In his opinion, it was someone else’s goddamned turn.
“Sugar,” he said, “it’s uh…”
Shit.
Brynne charged straight at him, arms out. “Oh my God! What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
She cupped her hand over his forehead, then cheek. Her touch, all that cool, soft skin, set his body on full alert. She had that way about her. The minute she touched him, he wanted her.
Every time.
The first day he’d hit on her she’d told him she’d sworn off men for five years. Five years! As if it was his fault her ex-husband was an idiot douchebag dumb enough to let Brynne get away. The only thing she’d kept from that asshole was his last name. Mostly because she liked the way Whitfield sounded. As opposed to Snodder, her maiden name.
Reid spent the last sixteen months convincing her not all men were scum and that, yes, she was beautiful—stunning even—with her curvy body and whip-smart brain.
Sixteen damned months.
And now, dipshit that he was, he had to explain to the once-rejected and humiliated love of his life why he needed hydration on their wedding day.
Gee, honey, I got wasted the night before I married you.
Even he couldn’t miss how bad it looked.
He lifted his hand and dragged it down his face while the IV tube rubbed against his forearm. He looked at her and her big brown eyes were on him, drilling down. Something in his chest collapsed.
“Brynne?”
Upon hearing his mother’s voice, all eyes shifted to her as she entered the room. Wasn’t this supremely excellent? The two women he loved most and he’d managed to disappoint both on the same day.
“Good morning,” Mom said. “I see my son wasn’t smart enough to leave before you arrived. Bad enough he’s still drunk.”
Oh, ouch. Thanks, Ma.
Ever so s-l-o-oh-oh-w-l-y—shit—Brynne faced him again, her head cocking left as she studied him. Jeez, his head hurt.
“You’re…drunk? Right now?”
Brynne’s mother joined the act, glaring hard at him. “He’s what?”
“I’m not drunk.”
Not totally. Partially. Maybe.
Shit.
He gave Gage some hard eye contact. The universal get-my-ass out of this look.
“Uh, no,” his buddy said. “Not drunk. Just, you know…”
A more unconvincing performance could not have happened.
“Hungover,” Brynne said.
The icy tone could have flash-frozen the devil himself.
The room went silent.
Behind them, Grif let out a loud clap. “Hey, we got a wedding to prep for. Let’s get back to it. Meantime, Reid can clean up. Brynne, Mrs. Snodder, how about some coffee?”
Mom’s gaze swung between Reid and Grif. “He’s right. Good idea, Grif.”
At least she hadn’t totally given up on him. She’d remind him of this for years, but, for now, she wanted this fiasco dealt with. Which, probably had more to do with people showing up and seeing Reid hooked to an IV, but, hey, whatever it took to end the misery.
Mrs. Snodder huffed. “You come to my daughter in this condition—on your wedding day—and I’m supposed to drink coffee? You should be ashamed. What kind of irresponsible and selfish man does this?”
Whoa. If his head hurt before, that just blew it clear off. His relationship with Brynne’s family had always been good. And, yeah, maybe he’d fucked up, but irresponsible and selfish? That might be extreme.
A flash of blue caught his eye. His mother coming closer and facing Brynne’s mom. “Now, hold on, Liz. He may have had an error in judgment, but don’t you dare call him either of those things. He’s good to your girl.” She paused and held up two hands. “Well, today notwithstanding. But, still, he’s my son and I’ll ask that you check yourself while in my home.”
Go, Mom. As much as his body groaned in protest, Reid sat a little taller. She might be royally pissed at him, but she was aces when it came to having his back. Family showed up. Every time.
Brynne’s mom gawked, then swung back. “Joan! Have you lost your mind? This is their wedding day and he’s—” she looked back, flapped a hand, “—a disaster!”
“Whoa, now. Everyone take a breath.” Grif, the guy who managed enough testosterone-flooded athletes to start his own football league, stepped between the Steele version of Mom Smackdown.
“Oh, I will,” Mom said. “But I’m not about to let this woman call my son names. I’m Joan Sullivan Steele and, as mad as I am, no one comes in here and does that.”
Wow. This day sure hadn’t started the way Reid had expected. Guilt shredding him, he peered at Brynne. “I’m sorry.”
For a few seconds, she stayed quiet, refusing to say anything and driving that last bit of guilt right into his skull before turning away from him.
Shit.
“Grif is right,” she said. “Everyone calm down. Miss Joan, my mother didn’t mean that.”
“I beg your pardon. I most certainly did. This is your wedding day.”
At last, Brynne laughed, but it was more of the kill-me-now kind. “I’m aware. Believe me.” She looked around the room at everyone. “Would y’all please give us a minute?”
Thank you, sweet baby Jesus.
While Grif ushered the women into the kitchen, Gage let out a grunt. “It’s never boring around here.” He turned to Brynne, set a hand on her shoulder. “Just so you know, he told the guys he didn’t want to get wasted.”
“And what? They forced it on him?”
“Actually, yeah. The more we drank, the more out-of-hand it got. Stupidity at its finest. At one point, he was tied to a chair with moonshine being poured down his throat.”
“My God. Y’all are animals.”
Gage nodded. “Sometimes. Don’t be too rough on him. I’ll head out back and see if they need help with anything.”
Reid, only half-terrified after his buddy appealed to Brynne on his behalf, watched Gage leave then turned to Brynne.
“Before you scream at me, I’m sorry. I swear to you, I’ll be good as new in an hour.”
“I’m mad at you.”
“I know.”
“You can thank Captain America for his little speech. He saved you.”
Reid swiped his hand over his brow and wound up swatting Brynne with the IV tube.
“Ach. Sorry.”
“It’s not even about getting drunk.”
It wasn’t? Now he was really confused. Holy hell, what else had he done wrong?
“You don’t even know, do you?”
Nope. Not a clue. Not that he’d admit it. He gave his head a hard shake and immediately regretted it. These fluids weren’t pumping nearly fast enough.
Brynne’s shoulders slumped. “All I wanted was for us to not see each other before the ceremony. I gave you a typed itinerary. And reminded you before I left last night.”
The itinerary. Reid closed his eyes, let out a breath. “Damn, babe. I’m sorry.”
How many times would he apologize today? Too many.
“Well, I guess it’s too late now.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“How? Are you going to miraculously unsee me?”
“I don’t know.”
All he could hope was the brand-spanking new SUV he bought her as a wedding gift would help. He’d worked his ass off for a year, and the training center had already started paying healthy dividends. Some of which he’d dumped into buying his girl her dream vehicle.
He wouldn’t go there as a way to save his ass, though.
She let out a sigh. “Well, you can start by getting this—” she pointed to the makeshift IV stand, “—finished and leaving. I have the entire bridal party coming. You can’t be here.”
A chance to escape. Perfect. He got to his feet and steadied himself as the room whirled and two of Brynne appeared. Double-vision now. Fantastic. “I’ll be at the bunkhouse if you need me. Okay?”
“Just go, Reid. A
nd pray I’m over this mad before seeing you again.”
* * *
The man was unbelievable.
Un-be-liev-a-ble.
She had to be insane to marry him.
After Reid left, Brynne stood in the living room taking deep breaths before facing her mother and Miss Joan in the kitchen. The last thing she wanted was to referee an argument on her wedding day.
Dammit, Reid.
“I should have stuck to swearing off men.”
Memories of the first time Reid had walked into her shop swarmed her angry brain. He’d just finished saving a bunch of baby ducks from getting run over on Main Street. The man was an absolute walking orgasm, all yummy muscles and trademark cockiness. Upon hearing of her vow of celibacy, he’d threatened to have her arrested for crimes against men.
He charmed her that day. Made her laugh like she hadn’t experienced since way before her first marriage fell apart. Even then, in spite of telling herself he was a player, she’d fallen a little bit in love.
Now, as much as she loved him, she could pummel him. Absolutely claw his eyes out. She’d have to deal with it later. After settling her mother down.
In the kitchen, the two women sat across from each other at the large farm table. Griff had taken the end seat, literally playing mediator.
As usual with the Steele brothers, Grif had no problem trying to fix his brother’s mess.
Three sets of eyes, all conveying completely different messages, peered up at her. Grif had that serious alpha-male sternness going, while Miss Joan’s carried enough heat to cook an ox. As for her own mother’s tight lips and locked jaw, Brynne hadn’t seen that since her ex-husband dumped her. Mom didn’t get mad all that often, but when she did, watch it.
And worse, she wasn’t the forgive-and-forget type. She might do the former, but never—ever—the latter. Brynne didn’t want the next few years filled with venomous looks at Reid.
“Where is he?” Mom asked.
Thus, it begins. “Mom, I love you. That being said, he has a name. Please use it.”
Was that a smile drifting across Miss Joan’s lips?
“Thank you, Brynne. You’re a good girl. Now where’s my idiot son?” She turned back to Brynne’s mom. “Just so we’re clear, I can call him an idiot. You can’t.”
“Ladies,” Grif said. “Please. It’s Brynne’s wedding day. Let’s not fight. Lord, this is twisted. Usually it’s my brothers I’m getting between.” He swung sideways and faced Brynne. “Seriously, I’m not believing this.”
She patted his shoulder. “When it comes to Reid, nothing should shock us.”
“True.”
“I’ll take it from here. Why don’t you head on home?”
He glanced back at the dug-in women at the table. “Are you sure? This is a tough crowd.”
Brynne snorted. “We’ll be fine. Besides, Gage is outside if I need reinforcements.”
As soon as he walked out the kitchen door, she moved to the counter where Miss Joan had a pot of her pecan coffee ready. She grabbed three mugs from the cabinet, filling them and shuttling them to the table. Then she went back for cream and sugar.
There might not be enough sugar in the universe to cover this fiasco.
“To answer both of your questions,” she said. “Reid went to the bunkhouse.”
Determined to not pick sides—pissing off her soon-to-be-mother-in-law in her own house would not be wise—Brynne slid into the chair Grif had vacated.
“Are you two…”
Whatever question Miss Joan intended on asking, she thought better of. Well, Brynne would take a guess. “Are we okay?” Brynne added.
“Of course they’re not,” Mom said. “The man is drunk!”
Sigh. “Mom, stop. Please. This isn’t helping.” She held her gaze for a few seconds then went back to Miss Joan. “I wouldn’t say that but I’ll get over it. There were things I wanted for today. One specific thing.”
“Like Reid being sober?”
Miss Joan’s normally warm hazel eyes turned coal black, and Brynne shot her hands up.
“Mother! Stop it before I throw you out of here. Do you not think this is stressful enough? I’m pissed at Reid and I have two women I love fighting. On my wedding day. Can you just give me a flipping break?”
All of a sudden, something inside her exploded. Pow. All the emotion—anger at Reid, the hurt from questioning why he chose to get drunk before marrying her, the disappointment he hadn’t done the one thing she’d asked—welled up in her chest and roared outward.
This shouldn’t be. Should it? All this yelling and arguing.
Not on her wedding day.
Brynne shoved out of the chair, knocking it backward and sending it clattering to the floor. She gasped and scooped up the chair. “I’m sorry. Miss Joan, I’m so sorry.”
Miss Joan reached for her, but Brynne backed away.
“Honey, it’s a chair. No harm done.”
Oh, plenty of harm had been done. The day had started out so perfect. The sunshine, the flowers, the gazebo. Too perfect. She should have known.
And, dammit, she hated pity parties.
He’d gotten drunk. So what? A lot of men partied the night before getting hitched.
Still, something deep inside, that ugly place where she’d locked every one of her insecurities split open, reminding her the man she adored had to get wasted before marrying her. Gage had covered for him with the story about being tied to a chair and forced to drink, but really? If he’d wanted to, Reid could have put a stop to it. He chose not to.
And that hurt.
Don’t go there.
Five minutes. That’s all she needed to clear her head. She spun around and left the kitchen, marching upstairs to Jonah’s old room where she’d lock herself in and get centered. Shake off this stress and negativity and try to enjoy the morning with her bridesmaids.
Then, maybe, she’d figure out how to forgive Reid for wrecking their wedding day.
4
Reid sat on the top step of his mother’s porch with his back against the rail and his pseudo IV stand beside him. His head still pounded, but the intensity had dropped to a sort-of throb versus a full bashing. But, damn, he still wasn’t feeling all that steady on his feet. Hopefully, by the time his drip finished, he’d be good to go.
He glanced up at the front door. He should march his ass back in, IV and all, and beg Brynne to forgive him. Sure, she’d told him to leave, but she hadn’t even made him sit through a lecture. What was that about?
And what kind of man walks out on the woman he’s about to marry without taking his punishment?
A scared one.
In his current state, he had no problem admitting it. On a normal day, the idea of losing his little Brynnie terrified him. Never mind her catching him half-wasted on their wedding day after he’d promised not to see her before the ceremony. Yeah, he’d blown that to bits. Just vaporized that son of a bitch.
“Reid.”
He peeled his gaze from the door. Rachael, Mac’s wife, stormed up the walkway toward him. She wore skinny jeans and a loose T-shirt that said “Go ahead, make my day.” Between the shirt and her stomping, Reid guessed this was another pissed off woman. She could join the club because there were plenty of those to go around today.
An angry Rachael was nothing new. Not by a long shot. From the first time Reid had met her, she’d been crabby. Her words were always nice, but there was a weird energy he could never get past. In the beginning, he thought it was him. Shocking as it was, some folks didn’t like him. After spending time with her at a few team functions, Reid came to realize she was just plain bitchy.
Already on alert, Reid straightened up. “Hey, Rachael. Good morning.”
She eyed the pole, the half-empty bag of fluid and shook her head. “Typical of you dumbasses. Where’s Mac?”
Bad enough his mother and Brynne ripped into him, now he had to hear it from her?
I don’t think so.
But
this was his friend’s wife and a guest. Reid calling Rachael out on her supreme bitchiness would only send his mother into another rant.
“He left. Said he was going back to the hotel.”
By now, Mac should have been there. Based on Rachael’s demeanor, the guy probably kept walking, right down the long drive to the road. And who’d blame him?
Defiant as always, she set one hand on her hip. “Well, he didn’t. As usual, I’m on my own. Even when he’s around, he’s not.” She eyed Reid a few seconds, a weird smile quirking her lips. “That stops today.”
What the hell did that mean?
She reached behind her and even in his compromised state, a warning buzz fired up his neck. Instincts roaring, he levered to his feet, fought a quick whirl of vertigo and loomed over her, forming a barrier to the front door. His family was inside and whatever mood Rachael was in, he didn’t want her poisoning an already amped-up situation.
“You okay?”
She snorted. “Am I?”
Reid focused on her moving arm as more of it became visible. Gun! She’d whipped a 9mm from behind her back. A Ruger SR9 he’d seen Mac fire hundreds of times.
She pointed the gun straight at him. Shit. Reid raised his hands in the classic stop signal. “Whoa.” He kept his voice even. “Let’s take a second here.”
He’d seen the business end of a weapon—wielded by angry villagers, whacked out military guys, and wannabe terrorists—enough times to know he should avoid certain words. Crazy being one of them.
She poked the gun at the door. “I came here looking for my husband. Apparently he’s not here so you’ll have to do. Inside. Right now.”
Not a chance in hell.
“Rachael,” he said, “there are a lot of people in there. There’s more in back setting up for the wedding. They’re everywhere.”
“That’s the point.”
“People who can reach a phone and call for help. Which’ll bring a whole lot of cops to our door and land you in a cell for even pointing that thing at me. Now, I think you’re pissed at Mac and—”
“Of course, I am. He said this trip would include family time. Ha! As if he even knows what that is. He’s never home, Reid. And I was excited to come here. The kids were too. A mini-vacation. But what does he do? Ditches us the second we get here. As usual, Val invited the kids to play with her brood and I’m alone. I’m done. Now, he’ll pay attention.”
Vowing Love Page 3