pray for a miracle.
Forever an optimist, Celya stayed next to her side and insisted. “Everything is going to be all right. You’ll see.” She smiled and squeezed her daughter’s shoulders.
Despite her struggle not to succumb, a tear skipped down Victoria’s face.
So much for that damn brick wall.
Chapter 3
Eamon woke feeling like he was riding an out-of-control carousel. So much so that it was difficult for him to even lift his head. He lay still, trying to recall his last moments of consciousness—without much success. He certainly remembered making a ridiculous agreement with his brothers to babysit their spoiled cousin, Quentin. And there were vague memories of him rejoining the Hendersons’ bachelor party. Looks were deceiving when it came to those New York Wall Street types. Those men really knew how to party. That was saying something from a man who specialized in running bachelor parties.
Bachelor Adventures was his brainchild and operated as a side business for The Dollhouse. There was definitely a market for this type of service and it struck Eamon as a no-brainer when he’d read how much the wedding business actually made. But with everything primarily geared toward the brides, it seemed only logical to give the grooms’ last night of singlehood the sort of send-off it deserved. It took some time, but soon word-of-mouth spread among soon-to-be-married guys like a modern underground railroad. They came from near and far, filling The Dollhouse’s calendar in all three club locations resulting in an extensive waiting list.
So what in the hell happened last night that resulted in him sleeping on a floor? The floor?
At last, Eamon’s eyes fluttered open and verified that he was indeed curled up on a carpeted floor. Despite the spinning and the pounding going on in his head, he forced himself to glance around. He found little comfort in the fact that there were at least twenty other people sleeping among throw pillows, colorful fabric that he thought he recalled one of the belly dancers wearing, food, shoes—hell, the list went on and on. The bottom line was the place was wrecked.
“Neah. Neah.”
Eamon slowly turned his head and came face-to-face with a billy goat. “Morning.”
“Neah. Neah.” The goat responded and then with his thick tongue he proceeded to lick Eamon’s face.
“Eeeww.” Eamon jumped back and tried to wipe the foul-smelling saliva from his face. It was nowhere near enough to make him feel clean so he hopped up, spinning room and pounding temples be damned, and went in search of the bathroom. It required him jumping over quite a few sleeping bodies. The hotel suite’s wreckage continued as he made his way to the bathroom and still he had no recollection of all that went on last night. Had he hit his head or something?
Amazingly the bathroom had survived whatever shenanigans they had indulged in last night and it was thankfully empty. He went straight for the sink and started splashing cold water on his face. It was an instant relief to soothe his headache and to wash away his unusual morning kiss. After he shut off the water and grabbed a towel, he finally took a look at his reflection in the mirror.
“What in the hell?” He leaned in close because he didn’t quite trust his eyes. But he wasn’t seeing things. Someone had written in permanent marker across his face: BOY TOY. Eamon took the towel and roughly rubbed at his forehead. The words remained. “No. No. No.”
But it didn’t matter how many times he pleaded or rubbed his forehead raw, the bold letters stayed stubbornly in place.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Eamon jumped and then turned toward the door. “Who is it?”
“How long are you going to be in there, man? I gotta pee,” a woman whined.
Eamon gave himself one last look in the mirror and then tossed the towel down. “Here I come.” He opened the door and the unidentified woman raced in and hopped on the toilet before he had a chance to clear the threshold. Shaking his head, he closed the door behind him and went on to try and inspect the damage.
A few more people were starting to stir, a couple of them had more to do with the goat licking their faces and the others just look like extras in a zombie film.
“Damn. What the hell happened?” one of the men he recognized from the bachelor party asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Eamon told him. Though everything was a mess, he didn’t see anything broken. That definitely came in handy in case the hotel came after him and The Dollhouse.
“What time is it?” the guy asked, looking at his wrist and seeming disappointed to discover that he didn’t have on a watch.
Eamon thought he’d help by looking at his own watch, but his was gone, too. “It’s a hair past a freckle, apparently.” He glanced around on the floor.
“Ohmigod! The wedding! Where’s Marcus?”
“That’s a good question.” Eamon started looking around at the faces on the floor, but didn’t see the groom anywhere. “I guess he has to be around here somewhere.”
They worked their way around the living room and then finally headed back to the master bedroom. However, the moment he opened the door, something came whizzing toward Eamon’s head. He ducked but the object hit the man behind.
“Ooof!”
Eamon shut the door and turned around. “Are you okay, man?”
The dude placed a hand over his left eye for a moment and then declared, “I’m okay. What the hell was that?”
They looked down to see that it was only a plastic bowl full of colored popcorn. Then something else hit the closed door, drawing their attention.
“What the hell is in there?” Eamon asked, almost afraid to try to open the door again.
“I think I saw a monkey,” the brother behind him offered.
“A monkey?” he asked for clarification. I don’t remember a monkey being ordered.
“Robert!” Another brother from the bachelor party called out and then raced down the hallway to join them. “Man, we’re missing the wedding.”
Robert, the monkey-bowl victim, shook his head. “I don’t think there’s a wedding without the groom.”
“Is he in there?” the guy asked.
“We’re just about to check, but he might have been killed by a raging monkey.”
That explanation succeeded in making the new guy look just as confused as they were.
“Okay,” Eamon said, starting to crouch before he opened the door again. “Everyone, be prepared to duck.”
“That warning would’ve come in handy the last time,” Robert snipped.
“Sorry.” Eamon turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open.
Oooooh ooohhh aaaah aahhh!
Sure enough there was a white-face capuchin monkey, clearly losing his mind while he jumped up and down in the center of the bed. Eamon found himself echoing his brother from last night.
“Now, there’s something that you don’t see every day.”
“With good reason,” Robert whispered. “Do you see Marcus anywhere?”
While the monkey was busy having a fit, Eamon glanced around the bedroom and came up empty. “No. He’s not in here.”
At the sound of his voice, the monkey whipped his head around and with lightning speed, grabbed one of the bed’s pillows and hurled it at him. Though Eamon wasn’t normally afraid of pillows, he quickly jerked back and slammed the door again before the fluffy bomb smacked him in the face.
Exhaling as if he’d just saved their lives, he turned toward the men and asked, “Is