Dax

by Sawyer Bennett

  “Pizza is great,” I assure him, marveling at how at ease I’m feeling in his kitchen right now. As Dax pulls down some paper plates and I nab bottled water from the fridge, I start a mental shopping list for a grocery run I’ll make tomorrow.

  Dax serves up gooey slices of New York-style pizza, and we sit side by side at the island. He nods toward several plastic bags of varying sizes. “There’s a bunch of gift certificates in those bags for you. Target, Bed Bath and Beyond. Stuff like that. I want you to go out and get whatever you need to make your room your own. Decorate it, buy a fluffy comforter… whatever. I want this to be a real home to you.”

  I freeze with a pizza slice halfway to my mouth, a sudden rush of prickles causing my eyelids to flutter against what I think might be a huge wave of tears. When I don’t respond, Dax’s head swivels. His eyes are expectant before they fill with concern.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks suddenly.

  I shake my head, still frozen in place and staring at him over the pizza in my hand. I’m vaguely aware of a dollop of melted cheese falling to my plate. Tears start to cloud my vision. Before Dax turns totally blurry, I see awareness in his expression as he starts shaking his head adamantly.

  “Don’t,” he orders with authority, setting his pizza down. I start blinking the wetness away when he growls, “Don’t start fucking crying on me, Regan. I can’t handle it.”

  “I won’t,” I mutter hoarsely, dropping my gaze and my slice of pizza to the plate. A tear drops on the back of my hand.

  “Fuck,” Dax rumbles. The next thing I know, his arm is hooked around me and he’s dragging me off my stool into his embrace. He wraps me up in a huge bear hug, coming off his stool and squeezing tightly. I feel his mouth on my head when he murmurs, “I know things are really hard on you right now, and I’ve made things even worse by dragging you here. I’m sorry, but this is the right thing to do.”

  “I’m not upset about that,” I say into his chest, then pull my head away so I can look up at him. “Honestly… I’m okay with that. It’s just… you telling me you want this to feel like a home got to me. I didn’t think “home” was a real concept right now. Not with Lance dead.”

  “You have a home here with me,” he assure me. “You’re safe, and you’re not alone.”

  It’s a powerful statement. Coupled with the fact we’re supposedly going to hit up the courthouse tomorrow to get married, it strikes me a little more personally than it should.

  Luckily, he tempers that by saying, “You have to know, my parents would do the same. So would Willow if she ever stayed still long enough to have a home, and, of course, Meredith would be over the moon if you wanted to stay with her. The whole Monahan family is here for you, Regan, if you let us.”

  And I know that’s true. Deep in my gut, I know there isn’t a single Monahan who wouldn’t dig deep to help me pay for my treatment or welcome me into their family as if I belonged. Dax’s mom and dad, Linda and Calvin, came to Lance’s funeral, and while they didn’t know my secret, they offered their home up if I wanted to just get away from things for a while. Linda had said, “Come home with us. Let me baby you for a while.”

  I take in a sharp breath, willing the tears to recede, and damn… why does Dax have to smell so good?

  Pushing out of his embrace, I rub my hands over my face. “Sorry. Just… stop being so damn nice, and I won’t cry. Okay?”

  Dax chuckles, accepting my admonishment as a way to cover up my embarrassment over being a baby in front of him. I point at his plate. “Now sit. Eat.”

  He winks at me as he does as I say. “You’re going to be one of those bossy, demanding wives, aren’t you?”

  “On the contrary, I’m so grateful for what you’re doing, I’ll pretty much just be your slave to do with what you’d like.”

  I meant it in jest—perhaps imagining a Cinderella-type thing where I’d be in rags scrubbing the floor. But something flashes in Dax’s eyes, so brief perhaps I didn’t really see it at all, and I immediately think of something a lot different.

  Naked bodies, twisted limbs, and me doing something incredibly dirty to Dax to show my gratitude for what he’s doing for me.

  I blink hard and pick up my pizza, taking a mouthful so huge it’s a good minute before I’m able to finish chewing so I can swallow. A full minute of silence goes by while Dax continues to eat as well.

  Just as it starts to feel awkward, Dax’s cell phone starts vibrating on the white-and-gray flecked granite countertop. We both glance toward it, and I see a picture of Willow’s face pop up. She has the same mink-colored hair as her brother, but her golden-brown eyes are a few shades lighter than Dax’s.

  Dax taps on the green button to connect the call, then hits the speaker option. “You’re on speaker phone, Will,” he says by way of warning, which with Willow is a good move. She has no filter. “Regan’s sitting beside me.”

  “Reg-a-licious,” she yells into the phone with bubbling excitement. “I cannot wait to see you. I’ll be in on Friday.”

  “Can’t wait to see me either, right?” Dax says, shooting me a grin.

  “Nope,” Willow retorts. “Pretty sure all my enthusiasm is for the Reg-i-rator.”

  I snicker and smile at the phone, even though she can’t see me. I’m totally warmed by her use of nicknames she used to call me when we were younger. I was the youngest out of all the Miles and Monahan tribes. Willow is four years older than me at twenty-six, Dax is twenty-seven—the same age as Lance had been when he died—and Meredith is the oldest at twenty-nine, the only one married and settled with kids.

  But the age difference between me and the others was large. Willow, Lance, Dax, and Meredith were all in a tight group, and I was four years behind them. That meant Willow and Lance dated briefly, Meredith was the older sister who would buy them alcohol before they turned of age, and I was the one who got silly nicknames like Reg-i-moto and Reg-gae Music Girl.

  Yes, we all grew up together and our families were tight. We may not share blood, but the Monahans are now all I have left. So while I’m still not sure I’m doing the right thing by agreeing to Dax’s plan to marry him, I do know without a doubt Lance would have expected Dax to take care of me.

  So I’m going to let him, not only because I know Lance would have wanted it, but also because I’m terrified of what will happen to me if I don’t. I’m just going to have to put aside my old-fashioned notions of true love and marriage. Marriage is happening to me for reasons that have nothing to do with romance, and I’ve accepted that.

  Of course, it doesn’t help I’m definitely not looking at Dax in a brotherly way these days. He’s just too… male. Like a damn romance novel hero, swooping in all buff, successful, and alpha to save the day.

  “I’ll be in Friday night,” Willow says, cutting into my highly inappropriate thoughts. “Dax has a game, so you and I are hanging, Reg-i-bell. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

  A soft sigh escapes, and I smile at the phone again. Yes, we do. Willow couldn’t make Lance’s funeral, and it’s obvious she feels awful about it. Plus, even though we keep in touch via social media and text, it’s been over two years since we’ve seen each other.

  “Regan will be going to the game,” Dax inserts coolly, and I blink in surprise over what I would term to be a slightly possessive sound to his voice.

  “Oh no she won’t,” Willow snaps. “She can go to another game of yours, and it’s not like she hasn’t seen you play hockey a gazillion times. But I miss her and I’m sad about Lance, and I just want to hang at your house with Regan and a few bottles of wine. So deal with it.”

  Dax’s mouth snaps shut, a muscle ticking in the corner of his jaw.

  “Hanging sounds nice,” I say to Willow, hoping Dax isn’t mad about that. I have seen him play lots of hockey, so catching up with Willow is totally my preference.

  “It’s a date then,” Willow says, but then I hear someone call her name in the background. “I gotta go. I’ll text you my flight i
nformation, but I’ll handle getting myself to your house, Dax. Later, taters.”

  And then she’s gone.

  “She’s such a brat,” Dax mutters as he snatches another piece of pizza. “Good thing I like her.”

  “You love her,” I say with a laugh, swinging my leg his way and tapping my foot playfully against his shin. “Plus, you know half the stuff she says is merely to get a rise out of you. She’s such a button pusher.”

  “Totally,” he agrees, then there’s an abrupt change of subject. “Let’s leave the house tomorrow about eight thirty. That way, we’ll be first in line at the clerk’s office.”

  My throat constricts as the weight of tomorrow starts to settle on me.

  “Did you find your birth certificate?” he asks.

  I nod, telling him I thought it was in a folder of papers I had stashed away in my closet and had gone through as I was packing up yesterday.

  “All right then.” His head bobs in an affirmative nod. “We’ll leave in the morning, go to the courthouse and get married, then maybe have brunch. Then I’ve got practice in the afternoon, so I’ll bring you back here. Sound okay?”

  Sounds magical, I think in my sarcastic inside voice, but I just smile and nod again. This is the right thing to do, and I need to just get over any disappointment in marrying for something other than love.

  CHAPTER 4

  Dax

  While I know this is the right thing to do for Regan, it just feels all wrong.

  Or rather, I feel something “wrong” coming off Regan as she sits beside me in the small lobby of the county clerk’s office at the courthouse. It’s a ten-by-ten room with four plastic chairs along one wall and a reception window where a bored woman who checked us in sits. Across the room from us, we can see the clerk’s office, which has a solid door but a thin-paned window that runs floor to ceiling. Contrary to my original hope, we were not the first to arrive to be married. There is another couple inside with the clerk right now.

  A young couple with big smiles on their faces and their arms around each other as the clerk reads what I’m assuming are vows. The bride is wearing a simple white dress that’s casual but chosen for the occasion, and she’s clutching a small bouquet of flowers. The groom’s wearing jeans, a dress shirt, a vest, and a tie. They made an effort for this occasion, whereas Regan and I had not.

  While my clothes are designer, I didn’t think twice about the jeans and button-down shirt I’d pulled from my closet. As always, Regan looks gorgeous, but I suspect she didn’t give a second thought to the black pants and silver blouse she’d chosen.

  And yes… I think that might be what feels wrong. Regan is the type of woman who should have a couture wedding dress on such an important day, and she should be vibrating with excitement. Instead, she’s slouched onto the chair beside me, skimming through something on her cell phone. She’s been polite but quiet this morning, and I get the distinct impression that despite my noble intentions, I’m shattering a dream instead.

  That thought almost makes me turn and tell her this is a stupid idea when the clerk’s door opens and a happily married couple emerge. They stop, not able to help themselves apparently, then engage in a deep kiss before they bound out the door.

  The clerk comes out of her office, glancing across to Regan and me. She’s short and plump, I’m guessing early sixties, with a head of tight gray curls. Her eyes are bright and her smile welcoming as she asks, “Are you here to get married?”

  I stand from my chair, noting Regan slowly follows. My hands are sweaty, and I give them a wipe on my jeans. “We are.”

  “Well, come on in,” she says jovially, motioning us forward. “Doing these marriages are the favorite parts of my day. Did you see the couple just before you? My word, they were the sweetest. Apparently had been together for almost sixteen years. Have two kids together and just up and decided they should get married today. No other reason than it just felt right, know what I mean?”

  I glance at Regan, who stares blankly at the clerk, but she’s not paying any real attention to us. She’s already turned back into her cramped office and is rounding her desk to take a seat.

  We follow her in, and she waves to two more plastic chairs for us to sit in. I let Regan precede me in, then close the door behind us.

  As we’re taking our seats, the woman introduces herself. “I’m Anita Dougald. We’ll handle the license first and then we can do the vows. If you brought your own, that’s great. If not, I have a standard set.”

  The clerk shuffles through a drawer for some paperwork, and then glances at us with another blinding smile. She lays the papers down, then grabs a pen. “So, let’s get this filled out? Groom’s name.”

  “Calvin Dax Monahan,” I say, giving her a moment to write that on the proper place of the form. “And Regan Elizabeth Miles.”

  If my name means anything to Anita, she doesn’t show it. But that’s not surprising. Despite being one of the hottest teams in the league, most Vengeance players aren’t easily recognized out in public unless a person is a super fan.

  Anita does not look like a super fan.

  “Okay,” she drawls before asking, “Dates of birth?”

  We provide the information she asks for, which isn’t a whole lot. Once the simple form is complete, she takes my payment for the license while the official one chugs out of her printer, upon which she affixes an embossed seal.

  When that’s finished, she asks, “Do you two have personalized vows written?”

  Regan quietly replies, “No. The standard ones are fine.”

  If Anita feels anything is remiss—as in she has a couple who is unusually subdued on this happy occasion—she doesn’t let on. In fact, we are treated with nothing but cheery optimism and happiness from the woman.

  “Well, let’s stand,” she says as she pulls a sheet of paper from another folder.

  We all rise from our seats. Without any thought to whether it’s the right thing or not, I reach out and take Regan’s hand in mine. It forces her to shuffle two steps closer to me, and I grip it tight. I can feel the clammy sweat of her palm mixing with mine, and I note she doesn’t squeeze me back.

  “Will there be a ring exchange?” Anita asks.

  “No,” I say, and I can’t help but look at Regan. She turns her head, and I’m given an encouraging smile in return. I can tell it feels wrong to her as well, but she’s still committed to this.

  Anita doesn’t seem fazed by the lack of rings, and maybe it’s not all that traditional with this type of marriage. Who knows, but there’s no time to ponder.

  Anita begins by addressing me. “Calvin—”

  A moment of panic hits as I realize I’m binding myself to a woman for all eternity. At least in the traditional sense of why we do marriages, but then that’s immediately quelled when I feel Regan finally give my hand a squeeze.

  “Dax,” I correct Anita. “I go by Dax.”

  “Sure,” she replies with a tinkling laugh. “Dax… do you take Regan to be your wife?”

  “I do,” I say, my words coming out strong and sure.

  Because I am sure.

  “Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect her, forsaking all others forevermore?”

  Fuck, that’s a commitment, but there’s nothing in there that dissuades me. The word “love” should, but not really. I do love her.

  Like a sister, of course.

  “I do.” And then I give a slight squeeze to Regan’s hand, but I get nothing back this time.

  Anita turns a bright smile to my soon-to-be wife. “Regan… do you take Dax to be your husband?”

  “Yes,” she replies quietly, but there’s no hesitation. I turn to her again, finding her eyes pinned solemnly on the paper Anita is holding.

  “And do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect him, forsaking all others forevermore?”

  “Yes,” she replies. For some reason, a rush of something warm and comforting sweeps through me. Regan angles her face to me. For
a moment, we just stare at each other. In the quiet, the enormity of what we’re doing seems both oppressive and welcoming at the same time.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Anita announces proudly, and we both turn to her. “You may now kiss your bride, Mr. Monahan.”

  A bolt of what feels like pure electricity slams into me as I never once thought about there being a kiss at the end of these vows. I had considered whether to buy a ring, but ruled it out as unnecessary. I never once thought about there being a proclamation I was to finalize this contract with a kiss.

  I turn my entire body to Regan, a question in my eyes. She stares with a look of utter confusion. I can feel the expectancy and excitement bubbling off Anita as she happily waits for the best part of any wedding ceremony.

  Yes, this marriage is fake, but fuck if I want Anita to really understand that. We’re getting married so Regan can have insurance, and I’m fairly sure that’s no less fraudulent than marrying someone from another country so they can get residency here. And I definitely don’t want any of this to blow back on Regan in a negative fashion. I have money and clout, and I could withstand the scrutiny and potential legal ramifications. It would not be fair for her to do so, so I make a command decision.

  Putting my hands on Regan’s shoulders, I pull her toward me. Those green eyes of hers flare wide as she realizes what I’m going to do, but there’s no hesitancy within her posture. Her body is supple and yielding. She lets me pull her in as I bend my head. Lightly but with feeling, I brush my lips over hers.

  “Oh, now,” Anita scoffs loudly, and we both twist to see her. “Don’t be shy. This is a momentous occasion. The kiss to seal your vows is everything in a marriage. Now go on, Dax… give your woman a kiss that says this is the happiest moment of your life.”

  Jesus fuck.

  Regan starts to pull away from me, but I’m not about to make any type of scene. Besides… can’t say the idea of kissing Regan is a turn off. On the contrary, I’ve given way too many of my thoughts over to the notion of what it would be like the last few days since she reentered my life.