Tiller

by Shey Stahl

  She laughs. “I have to. The wedding’s today.”

  Our eyes meet, lock, hold. Within a moment, she doesn’t know what to make of. “Do you regret inviting me now?”

  She kisses me, mumbling against my lips, “I can’t regret you.” Pushing back, she retreats to the bathroom and I yank my boxers up, reaching for my shorts on the floor. After washing my hands, I notice just how pink my skin is, which now that I think about it, probably makes sense when you remember the Kool-Aid.

  There’s a beep from the door, then River enters the room with Alexandra. Reaching for a pillow, I shove it into my crotch trying to wish my still half-erect dick to deflate.

  Like I’m Santa with a padded lap, River lunges for me and sits on my lap. It’s not ideal, certainly, but you kind of have to laugh at the irony of it. Or not. Maybe you’re cringing like me.

  The moment I notice Alexandra, it goes from half-erect to hiding, so problem solved.

  River lifts her tiny foot up and practically smashes it into my face. “I don’t like the color.”

  I shit you not. River’s toes are painted a color that strangely similar to Pepto-Bismol mixed with dirt. Ugly as fuck. Poor kid. I glance over my shoulder at Alexandra. “Who picked your wedding colors?”

  As usual, Alexandra rolls her eyes at me. “I did, ass. Where’s Amberly.”

  I give a nod to the bathroom. “Taking a shower. Shouldn’t you be getting ready yourself? It’s probably going to take you a while to look presentable.”

  Alexandra and I have never gotten along. There was a time I found her interesting, but it ended when I realized her beauty went as far as her skin. Now we just fucking hate one another. “Whatever.” She motions to River. “Can I trust you alone with her?”

  “What am I going to do, misplace her?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  River looks back at me, beautiful brown eyes so full of innocence. “Can we go play on the beach?”

  “No,” Alexandra’s quick to add, like she just asked to play with fire. “You’ll ruin your toes and your hair will be all frizzy.”

  River crosses her arms over her chest. “Weddings are dumb.”

  “I agree.”

  “I not getting married,” she adds, scooting off my lap and swinging open the bathroom door like Amberly isn’t in there, naked, water dripping from her body. “I hate dis stupid wedding.”

  Alexandra huffs out a breath and throws her arms up in the air, leaving without another word.

  Me? I’m watching Amberly shower. Why not, right?

  What a morning so far. First, I find Tiller, pink, and passed out on the bed and the sheets on the bed, pink too from his drunken dip in Kool-Aid vodka. Then I let him dry hump me because suddenly now that we’re fake boyfriend/girlfriend, I let him do these things to me.

  Now here we are, four hours later, ready to head to the beach for the wedding.

  My eyes wander over Tiller in a suit. I don’t know how I convinced him to wear it and not shorts, but I’m so glad he agreed because I’ve never ever seen him look this good. Oh God, I’m telling you now, it’s almost more than I can take. I’ve never seen something so beautiful. His dark hair, the black suit, the mysterious look he regards me with, it’s all too much. You’re staring too, aren’t you?

  Hands off, he’s mine.

  Tiller steps forward, his gaze never lifting from mine. He frees one hand from his suit pocket, and cups my cheek, his thumb running over my bottom lip. And then the smirk appears, one side higher than the other. “You’re drooling.”

  My breath hitches. “Am not.”

  “Yes, you are. And I can’t believe you made me do this.” And then his hand drops to my waist and fists the bland nude silk fabric in his hand. “This dress is ridiculous.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  We hear the toilet flush and River bounces back into the room. Her hair’s still not brushed and her dress is tucked up in her tights in the back. “I don’t want to go!” she tells me, tossing herself on the floor. “Weddings suck.”

  Tiller looks over at her and the butt showing. He laughs.

  My mother knocks on the door. “Ready? It’s time to go downstairs.”

  Tiller groans and stuffs a travel size bottle of vodka in his pocket. “I’m gonna need this.”

  I gesture to my dress. “I wish there was room in here for a flask,” I whisper, picking a floppy River off the floor.

  Tiller shoves a second bottle from the mini-bar in his other pocket and kisses my temple. “I got you.”

  In my arms, River begins crying, squirming and reaching for Tiller. “Carry me!”

  He follows us out of the room, looking at her like she’s lost her mind. “You’re being carried.”

  Since meeting Tiller, officially a week ago, it’s apparent I’m no longer her favorite person. I can’t say I blame her. I think I’m more attached to him now too. I know I don’t want him going anywhere.

  “No. I want you!” She screams until the vein in her forehead pops out.

  “All right, crazy clock.” Tiller takes her from me. “Get it together.”

  As we make our way out of the inn, I’m sweating and wishing I wasn’t wearing such an awful and plain dress.

  In the lobby of the Inn, two kids ask for Tiller’s autograph and he has to set River down to do it, but he does and I’m kind of glad he did because the boys look awestruck that he gave them a minute. The boys walk away, and my mother takes River by the hand, leading her out of the Inn.

  Tiller grabs me by my hand and takes the pen to write on my palm.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shhh. Read it later.” And then he curls my fingers around my palm.

  There’s so much commotion around us, I don’t have a chance to give what he wrote a second thought.

  The wedding party meets outside the Inn and I just want to get the day over with. I want out of Muir Beach and back in Santa Monica where I can put some distance between me and these people who claim to be my family. But first we had to get this wedding over.

  If you’re one of the couples that insist you have your wedding here, the ceremony is usually held on the lawn with its view of the horses in a pasture, or in the snug room. But not for Alexandra. Those options weren’t good enough for her, so she chose to exchange vows on the nearby Muir Beach with the sea mist spraying up. It’s also a two-minute walk from the inn.

  I repeat, a two-minute walk. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be a big deal, but for this wedding party, it is. Have you ever tried to get a three-year-old to walk two minutes up hill in shoes she doesn’t want to be wearing and a dress she hates?

  It sucks. This spot they picked out is tucked against the forested hillsides of Mt. Tamalpais and I’m sorry, but if Terrance had any smarts, he’d throw my sister off the side.

  The whole adventure up hill is awful, and by the time we get to the ceremony spot, River’s dress is covered in dirt. She’s crying because her feet hurt and pretty much refuses to even pretend to be the flower girl and tosses the basket of flowers over the side of the cliff. Vander, not knowing when to quit or mind his business in general, tries to comfort her.

  You’re looking for Tiller now, aren’t you? Yeah, me too. Do you see him behind us? If you don’t notice him, he’s the tall one with the out-of-control dark hair and the look of murder in his eyes. He looks like his head is going to explode when Vander’s other hand reaches for my waist to lead me forward.

  Terrance and Alexandra wrote their own vows and while those around me are sighing and awing over their promises, I take a peek at my hand and what Tiller wrote on it. You were curious, weren’t you?

  Your beauty runs deep. Like my cock in your pussy later.

  My cheeks burn and I burst out laughing, only to be scowled at. Of course, my mother thinks I’m laughing at Alexandra’s vows, but I’m not.

  I look at Tiller, who winks. He knows why I’m laughing.

  I’m almost positive by the time the recept
ion comes around, everyone wants the night to be over with, or maybe it’s just me. Either way, I’m looking for the hard stuff before dinner’s even served.

  The reception is held in the conservatory with its wall of glass and abundance of vines and flowers. It’s sickening and so white it’s nearly blinding, but the sunset giving off the bright red and orange hues make up for it.

  Tiller must sense my nerves because he starts joking with me about my Great Aunt Millie. “Look at her goddamn earlobes. They’re practically down to her chin,” he whispers, right about the time I take a bite of my chicken.

  “Will you stop it?” I whisper back, trying to keep from choking on my laughter with chicken.

  “But they’re huge!”

  “Yeah, well.” I lean into him, and it’s the wrong thing to do because he smells absolutely delicious. I want to snuggle into the crook of his neck and kiss him. “If you think that’s bad, check on my Uncle Dean’s fingers. They’re like green beans.”

  Tiller starts laughing so hard his entire body shakes. “You can’t trust a man with green bean fingers.”

  Relaxing in my seat, I smile at River on the other side of Tiller. She’s pushing broccoli around on her plate, refusing to touch anything green. It’s funny, she loves Tiller’s green hair, yet she won’t touch anything green to eat.

  Just when I think everything might go smoothly, I’m reminded this is a wedding with the Johnson family and anytime all of us are together, it’s a disaster.

  It’s nearing the end of the meal when my father takes notice of River and the fact that she hasn’t touched any of the vegetables on her plate. “River, eat your vegetables. Don’t let it go to waste.”

  Do you notice the way Tiller stares at River, then my father? If not, watch what happens next when River looks at me, and then Tiller. “You don’t have to. I don’t like broccoli either,” Tiller adds, winking at River as he downs his second glass of straight vodka.

  My dad snaps his eyes to Tiller, like he can’t possibly believe he’d question him. “Excuse me? She’s a child and she will eat her vegetables.”

  Tiller tips his head my father’s direction, and there’s history between them and stems from Tiller’s refusal to fall into line. Sometimes I think the only reason my father hates him is because Tiller refuses to conform to the FIM standards of how a rider should present themselves.

  “You heard me,” Tiller snaps, keeping eye contact with him. “If she doesn’t want to eat it, she doesn’t have to.”

  “She’s a child,” my father scoffs. “She should be trying new things.” And if you caught the meaning behind the words, he’s not just talking about foods, and it’s not directed at River. It’s me.

  I place my hand on Tiller’s. It’s shaking. His, not mine. “Let it go,” I whisper, knowing he won’t listen to me.

  “She did. She didn’t like it so let it go.” And that, my friends, means me, too.

  With flushed cheeks, my father sternly snaps as he hits his fist to the table, “River. Eat.”

  And River starts crying, which is followed quickly by Tiller picking up River’s plate of vegetables and tossing it on the floor. It breaks.

  My father stands up, plates shaking, glasses clinking. “Who the hell do you think you are coming in here and telling me how to talk to my granddaughter.”

  My heart races, my entire body breaking out into a cold sweat and suddenly I feel as if the entire room is staring at us, and most are at least gawking at the table we’re seated at, wondering what the heck is going on here and why Tiller just threw River’s plate.

  Tiller scowls at my father, his eyes so dark they look black, reminding me that when it comes to being scary, Tiller’s on a whole different level. I notice the way his body trembles, the way his hands shake. He’s losing it, and I want to reach out to him, comfort him, calm him down, but there’s nothing I can say to him that’s going to make this any better. “I’m her fucking father,” Tiller shouts, his body vibrating with anger even he doesn’t understand. “That’s why.”

  Slumping in my chair, I want to crawl under the table and hide. My stare moves to Alexandra and Terrance, and thankfully though they heard what Tiller said, their wedding planner is in their face ushering them to the dance floor for their first dance.

  My attention draws back to the table. One of my aunts takes River’s hand and shows her to the dance floor where she’s supposed to dance with the ring bearer. She won’t, but I don’t want her at the table, so I tell her to go. “I’ll be right there.”

  She goes but doesn’t stop crying.

  There’s a battle of dominance between my father and Tiller’s stare, but it’s my mother who stands first. “It’s now time we move to the dance floor, everyone.”

  Standing, my father walks over to Tiller and leans in, “You’ll never be good enough to be anyone’s father.”

  You son of a bitch!

  I can’t move or even begin to speak when my mother steps in front of Tiller and attempts to slap him across the face. With a sinister smile, he catches her hand. “You haven’t earned the right to slap me, lady.”

  My mother gasps, ripping her hand from his. “How dare you come here and smear my daughter’s name!”

  “Smear your daughter’s name?” Tiller snorts, his eyes shift to mine and then back to my mother. The lines on his face deepen with a frown. “Your daughter isn’t as innocent as you think.”

  Is he talking about me?

  “What are you trying to accomplish, Tiller?” my father asks, wrapping his arm around my mother as if he’s trying to protect her.

  “I’m not trying to accomplish anything,” he says, his posture relaxing when I reach out and touch his arm, hooking mine with his. I don’t know why I do it, but maybe because I want my family to know I stand by him. “You’re the one with a fuckin’ problem.”

  “It’s absolutely preposterous for you to insinuate Ava would lower herself and sleep with you,” my mother whispers, “when she had someone as wonderful as Cullen.”

  Tiller laughs, shaking his and burying his hands in the pockets of his slacks. My hand is trapped between his arm and his side, and it’s then I notice how heavily he’s breathing and the rapid beating of his pulse. “I don’t need to explain it to you.”

  “It’s true,” I finally tell them, my voice weak and wavering. “Ava told me in the will. Tiller is her father.”

  It takes my mother a second to comprehend, and my father even longer as he glares at Tiller. “Why would Ava keep something like that a secret for all these years?” my mother asks, blinking steadily like she’s trying to understand the situation. I can imagine their confusion. I had the same reaction when I read the letter.

  “Ava didn’t tell us because she knew what a mistake she had made,” my father grumbles, taking my mother’s hand harshly. “She knew you could never be more than a selfish bastard and you would never be good enough to raise a child.”

  I want to slap him across the face myself. What a jerk.

  Tiller nods. “That may be true, Doug, but I could say the same about you, couldn’t I?”

  “Leave,” my father orders.

  “She can’t,” Alexandra adds when she approaches, teary-eyed. “We still have toasts to do.”

  Of course she wants to keep up with the traditions, despite everything turning to shit.

  “I’m not talking about Amberly.” My father points at Tiller. “You need to leave.”

  “Gladly,” Tiller grunts out, pulling away from me.

  I don’t let go of him and stand my ground. “If he goes, River and I go with him.”

  Terrance approaches. “This isn’t the place to be having this discussion, and I think we should continue with the celebration for the night. This family has endured enough pain recently,” he adds, gently placing his hand on Alexandra’s back and nodding to the dance floor. “I’d like to dance with my wife.”

  Terrance is absolutely right. This isn’t the place. I look around for River and spo
t her in the corner, crying on a chair with her hair pulled out of the clips Alexandra made her wear. She’s not crying because of us. She’s crying because that little jerk of a ring bearer is trying to get her to dance, and I hate to tell the little dude, but River’s never going to be his friend. She barely likes me somedays.

  Sighing, I attempt to collect my thoughts. The heat of Tiller’s body warms my hand, and I realize I haven’t let go of him, and we’re now the only two standing near the table. In his other hand is the vodka he brought down from the room. He nods to his other pocket. “I drank yours already,” he grunts, his brow pulled together.

  Nodding, I let go. “I need to go check on River.”

  He clears his throat and tosses the empty vodka bottle in the trash can. “I will. Go do your toasts.”

  I watch him walk away, the stiffness to his walk and the way he scoops up River. Without hesitation, he tickles her belly like he hadn’t been just arguing with my dad and I’m not sure what to make of it.

  Vander catches me then, giving a dismissive nod to Tiller, like he doesn’t matter. “What’s that guy’s problem?”

  “His problem?” I snort, ready to punch him in the face. “These people are his problem.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “These people?”

  “You. My father. . .” I pause, and he just doesn’t get it. “Oh, never mind. Let’s go get this crap over with so I can leave.”

  And that’s exactly what I plan on doing when this is over. Leaving.

  While my sister and her new husband dance to Ed Sheeran, I sit across the room at the wedding party table.

  Do you notice him? It’s hard not to because out of everyone here, he’s the one who draws my attention. His jaw is tense, his eyes locked on mine, and I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking because while this song my sister and her husband are dancing to holds no resemblance to the two locked in an embrace, it speaks volumes to the two who can’t look away from one another.

  My eyes flood with tears, his body tenses, his grip on his drink tightening.

  Reaching up, he loosens his tie, and it’s then I notice how intense his breathing has become.