As the wedding date approached, you grew wan and tired—stress, I told myself, but looking back, I wonder if Annaleigh wasn’t already sinking her teeth into you. Whenever I saw you in the mornings before work, you’d be dragging yourself to get started, a cup of coffee grasped tightly in both hands, your tie askew and hair disheveled. You looked scary, man. Once I pressed the back of my hand to your cheek and asked, “Are you sleeping okay? God, you’re burning up.”
You brushed away my concern. “I’m fine. Annaleigh keeps me up all night.”
“Doing what?” I almost didn’t want to know.
The leer you threw my way looked worn out. I was right, I didn’t want to know.
Since I was the best man, the task of throwing you a bachelor party fell to me. Problem was, Annaleigh wanted a small wedding, so I
