Finding Love /Jordan Knight FanFic/NKOTB

II

Jordan

The day before

SLOWING DOWN, I pull up to the entrance of the plantation, glancing again at the navigation screen and Jon's text to make sure I'm in the right place. In front of me is a sprawling wrought iron gate with the name Lawson scripted into it, and there's a guard house just before manned by four police officers, two standing on each side.

As I roll down the window, a cool earthy breeze fills the inside of the car, reminding me I'm no longer in Tampa, and one of the officers approaches. He doesn't smile or frown, his demeanor neutral, but there's something about an officer walking toward you, no matter where you are or what you're doing, that's unsettling.

"Evening, sir, how can I help you?" He leans over to get a better view of me.

I look away from him and down the long oak-canopied driveway. For a split second, I wonder what the hell I'm doing here, and then remember I promised Jon, my younger brother, I would come see him.

"I'm here for the rehearsal dinner and the wedding," I say, looking back at him and forcing myself not to stutter or shiver on the last word.

"Identification, please." He holds out his hand.

Reaching into the center console, I grab my wallet and pull out my driver's license. When he takes it from me, my fingers tighten around the steering wheel. Growing up where I did, it was never a good thing when cops were involved, and although this is a completely different situation, old memories stir up old feelings, and some things never change.

The radio of one of the officers crackles and a garbled voice comes through. I don't understand what the person is saying, but it's enough to make my already agitated nerves even more jumpy.

The thing is, in addition to hating cops, I also hate weddings. Just the word alone makes me want to turn around and drive the other way. I'll never understand why people feel the need to legally attach themselves to someone else. Don't get me wrong, I love relationships—the kind that are easygoing, free of expectations, and filled with hours of endless fun. Why anyone wants to give that up for a joint bank account and shared bills, I'll never understand.

Watching the cop, I see his eyebrows rise in surprise and his eyes flicker back to me. He recognizes my name, and his gaze quickly travels over me and my car for confirmation before typing something on the iPad he's holding. This is crazy. Where am I, and who are these people that they need this type of security?

Jon called three days ago to tell me he was flying from NYC to Savannah for a wedding. His friend apparently surprised him last minute with a plane ticket, so when he asked me if I would drive up and be his plus one, I didn't hesitate in saying yes. Savannah is only five and a half hours from Tampa at the most, an easy drive, but what he didn't tell me is that this friend who's getting married appears to be some kind of Southern royalty.

Grabbing my phone, I shoot Jon a text, and he replies almost immediately.

Me: Meet me out front in 5, at the gate.

Jon: K

"All right, sir, you're all set." He hands me back my license. "If you'll just follow the drive about a mile down, an attendant will be there to assist you with overnight parking."

I nod, roll up the window, and begin to drive forward as the gate swings open.

Large oaks line the driveway. They're beautiful but covered with moss, making the canopy thick and dense. Sunlight streaks through the branches here and there, but since it's late afternoon, the drive is mostly dark and creepy. I should have asked who this friend of Nate's is, but I was so excited at the possibility of seeing him, the details were unimportant.