by Megyn Ward
“Is everything okay over there?”
We’re in one of the downstairs guest suits that we’ve commandeered for the occasion and I look up from the bed where I’m carefully laying everything out to find Cari watching me while Henley puts the finishing touches on her make-up.
“Yeah.” I nod my head, taking a step back from the bed like I was caught trying to shoplift. “Everything is fine.”
Everything is not fine.
The ceremony starts in less than two hours—even if I left right now, there’s no way I’d make it back in time. I know Cari, if I tell her I forgot the veil, she’d just shrug and tell me not to worry about it, but I can’t because this is her big day and I want everything to be absolutely perfect for her. After everything she and Patrick have done for me these past months, she deserves it.
They both do.
“Are you almost finished with her?” I aim my question at Henley because I know she’s about to ask me to switch places with Cari, but I don’t have time for it right now because I’m in the throes of a mid-sized crisis. “Want me to go get Tess?”
“Sure.” Henley gives me a quick grin. “If you think you can catch her.”
“I’m on it,” I say, snapping off a quick salute before bolting out the door and down the hallway that feeds into the living room. It’s empty. Thinking maybe she’s hiding outside, I turn back the way I came, when I catch the low rumble of Declan’s voice coming from the kitchen.
Bingo.
Pushing deeper into the living room, I turn left to spot my prey sitting on the kitchen counter, Declan’s hips wedged between her thighs. Her arms wound around his neck. Legs locked around him. Mouths fused together.
“Sorry to interrupt.” I look away, cheeks hot with embarrassment. “Tess, it’s your turn in the chair.”
Reluctantly tearing her mouth away from Declan’s, she lets out a groan. “I told you we should’ve taken this to the truck when we had the chance.”
Laughing, Declan slides his hands under her bottom to lift her off the counter before walking her over to where I’m standing. “Don’t be a baby, Castinetti. It’s a make-up chair,” he tells her, setting her on her feet. “Not an electric chair.”
“I’ll look like a clown,” she gripes, dropping her hands to her sides with a sigh.
“An adorable, angry clown,” he corrects her, laughing even harder when she pushes herself onto the toes of her boots.
“Don’t push me, Gilroy,” she tells him, tapping the tip of her freshly manicured finger to the scar on his chin. “I’m sure I have a wrench around here somewhere.”
Catching her hand in his, he presses the threatening fingertip to his lips, kissing it tenderly. “You’re adorable when you’re violent.” She growls at him but before she can make good on her promise, he turns her toward the hall. “Now go be a girl,” he tells her with a smack on the ass.
Incredibly, she does just that, grumbling and stomping her way down the hallway before disappearing around the corner. As soon as she’s gone, Declan looks at me. “What’s wrong?” he says, frowning down at me. “And don’t tell me nothing because you and your sister both get this look on your face, like you’re waiting for someone to punch you in the gut when you’re upset, so just tell me what’s going on, so I can help.”
Instead of answering him, I just stare up at him, probably because that’s the most he’s said to me since the night he showed up on Patrick and Cari’s doorstep to dump Ryan, practically at me feet.
“Grace?” His frown deepens into a scowl and I can tell he thinks it’s something major. That the groom has been kidnapped by terrorists or worse, that maybe we’ve run out of beer.
“I forgot Cari’s veil. In Boston. I had it but then I set it down and I—” I stop talking because I’m not really talking. I’m rambling and on the verge of making a fool of myself. Taking a deep breath, I give him a fake smile. “Anyway, everyone is already here, and the ceremony starts in less than two hours, which means there isn’t time to drive back to get it, so unless you have some sort of teleportation device in your pocket, I’m afraid—”
Declan reaches into his pocket and pulls something out and for one insane moment, I think he might actually have one, but it’s just his cell phone. Instead of making Cari’s veil appear out of thin air with it, he dials a number.
“Hey—” The corner of his mouth kicks up a bit, the Gilroy dimple making a brief appearance. “Nah, man—you’re fine. It’s a beach wedding. You on the road yet?” He listens for a moment before continuing. “Grace forgot Cari’s veil at their place, and she needs you to swing by and pick it up on your way out of town.” He listens again, nodding his head. “Okay.” Dropping the phone away from his ear he holds it out to me. “It’s Ryan—he wants to talk to you.”
Twenty-six
Ryan
The center is quiet.
Usually, I’m downstairs by nine so I can help Hen open the doors and let people in. From there, I float. Talk to the vets that wander in off the street. A lot of them are stable. Have jobs. Places to live. They come here to work out. Shoot a quick game of three-on-three on the indoor basketball court. Grab a few minutes with Con in his office where he helps them navigate their way through the mountain of red tape that comes with being a vet and needing services. Sometimes they just want to spend a few minutes with people who understand what it’s like to be them before heading home to an empty apartment or a house full of normal.
Some aren’t so lucky. Some people come in here that don’t have a soft place to land. They’re the ones who’re lost. Looking for something better. A way out of the situation they’re in. I tell them about the center, what kind of programs we have to offer. I tell them the truth.
That this place saved my life.
But today is different.
Not only is it Sunday, it’s Patrick and Cari’s wedding day and like the bar, the center is closed. But that doesn’t mean much to me or my schedule, so instead of heading out to the Cape house with everyone else last night, I stayed behind, opting to drive myself up this morning so I could stick to my daily itinerary.
That’s what I told everyone, anyway. That I didn’t want to skip a tank session. That I needed my gym time to keep my head straight. That there was still progress to be made and I needed to stay focused.
Truth is, I didn’t think I could handle being around Grace. Sleeping under the same roof with her again. Not without damaging the fragile foundation we started to build over coffee yesterday.
And by damage I mean drag her into the nearest coat closet and lock us both inside so I can get her naked and put my mouth and hands on every goddamned inch of her.
Because it’s pretty much all I can think about since sitting on the bench with her outside her class.
Like I told her then, a lot has changed these past five months but not that.
And I’m pretty sure it never will.
I haven’t seen her since and I’ve spent the last 24 hours trying to figure out how I’m going to do it. How I’m going to be around her and pretend like we’re just two people who barely know each other.
Like I’ve never been inside her.
Like I’ve never laid in the dark with the warm, soft press of her naked body against mine.
That I don’t remember what my name sounds like in her mouth when she comes.
Which is exactly the kind of shit that I can’t remember. Not if I want to do the right thing by her. Give her the space she asked for. Toe the line she drew in the sand between the two of us five months ago.
Because yeah, she gave me a lift to class yesterday, and yeah, we shared a coffee and talked afterward—but that doesn’t change anything. That doesn’t mean she’s changed her mind and it doesn’t give me permission to drag her back into my bullshit—a place she made it perfectly clear she doesn’t want to be.
So get your head in the fuckin’ game, Ranger. Dig in, put your back into it and do the goddamned work, because the longer you take, the more chanc
e there is that she’s going to be long gone by the time you’re ready for her.
Right.
Moving on.
The watch on my wrist saves me, beeping out an alert, letting me know I have an hour to get my shit together before I have to be on the road if I want to be on time for this thing. Conner gave it to me. Told me he has one just like it and that he still uses it on occasion to keep himself from falling into one of his what he calls brain holes.
It pissed me off at first—having to wear this thing. Let it control my life. Tell me where to go. What to do. When I started to grumble about it, Conner just laughed. You let the fucking government direct your every waking moment for the last ten years but you’re gonna get pissed over a watch that reminds you to pick up your dry cleaning? Get over yourself, bro.
Con’s always had a way of putting things so that they make sense—unless he goes off on one of his superstring tangents. If that happens, god help you.
Silencing the watch, I take it off and jump in the shower to scrub off the salt from my latest session. One of the few drawbacks to tank therapy, no matter what I do, I always smell like saltwater.
Stepping out of the shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and head for my closet. Passing the bathroom mirror I catch sight of myself and stop in my tracks. Shit. I should’ve shaved for this thing, right? I mean, I’m a groomsman. I’m supposed to look presentable, not like some kinda—
My cell starts rattling on the counter and I pick it up, barely giving the screen a glance before I take the call. Only a handful of people have this number and whoever it is can help me.
“Hey—” It’s Declan.
“Was I supposed to shave for this thing?” I pick up the watch and look at it. “I have time. I might be able to—”
“Nah, man—you’re fine. It’s a beach wedding,” he says like it should actually mean something to me. “You on the road yet?”
“No…” Because I know Declan didn’t just call me out of the blue to get my ETA, I follow it up with a question of my own. “Something wrong?” Asking makes me nervous because if something is wrong, that means I’m going to actually be counted on to make things right. Things are better but responsibility still makes me nervous.
“Grace forgot Cari’s veil at their place, and she needs you to swing by and pick it up on your way out of town,” he tells me.
“Is she standing there?” As usual, just hearing her name make me feel like someone jerked a knot in my spine. “Put her on the phone.”
Wrong move, Ranger. Talking to Grace takes prep work, you know that—you can’t do it without psyching yourself up, so just say okay and hang up the fucking phone.
Because Declan has no idea what the fuck he’s doing to me (or maybe he does and just doesn’t care—it’s hard to tell with him) he says okay and passed the phone to Grace with a it’s Ryan—he wants to talk to you.
A few seconds later, I hear the soft intake of her breath before she speaks. “Ryan?”
She says my name and just like that, my dick is so hard I could break boulders with the head of it.
Shit.
Fuck.
Shit.
Lifting my hand, I rub that back of my head like I’m trying to clear it. “Where is it?” I ask her, wincing a bit when I hear how rough and uneven my voice sounds. When she doesn’t answer me right away, I prompt her. “The veil, Jimmy—where is it?”
“Oh, ummm…” She sounds distracted. Like there are a thousand different things she’d rather be doing than being on the stuck on the phone with my creepy ass. “On top of the washing machine. In the laundry room. I put it down to help Molly with her shoes and forgot to pick it back up.”
“Okay,” I tell her, recalibrating how much time I have before I have to leave. My leg is a lot better than it used to be, but stairs still present a challenge. I won’t have time to shave after all. “I’ll grab it on my way out of town, just text me their door code.”
“Really? Oh, thank god,” she sighs in my ear, the sound of it going straight to my cock. “I owe you so big for this, Ry—”
“A dance.” It tumbles out of my mouth before I can catch it, on that same gruff, uneven tone that sound like my voice box is being dragged across hot asphalt.
Fuck if you’re not full of wrong moves today, Ranger.
“A what?” She doesn’t sound relieved anymore. She sounds apprehensive. Maybe a little worried.
“A dance,” I repeat slowly, sounding way more confident than I feel. “That’s what you owe me. A dance—we are going to a wedding after all.” I’ve never danced with a woman in my life and this sure as fuck isn’t what toeing the line that she drew between us looks like, but it’s out there now and I can’t take it back. And even if I could, taking it back is the last thing I want to do.
“Okay,” she says softly. “A dance—on one condition.”
“Are you sure you know how IOUs work, Jimmy?” There’s humor in my tone but there’s something else underneath it. Something rough and uneven. Jagged at its edges. “They don’t usually come with stipulations.”
“Well this one does,” she informs me, her tone so cool and haughty that it has me dropping my hand down to adjust the hard-on I have trapped between my thigh and the bathroom counter.
“All right then…” I’m sure she can hear it in my tone. That I’m hard for her. That all she had to do was breathe into the phone to make me that way. “Lay it on me.”
“Stop calling me Jimmy.” She whispers Jimmy into the phone like it’s a dirty word and I can’t help but start to laugh at her, right before she hangs up on me.
Twenty-seven
Grace
Ryan wants to dance with me.
That’s what he said.
That’s what you owe me, Jimmy.
A dance.
I think about it. His arms around me. My cheek pressed to his shoulder. His hand resting on the small of my back…
This is the most important day of my sister’s life and here I am, obsessing over the fact that some guy wants to dance with me for the last hour and a half, heart pounding in my chest because I’m going to see him again. It’s like I’m fourteen again, for Christ sake.
But it’s not just some guy.
It’s Ryan and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since he showed up on our doorstep, Friday morning.
Now every time I close my eyes, I can see him. I can feel his hands on me. Feel him moving inside me. His harsh, uneven breath against my—
“Kathrine Grace.”
My mom’s voice snaps out at me and I jerk my head up, face flushed, to find her standing a few feet away from me, hands on her hips, a look of pure exasperation on her face. The past three days have been a chore, if I’m being honest. Between her power trip over Molly needing a haircut (Molly, Gran’s going to take you for a haircut while she’s here—how would you like that?) and her passive-aggressive remarks about the fact that I’m working in Patrick’s bar (you didn’t have to drag Molly away from the only home she’s ever known to work in a bar, Kathrine Grace) I’ve been ready to crawl under a rock since I picked them up from the airport. Thankfully, due to my father’s schedule at the factory, they’ll be flying home tomorrow.
“I’m sorry, I –” I look over her shoulder to find Cari standing in the middle of the bedroom and I let out a soft gasp at how beautiful she looks.
“How do I look?” she asks, giving me a slow turn so I can see the dress from every angle. “Do you think Patrick will like it?”
I leave my mom where she’s standing, skirting around, her to cross the room so I can get a better look at my sister. “I think…” The dress fits her perfectly, the deep V of its simple, halter-style bodice hugging the swell of her breasts and the curves of her torso before flaring slightly into a full, floor-length skirt. “I think Anton is a fucking genius,” I say, earning myself another exasperated sigh from my mother. I don’t care and to prove it, I double down on the F-bombs. “And I think Patrick is going to
lose his fucking mind when he sees you.”
“Now you’re just trying to upset me,” my mother says, pushing past me to fuss over Cari’s hair. I make a face behind her back and Cari snorts, pressing her hand to her mouth in an effort to keep herself from laughing out loud. “I saw that,” Mom says, a hint of her old self laced between her words. Things have been strained between us since I packed up Molly and moved here from Ohio. We haven’t seen each other since she basically told me I was making a mistake in coming here and that by doing so, I was going to ruin Molly’s life. I think she was hoping to come back here to find me failing so she would feel vindicated somehow. Convince me to come back home.
She never expected to find us thriving. Molly loves her new school. She has friends. A family who loves her—and the same can be said for me. It’s hard. My life is nuts—between working at the bar and my school schedule, I barely have time to feed Molly dinner before I have to either rush downstairs for a shift or sit down to tackle the mountain of homework I seem to always be behind on. The program I’m in is intense. Competitive. Only the top three percent of its graduates will be given the opportunity to move on to join their nursing program.
Without Mary Gilroy’s help with Molly, picking her up from school and keeping her until I can pick her up after class, I have serious doubts I’d be able to keep up, especially since I have every intention of moving out of Patrick and Cari’s place before they come home from their honeymoon.
“The veil?” My mom says to me, still fussing with Cari’s hair. When I don’t answer her, she stops what she’s doing to look at me. “Please tell me you didn’t—” She’s cut off by a brisk knock on the closed bedroom door.
Please be Ryan.
Please be Ryan.
Please be Ryan.
“I’ll get it,” I say, shooting past her when she turns toward the door, intent on answering it. Before either of us can get there, the door opens just a crack, creating just enough space for Ryan’s wide shoulder.