After paying a small fortune to park, Brooke and I quickly navigate through the rows of cars in the parking lot, rushing up to the ER entrance. It's that weird time of day where it's either really early or really late. I should be tired, but I'm more wired than anything; practically high off a post-sex buzz, mingled with a shot of adrenaline from Brendan's call.

A glimpse through the window reveals Brendan sitting in the corner of the waiting area on his phone. When the double doors slide open, he glances up and walks over to greet us, embracing each of us in a hug.

He doesn't seem to think twice about the fact that we've shown up together. If we circle back to that topic later, I have my explanation carefully prepared and mentally rehearsed, but right now I'm more worried about making sure they're both okay. In nearly ten years of knowing Brendan, I've never seen him so rattled.

"How's she doing?" Brooke asks, muffled by his sweater-clad shoulder.

Brendan releases her, raking a hand through his sandy blond hair. He looks terrible, which I suppose is to be expected since he clearly hasn't slept and was just involved in a motor vehicle collision.

"She was conscious and coherent," he says. "But she's sleeping right now. They want to observe her for awhile before they discharge her."

"How are you doing?" I ask pointedly. "Have you slept? Or eaten? Or even had a drink of water?"

Brendan sighs, shrugging aimlessly, which I take as a no.

Brooke studies him for a moment with a sympathetic frown. She reaches over, touching his arm. "Look, Bren. I'll stay here in case she wakes up and Mom should be here any minute as well. You two go grab some coffee. Maybe get something to eat to soak up all that alcohol from last night, too."

"That's a good idea," I agree. "I saw a 24-hour diner across the street when we pulled in. It's bound to be better than hospital cafeteria food. That way, we can come right back if you need to."

Brendan's eyes dart between us and the swinging doors that lead to the back of the ER where Vidya has been admitted to a room. He looks guilty, like some part of him wants to go but he thinks he shouldn't.

"I'll keep Vidya company the minute she wakes up. Besides, she would tell you to go," Brooke points out. Brendan's expression turns mildly pained, because he knows she's right.

"Okay... But we won't go for long. Call me if you need anything."

"I will."

We start to head for the doors at a glacial pace, with Brendan practically dragging his feet every step of the way. Halfway to the doors, he stops, glancing back over his shoulder again. "Promise?"

"Promise," Brooke calls out. Pacified by her response, he begins to assume a more normal walking pace.

Crisp morning air greets us as we step outside. Moments later, we come to stand at the corner, waiting for the pedestrian crossing signal to change. Brendan's clothes are rumpled, still unchanged from the night before, and it hits me that I am also in the same clothing from last night. If he asks why, I'm going to have to lie and say I was with someone else.

We watch the cars zoom by in a blur, neither of us speaking. Worry creeps into the corners of my mind.

"Are you okay?" I ask again. Normally, Brendan is a chatty guy; he can't go half a minute without making small talk about the weather.

He shakes his head, avoiding my gaze and looking straight ahead. "I don't know." The pedestrian signal changes and we begin to cross. "I feel like it's my fault."

"It's not your fault. You weren't even driving." I pull open the door to Sal's Diner, letting him go first. The diner is 50s-themed, with nostalgic decor and golden oldies playing in the background. A handful of tables are occupied by what appears to be hospital staff in various uniforms, with their IDs hanging from lanyards around their necks.

"Exactly," he says, scanning the diner. It appears to be a free-for-all seating situation, so we grab a red vinyl booth a couple feet away, beneath the window. "I should have been the one driving. But I wasn't, because I was a drunken idiot."

He's always so hard on himself; always has been. It's hard for me to empathize with because it's not something I tend to struggle with much.

I grab two menus, handing him one across the table. "It was your birthday, man. You're allowed to cut loose once in awhile."

Brendan huffs a sound of disagreement but doesn't say anything further. Our conversation veers into small talk about his work and the new locations for the fitness studio. He checks his phone three times to ensure the ringer is on and to verify that he hasn't missed any calls or texts from Brooke.

After a few minutes of waiting, it's clear our server is in no hurry to tend to us and I excuse myself to use the washroom. When I return, a steaming cup of black coffee sits waiting on the speckled white formica table.

"Thanks," I tell Brendan. Apparently, our server decided to materialize in the small window of time when I was gone.

"Thought you could use it."

"You thought right." Guilt stirs in the pit of my stomach. Brendan is a saint, which makes my own, less than saintly, actions last night—not to mention, on New Year's—seem even worse in light of this current situation.

Wrapping my fingers around the white ceramic mug, I close my eyes and inhale deeply, taking a sip of the blessed brew. I swear that I can hear angels singing as the caffeine works its way into my system.

Brendan reaches over, checking his phone again. He locks it again with a sigh.

"So what did the doctors say, exactly?" I ask before our conversation can drift into where I was or why I look the way that I do.

He wets his lips. "She's got a mild concussion. That's what they wanted to observe for a little longer. Bruised ribs, too. Nothing broken, luckily."

"But you said she was okay before you left?" I reach over and grab two menus from the holder, passing one to him. Concussions are a bitch; I've had a few in my day and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. They're far more debilitating than most people realize.

"Yeah, she was before she fell asleep. Then she shooed me out. Said I was hovering too much."

Perfectly on brand. Despite the situation, I have to fight back a smile, because that's exactly something Brendan would do.

"I'm glad you're both okay."

Brandon studies me for a moment from across the table. "You know, you don't look so hot yourself. I thought I'd be the sad sack out of us two."

Gotta love that good old best friend honesty.

I take another sip of coffee, eyeing him over the rim. I could say the same for him, but I won't. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot, his under-eye area is purple and puffy, and his skin has that unmistakable morning-after pallor.

And while I'm also running on zero sleep, the adrenaline coursing through my body has compensated for that. In fact, I feel pretty good. There's a definite spring in my step. Getting laid twice in 24 hours will do that for you. Especially getting laid like that.

"Late night," I say, and immediately regret it. What the fuck am I doing?

Brendan's gaze probes me and I suddenly feel oddly exposed, like he will know I was balls-deep in his little sister a couple of hours ago. "Really? What did you end up doing after On Tap?"

"Drove Brooke home and then Holly called, so I went by her place." I look down at the laminated yellow menu in front of me, pretending to study the options. Brendan knows I've hooked up with Holly a handful of times, so this should seem like a plausible explanation.

When I glance up to verify whether he's buying it, he juts his chin at me, giving me a wry smile. "Is that why you're missing a button?"

Shit. I'd forgotten all about that. Glancing down, I confirm that I am still missing the button Brooke accidentally ripped off last night. It's one right in the middle, too, so my dress shirt is gaping open just above my stomach.

"She got a little carried away," I explain, inwardly cringing at the fact that we're discussing his sister.

"With you, I should have known." Brendan laughs and shakes his head. "Sorry if I interrupted anything."

Oh great, now he's the one apologizing to me. I'm such an asshole.

"Don't apologize for that," I tell him gruffly.

Just then, our server walks and heaves a loud sigh, tapping the pencil against the pad he's holding. "You ready to order?"

Our presence seems to be annoying him. Or maybe he just resents the 1950s style uniform and hairstyle that the diner requires. At any rate, it seems wise to order quickly rather than risk pissing off a link in the chain of custody of my meal.

"Uh, sure. I'll have the..." I scan the menu at warp speed. "Early riser. Scrambled eggs, whole wheat toast, bacon for the meat. Well-done bacon, if possible. Thanks."

"Right." He doesn't bother to write it down. It is unclear why he carries the pen and paper around, if not to take orders, but I am hopeful that he has a stellar memory. In my precarious mental state, I am not sure I can stomach the sight of runny egg yolks or limp, slimy bacon if the order goes wrong. He turns to Brendan, a bored look on his face. "And you?"

Brendan's skin is now a shade of pale chartreuse. After all that he drank last night, I suspected that eating this early might have been a little ambitious.

"I'll just have the same," he says, forcing a weak smile. I doubt he will eat much, if anything.

With that, the server aggressively flips his notepad shut and marches off.

Brendan leans his elbows on the table, his mouth pulling into a frown. "Wait, how did Brooke get here?"

Alert. Alert. Alert. My hands go from slightly unsteady to full-on vibrating. I disguise it by flipping open the menu again, pretending to study the beverage options with a sudden interest in the non-alcoholic cocktails.

I've faced down world-class poker players and won. Why the hell am I on the verge of losing my cool right now?

"I drove her. She texted me for a ride since she'd been drinking earlier." The fact that we were already together is on a need-to-know basis, and Brandon definitely does not need to know—especially right now.

"Thanks, man." But then it clicks and his eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. "Wait. What? You two were in a car together alone again? And no one died? You don't have any stab wounds to show for it?" He takes a sip of coffee, digesting this information.

"It was tough, but we behaved like mature adults." In more ways than one.

"Good." Brendan falls quiet and fidgets with his paper napkin, folding it into some kind of origami shape as he avoids meeting my eyes. He's building up to something he doesn't want to talk about. Clenching my jaw, I brace myself for the question that will be next. "Actually, speaking of Brooke, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

Even though I saw it coming, it didn't prepare me fully. I inhale my coffee mid-sip, starting to choke.

Brendan looks at me with concern and slides my glass of water across the table over to me. I manage to stop hacking long enough to take a sip, which only partially helps, and then I cough for a few more seconds.

Clearing my throat, I take another sip of water to buy myself some time. I'm fucked.

He studies me, waiting. "You going to survive?"

Surprisingly calm, really, considering he's about to kick my ass.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I wave my hand, trying to hide the fact that my blood pressure is within stroke territory. "Just went down the wrong pipe. Anyway, continue. What about Brooke?" Time to face the firing squad.

Brendan reaches over, checking his phone again before he continues. Waiting for him to continue is agony.

He glances up at me, brow drawn together. "Before Vidya fell asleep, she made me promise that we would still have the wedding as planned. But with her out of commission for awhile, that means Brooke will have been more responsibility. And you know she isn't good with... details. Or money." He winces, because that's putting it mildly. Brooke is good at lots of things, but organization and budgeting aren't on that list.

Wait, this is about the wedding? Relief washes over me, until I process what he just said.

Oh no. No, no, no. Then I'll be forced to interact with Brooke on a regular basis. That would have been bad enough when it was a Garden of Eden scenario, but now that I've eaten the forbidden fruit, I'm not sure I can control myself around her in a public setting.

Not to mention what to do about our personal lives. I haven't even figured out how to handle Brendan's wedding. Drink myself into oblivion? What if Brooke brings a date? Should I bring a date? I'm pretty sure I shouldn't. But what if she does bring one? I have never been so unsure of how to proceed with a woman. I've fucked myself right into a corner.

I snap back to reality and Brendan is staring at me expectantly, waiting for a response. Fumbling for words, I manage to force out, "Brooke? Why?"

Brendan shoots me a bewildered look. "Because she's the Maid of Honour and you're the Best Man? I mean, I'll pitch in too, of course. It'll be a team effort. Vidya is dead set on not postponing the wedding, and with everything that just happened, taking care of the details for her is the least I can do."

I nod silently, grasping for a response that doesn't require explaining the tangled web I've woven, or the fact that Brooke left nail marks on my shoulders when I went down on her last night.

He interprets my silence as reluctance and adds, "I know things have been contentious between you two in the past. But it seems like it's a lot better lately. You said so yourself."

"Is it too late to hire a wedding planner?" I drop my voice and try to keep a level tone to avoid provoking a defensive reaction. "I'll cover it. You could consider it my wedding gift to you both."

"Look," Brendan says. "I'm going to level with you. I was going to throw some cash her way for the trouble. Wedding planners are insanely expensive. If I'm going to be paying someone through the nose to help plan, I'd rather it be Brooke. She needs it."

I grunt, saying nothing. Vetoing this would be hard to justify, especially to Brendan. But keeping my shit together is going to be twice as hard if I'm around her all the time. Other things are going to be hard, too. Constantly.

Brandon cocks his head with a puzzled frown. "What's your problem with my sister, anyway? You're always so hard on her."

This is going sideways on me. I need to think of a legitimate objection that can't be construed as overt personal. It is going to be a stretch, but that won't stop me from trying.

"Are you sure we can rely on her to help plan? Even you have to admit that Brooke can be a little flaky."

"Oh, I see what this is about now."

"What do you mean?" My heart nearly gives out altogether. Hiding this from him is exhausting and it's only been one week.

Part of me wishes I could come clean, but then he'd ask what my intentions are with her—and I haven't got the faintest fucking clue. Just the idea of committing to anyone has always made me break out in hives. And somehow, I don't think a "situationship" with his sister would be an acceptable answer.

His jaw tenses. "Don't you think it's awfully hypocritical for you of all people to judge someone based on their personal life?" Harsh, but not an entirely unwarranted observation.

"That's not what I'm doing."

Our server returns, wordlessly sliding two plates of food in front of us. My bacon is on the slimy side but given his apparent disdain for handling customers, I decide to let it go.

"Sure is." Brendan has always been your typical protective older brother, right down to hating Brooke's ex. I hated that guy too, but for dramatically different reasons.

"I'm sorry." I shake my head, adjusting my dress

shirt in an effort to conceal the gap. It's hopeless. I've never gone out in public looking so disheveled before. Guess it matches my mental state. "I'm sleep deprived, not trying to be difficult."

His tone softens, combativeness across his face fading partially. "I know Brooke can be a little flaky, but she has a good heart. I just need you to help her so she doesn't get completely overwhelmed."

"What do you need the two of us to take care of specifically?" Vidya is uber-organized so I already know she has a detailed spreadsheet. At least it won't be difficult to pick up where she left off.

He gives me an apologetic look, leaning back against the metallic red vinyl booth. "The menu tasting, the cake, the flowers... there's lots left to do, unfortunately."

"Whatever you need, I've got it handled."

If you thought they were stuck together before...