Cannon (Carolina Reapers Book 5)

by Samantha Whiskey

  I squeezed Cannon’s hand in mine, glancing up at him. “Does it look okay to you?”

  His eyes met mine. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “Your mother has amazing taste. Just like you.”

  I grinned up at him.

  “What?” He furrowed his brow.

  “You admit I have good taste.”

  He shrugged. “So?”

  “That means I have amazing taste in men.” I eyed him, and he rolled his.

  Cannon opened his mouth, likely to argue, but my cell rang, cutting him off. “Speak of the devil,” I said, showing him the screen alight with my mother’s picture. I swiped to answer the call. “Hey, Mom, we’re just checking out the club—”

  “Sephie!” My mother’s voice was tear-soaked.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, dropping Cannon’s hand as I instinctively headed toward the exit.

  “I’m more than perfect!” she said, and I slowed my pace. Cannon rested his hand on the small of my back, a silent show of support. “Sephie,” she said again, and a choked sob tore from her lips.

  “Mama, what is it?” Tears filled my eyes, a building panic I couldn’t understand.

  “They found a donor! Someone with the same rare blood type as mine. They’ve scheduled me for two days after the wedding! Can you believe it? I get to see you get married, and then I get a kidney!”

  “Truly?” The word was a gasp.

  “Truly, sugar.”

  “Oh, Mama! That is wonderful news!”

  Mom sucked in a breath, locking up her happy tears. “I know! Okay, that’s enough fussing over me! Finish your appraisal of the club! We’ll celebrate tomorrow!” She hung up before I could argue, before I could say more.

  I turned around to face Cannon, who smiled down at me, clearly having heard everything.

  “My mom gets a kidney,” I said the words aloud, the truth in the statement stealing my breath. A crazed laugh left my lips as I launched myself into Cannon’s arms. He scooped me off my feet, holding me against him as he spun me.

  “That’s fucking wonderful, Princess,” he said, his cheek against mine.

  Happy tears streamed down my face, but I pulled back enough to crush my lips against his. “I didn’t think it would happen,” I said between kisses. “We never thought we’d find a match.” I kissed him frantically and happily, and he took it all and gave everything in return. “Cannon, she gets it two days after the wedding!” I continued my happy rant between kisses.

  His lips stilled against mine, something unreadable flashing across his eyes.

  “Cannon?” I asked as he slowly set me on my feet and took a step away from me.

  He slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks as easily as that wall slammed shut over his eyes. “You don’t need me anymore.”

  I blinked, scraping my palms against my face to rid myself of the happy tears. “Wait, what?”

  He shrugged, the movement so much colder than his demeanor moments before. “I’m truly beyond happy for your mother, Persephone,” he said, and I could read that truth in his eyes. “You deserve to be happy. Deserve…everything.”

  I took a step toward him. “What are you saying?”

  “You don’t really want to go through with this, do you? Not now that you know your mother will be all right.”

  I gaped at him. “Of course, I want to go through with this.” I reached for him, but he remained statue-still, like he was holding himself in place for fear he might fall apart. “Cannon, I love you.”

  His eyes held mine, but nothing was betrayed on his face.

  Cold, freezing panic clawed at my insides. “But you don’t…do you?” The question was a broken whisper.

  “Persephone,” he sighed my name, and I shook my head.

  After all this time, after everything that led us to this moment…I was sure I’d felt it. Felt his love. Even if he couldn’t say it, couldn’t acknowledge it, I’d thought I felt it.

  “Do you, Cannon?” I asked again. “Love me?”

  He visibly swallowed.

  “Do you?” I pressed. “Not love sleeping with me, or my ambition, or my ability to sass you into the next century, but do you love me, Cannon?”

  “Persephone, I—”

  A loud, shrill foghorn covered up whatever Cannon was about say, the sound so encompassing we both jolted.

  “Bachelor party time!” a thick Scottish accent hollered from behind.

  “Bachelorette party too!” a richer southern accent drawled.

  We whirled to find a gaggle of our friends…our family rushing into the ballroom, outfitted in their finest suits and dresses.

  Connell let the foghorn drop to his side and flashed me an apologetic grin. “I’ve never used one before. Had to try it out.”

  I mustered my best smile, allowing the happiness on our family’s faces to erase the growing unease in my heart. Harper, Faith, and Echo rushed to my side as Annabelle, Delaney, and Langley followed them, each one donning a glittering party tiara. Annabelle placed the largest crown atop my head.

  “You ready to kiss single life goodbye?” she teased me with a wink, linking her arm in mine.

  I flashed Cannon a glance, making sure he was the only one I looked at when I answered. “I truly am.”

  Then the girls squealed and hauled me out of the room where a handful of Reapers dominated the space in the hallway, awaiting Connell to fetch the groom. Or would-be groom.

  God, I didn’t even know anymore.

  The independent woman in me screamed at me to stop this party and go demand an answer.

  The coward in me was too terrified to hear Cannon’s truth.

  So I let the girls pack me into a limo and whisk me away.

  Let them lead me into some of Charleston’s hottest bars and clubs.

  Let each drink I had wash away the uncertainty, the pain, the fear until I could hardly remember what I’d been upset about before. Until I could do nothing but dance with my amazing friends, feed off their excited energy, siphon off that pure, unflinching love and let it replace every dark doubt in my mind.

  “This is our last stop,” Echo said directly into my ear so I could hear her over the live band that played.

  “Good!” I said back, laughing. “I don’t know if I can remain standing much longer!”

  She laughed, too, nodding as we bounced to the beat of the music.

  I lost myself in the sultry sounds of the singer’s voice, the raspy tenor that pulsed and vibrated within the band’s melodies, long after Echo had thrown in the towel and joined our friends at our booth in the private balcony above the stage.

  And then red-hot reality jolted me right to the present when a man’s hand found my hip.

  “I’m a married woman!” I snapped, balling my fist. “Take your hand off me.” When he didn’t respond to my loud and clear command, I whirled. My father raised me with awareness, and I knew I was a tiny thing, knew I had one chance to get a good hit in, and buy me time to get to my girls.

  My fist was stopped, gently and easily.

  Cannon.

  “Glad to see you know how to defend yourself against monsters like me,” he said, relinquishing his hold on my fist, his dark eyes slightly glazed with drink, likely the mirror of mine.

  “You’re not a monster,” I snapped. “And even if you think yourself one, you’d be my monster, so I have no need of defense against you.”

  “You sure about that, Princess?”

  I nodded. “What are you doing here?”

  He motioned over his shoulder, where Connell, Logan, Lukas, Nathan, and Axel all stood, sheepish looks on their faces. “Guess our friends think alike?”

  I pursed my lips at him, the alcohol in my blood making me extra sassy. “Figured you’d be living it up at some strip club.”

  Cannon planted me with a look that screamed you know better.

  I chewed on my bottom lip, all those emotions and doubts I’d spent the evening burying doing their best to claw their way to the surface. �
��What do we do now?” I asked, unable to hide the sadness in my tone.

  Cannon stood there so long I wasn’t sure he’d answer, or if he even had one.

  “Dance with me?” he finally asked, hand offered between us.

  I took it without hesitation. “Always,” I said.

  He positioned my hand on his chest, right in the center of it, and left it there to snake his hands around my waist. We swayed to the rhythm, the band switching to a slow, hauntingly beautiful song that seeped into my bones. I lost myself in Cannon’s embrace, in his touch, in the way he controlled my body—spinning me in or out, drawing me closer only to push me away again. Back and forth, the dance mounted, as did my racing heart.

  I felt like we’d been doing this dance since our night in Vegas, and now it was all coming to a head.

  He tucked me against him again as the song wound down, his eyes fixated on mine.

  Everything in me narrowed to that gaze, to the intensity behind it. To the unspoken words between us. The other dancers on the floor didn’t exist, nor did our friends no doubt about to discover each other in the same location, nor the other bar patrons getting their fill of drink and food and fun.

  Nothing but Cannon and me.

  He leaned down, his cheek against mine, his lips at my ear—

  “I lied!” Echo said, darting to my side, drawing both our attention. “One more stop,” she giggled as she tugged on my arm. “There is no way you can end your single life in your husband’s arms! I’ve got another place! Shoo!” She waved Cannon away, and I couldn’t help but laugh as Logan came up behind him and grabbed him in a headlock.

  Cannon let him pull him away.

  So I let my friends.

  And once again lost myself to the abyss and blissful ignorance, promising myself that—after many more drinks—everything would make sense tomorrow.

  17

  Cannon

  My head fucking hurt. Sure, it was my fault, and I accepted that, but combining a huge hangover with a ridiculous amount of sun had my brain throbbing.

  I yanked my sunglasses down and tried to listen to what Logan was saying next to me.

  “So if we start our eighteen holes by eleven, we’ll definitely make it back in time for the rehearsal.”

  I looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “I’m not playing golf.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “The set of clubs with that caddy over there seems to suggest otherwise.”

  I’d agreed to come out here and putt around on this stupid fucking green like I actually gave a shit if the ball found the hole, but I wasn’t signing up for a full round of golf. No way in hell. I wasn’t one of those douchebags over there with their neat little polos and green vests.

  Like he’d heard my thoughts, head douchebag, Michael lifted his head from his perfect putt and high-fived his equally douchey friend. It was the practice green for God’s sake, not the fucking Olympics.

  “Seriously,” Logan muttered, having seen the same thing.

  “Right? It’s not like anyone’s even trying to take the ball from them. No goalie. No skates. Where’s the goddamned challenge?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  I looked over to the patio, where a private brunch had been set up by Persephone’s parents, hoping to spot my wife. The VanDorens had some ridiculous rule about keeping us apart today, and I’d about had enough of their horseshit. I needed to talk to my wife.

  Once the news had come in that her mother was going to get her kidney—that she’d be okay—I’d firmly expected Persephone to walk the hell away. Instead, we were in the midst of our wedding weekend, both trying to publicly act like we were fine, even though we just wanted a private moment to figure out what the fuck we were doing.

  Do you love me, Cannon? Her words were on repeat in my head, and even drowning myself in alcohol last night hadn’t washed them away.

  Did I love her? It wasn’t as simple as that. She acted like a four-letter word was the answer to every problem, and I knew it wasn’t.

  “Gentlemen,” Persephone’s dad clapped me on the back as he came to stand beside us. “Are you enjoying yourselves?” His eyes narrowed slightly, no doubt waiting to judge whatever would come out of my mouth.

  “Absolutely. Thank you for setting this whole thing up.” I gave him a smile, and he returned it, though his looked a little more like a threat than a gesture.

  “Well, Sephie and her friends practically grew up here. Seemed fitting to host a little brunch before the women head to the spa, and the men get ready to battle the toughest course in South Carolina.”

  Holy shit, I wasn’t going to make it through today, and if we really went through with this second wedding then this was what I had to look forward to. Mornings at the club with a man who actively hated my guts, playing the world’s worst sport with other douchebags who hated my guts.

  “It’s a perfect day for it, sir,” Logan responded when he caught on that I wasn’t going to be able to.

  “It is. Now, I had to pull a couple of strings for these—usually they’re reserved only for members—but seeing as you’re about to be family…” He presented both Logan and me with emerald green vests with the clubs logo embroidered over the left pocket.

  “Thank you,” I said automatically.

  Logan echoed my sentiment.

  “Good. I’m glad you like them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on my girls—”

  “Oh, I’ll come with you,” I offered, already starting up that way.

  “I wouldn’t have it!” He laughed. “It’s VanDoren tradition that you two only see each other at the rehearsal dinner and then the altar. That’s why we have Sephie staying in the main house tonight.” He clapped me on the shoulder again and headed for the patio.

  My head pounded even harder. I couldn’t even sleep next to my wife? We had shit to discuss, and it wasn’t little, petty stuff, either. I’d been counting on the fact that we’d have all night in her old house to hash out our future…if we still had one.

  “So we’re supposed to wear this?” Logan asked, holding it up for appraisal.

  “It’s actually quite an honor,” Michael noted as he sauntered over, his putter over his shoulder like it was stylish.

  “Right,” Logan muttered, but put it on and did up the buttons. “When in Rome, right?”

  “I’m not wearing that vest,” I muttered. I’d put on a button-down shirt and rolled the sleeves, and even agreed to khaki shorts, but a fucking vest was where I drew the line.

  “What? Is it not quite cool enough for you?” Michael asked with a smirk. “Does it not meet your rebellious, stick-it-to-the-man standards?”

  I shook my head at the guy. He was such a prick. Just the thought of Persephone ending up with him—or someone like him was enough to curdle what brunch I’d managed to stomach.

  “Put the vest on.” Her voice soothed my nauseated stomach as she appeared to my right.

  “Hey,” I said softly. She was wearing a simple, white sundress, and her hair was loose down her back. She looked clean and fresh, and so beautiful that my chest ached.

  “Hey,” she replied, stepping in front of me and nailing me with those blue eyes. “I know you hate it, but it would go a long way with my Dad if you wore it.”

  “You’re using the eyes on me? That’s not playing fair,” I teased.

  She smiled. “I’ll use every weapon I have in my arsenal when it comes to you, Cannon Price.”

  “Whatever makes you happy, Mrs. Price.”

  Her eyes flared at the title, and I put the damned vest on. Surprisingly, it fit.

  “Happy?” I asked in a low tone.

  “Almost.” She stepped closer and started fastening the four buttons that closed the garment. Our eyes locked and I couldn’t help but grin. It was so like the moment she’d forced me to do up my buttons before the charity auction.

  “You’re always so concerned about my buttons.”

  Her cheeks flushed pink, but she pushed that last
one home. “Someone has to be.”

  I cupped the nape of her neck and ran my thumb down her jaw, nearly sighing with relief when she leaned into my touch. How the fuck was I going to give her up?

  Did I have to? I mean, we were already married, so the damage was really done. What would having a second ceremony hurt? What would happen if we decided to ride this out to whatever finish line we decided instead of one imposed on us? What if there was no finish line, and it was just us as we were right now, but for forever?

  “You’re incredibly beautiful today,” I said softly.

  She smiled, then rose up on her toes.

  I leaned down and brushed my lips over hers. These were the lips I wanted to kiss for the rest of my life.

  “Oh no, you don’t! You know the tradition. You’re supposed to be over there with Aunt Mildred!” Andromeda sang with a sugar-sweet smile, looping her arm through Persephone’s and pulling her away. “You can make out with your husband once he’s…you know, your husband again. Toodles!” She wiggled her fingers at us as she dragged my wife away.

  “This family is weird,” Logan said under his breath.

  “Amen to that.”

  “You can dress like one of us all you want, but you’ll never be one of us,” Michael said, stepping forward now that Persephone was gone.

  “Good. The last thing I want to be is one of you.” I rubbed my temples and prayed to the hangover Gods that my misery would end soon. I’d taken pain relievers and drank half my weight in water already. When was it going to end?

  Michael scoffed as he looked toward the patio, following Persephone’s retreat. “God knows what she sees in you.”

  “I’ll never quite figure that out, either, but I’m glad she sees whatever it is.”

  He turned a hate-filled sneer on me. “She won’t see it for long. You know that, right? She’ll never be happy married to someone like you. She was born and bred for better.”

  I ignored the direct hit to my worst fear. “Better like you?”

  “Exactly,” he hissed quietly. “So you can enjoy whatever it is you’re doing with her, but just know that at the end of this—because it will end—she doesn’t wind up with you.”