstart his brain, and he pulls them on over his boxers and starts adding all the extra bits.

I knock on the bathroom door when there is a hopeful lull in the vomiting. "James? You going to make it, mate?"

"Yup." The toilet flushes. "Coming right out."

"Alright." I move to the bed next and nudge Christopher's bare shoulder. He's undressed from the top up, suspenders up over a bare chest. "Chris, mate, up and at 'em. Natalie will kill you if you're late for pictures."

He stumbles from the bed and, well, stumbles into the sofa.

Marley snorts. "I should've asked you to be my best man, Harley. At least you're not a drunk."

"I'm not a drunk," Christopher moans from the floor. "I'm just...an enthusiastic partier."

"Well, enthusiastic partier or not, you need to be downstairs in ten minutes," I tell him. "You hear that Jamie?" There's an incoherent mumble from the bathroom. "Alright, I'll take that as a yes. I'm going to go down and let everyone know that you're all disappointments."

I dodge Marley's sock that he chucks at me and slip out the door. The inn is once again bustling, and I skirt around two different bridesmaids on my way down the stairs. Seems they're running late, too. And when I tell the photographer, Natalie, Christopher's fiancée, she doesn't seem surprised.

"No worries. I told them to be down here twenty minutes before I actually needed them, because I knew this would happen." She squares her shoulders. "I'll go get his head out of his ass."

I snort and watch her trot up the stairs. The kitchen is my next target. I know there are sandwiches set out for us to eat before we head to the church, and I am starving. When I enter the kitchen, however, I'm greeted by a very surprising sight. Finley is standing on the other side of the massive butcher block island, flanked by Mel's grandmothers, my Nan, and Elly. His white shirt's sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and he's wrist deep in a pan of meat and rub. And he's laughing.