She shakes her head. “We talked about this. We’re calling it Breakfast Club.”
“Call it what you want, it’s still a glorified welcoming brunch.”
“Um, the wedding’s over, genius. If anything, it would be a goodbye brunch.”
“Fine. What time’s the goodbye brunch?”
“You mean Breakfast Club?”
She shrieks when my fingers find the ticklish spot just blow her ribs.
∞∞∞
My wife was right.
I suppose I’ll have to get used to saying that frequently in the future. I can’t say the small banquet room looks exactly like Jemma’s, the café where we met, but the smell of French toast (with just the right amount of powdered sugar) definitely takes us back to the moment it all began. We’re a little late, so the room is already full of our nearest and dearest. Luke, Holland, Jesse, Sweeny, Eli, Nate, Molly, god I can’t even take it all in. So many people who love us enough to share this moment. To create the magic that was yesterday and make my life the rich blessing it’s become. It’s still surreal as they applaud, their faces bright and beaming, reflecting our love for them. Gotta say, it’s not easy to keep that lump of emotion in my chest, and when I glance over at Cal, her eyes are glistening.
“You okay, babe?” I whisper, pulling her against my side.
Her teeth sink into her lip as she nods, but I’m pretty sure this is about the smile peeking through. “Can you believe it?”
“What?”
“Everything.” She wipes at her eyes, and I press a kiss to her hair. “One moment, one conversation in a little café brought us here. Fate is a funny thing, huh?”
“Fate? No, babe. This”—I motion around the room—“is all you.”
She looks up, face shining. “Well, shortly before I met Luke someone told me: never curb your compassion. I’ve tried to live by that ever since.”
“Really, wow.” Studying my wife’s warm expression, I can’t think of a better description for Callie Roland Barrett. She brought us here. Saved more than one life the day she chose compassion in a shitty downtown diner. She made an impact that will live on for decades to come, and I’m freaking honored she chose me. And man, I can’t wait to watch her change the world. I’m in awe of this woman, the love of my life, my everything. I don’t even have the words to express how much I love her, but I plan to spend the rest of my days showing it.
However, all of that will have to wait because, “Shit. Please tell me Derrick isn’t naked under that rock shawl…”
THE END
POSTLUDE
Several weeks later…
So many kitchen gadgets. Callie scans the floor of gifts beside me, probably thinking the same thing. “Wow, we really need to get a kitchen. What do you think this one does?” She holds up a machine that looks like a cross between a medieval torture device and a vibrator.
“No clue. What does the box say?”
She scans the text and pictures. “Well it looks like it does something with avocado. I love avocado.”
“Then avocados you shall have.”
She grins and adds it to the pile. I glance over at her notepad as she writes: Grace and Pat, the avocado crusher thing.
Heh.
I pull another package from the stack of unopened gifts and peel off the envelope. Inside is the most flowery message and font I’ve ever seen. It’s so bad I start to break a sweat amidst graphic Marty Heilman flashbacks. The card is signed Uncle Nestor and Ms. Hawthorne, though. I’m going to lean heavily on Ms. Hawthorne’s role in this.
“Uncle Nestor and Ms. Hawthorne,” I say to Callie who jots it down. By her look, she’s not entirely confident about this gift either. I rip off the paper that looks like it was manufactured four decades ago and has been used several times before. The worn garment box beneath it looks the same.
I suck in a breath as I remove the lid. Should have let Callie take this one.
Funny how you can be shocked and totally not at the same time. The wrapping and box didn’t remotely do justice to the treasures inside. I lift them out with reverence and stretch one in front of us for Callie to appreciate.
“What the heck is that?” she asks. “Did she knit us something? Looks like a matching pair.” She bends closer to inspect. “Oh, wow. Our names and the wedding date. Are they small blankets?”
“No.” I snort a laugh and sling it around her shoulders. Pretty cute on her, actually. “Duh. It’s a rock shawl.”
EPILOGUE: EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER
EPILOGUE ONE: WES
We’ve played this song hundreds of times. Thousands? Fine, dozens, who the hell knows. The point is you’d think I’d be used to watching Hannah Drake seduce the audience with nothing but her voice and a mic stand. Make love to the mic, such a stupid cliché, but yeah, my girl makes the lamest-ass stuff relevant, cool, and fucking sexy.
She was a natural on stage, which surprised no one but her. Certainly not me, although I’ll admit I never expected Viper Rising to hit charts so soon. After our debut album went gold two weeks after release, and platinum a month in, the label was talking headlining tours even before we wrapped the first one opening for Tracing Holland. But no matter how many stages we play, how many cities, countries, and venues, it never gets old watching Hannah do what she was born to do. I kind of feel like a dirty bastard ogling my girlfriend from stage left, counting the seconds until we can be alone and I can show her what she does to me. When she shoots me those sexy winks… yeah, I’m done. For two years, we’ve played that game. Two years of sharing our music and our souls. Which is why after two years, tonight is going to be different.
It’s the last show of our Venom tour, so the energy is already high. Sweat soaks my temples, my shirt, pretty much every inch of me after rocking the stage for two hours. Hannah’s drenched as well, though you’d never know it. She wears perspiration like a mermaid. Makes her glisten and sparkle and shit. So sue me if my thoughts keep skipping to hot showers and slick skin.
Mermaid, heh. She’d punch me for suggesting it.
“Fangs bared, spring out, out
Of hell, don’t tell
Me what I am
I’m not, not your pet
I’m your hidden regret
So hear me, you should fucking fear me
As I rise.”
Hell yeah, I hear her. New and different than every other night, too, as my heart pounds and my blood sears through me. She glances over to connect for the final tag, and I feel her in every cell of my body. Those bedroom eyes are just for me; the electric smile is for everyone else. I smile back and belt out the final harmony to bring the tour to its official close.
Even the crowd seems to sense that tonight is special. Their final eruption when the lights flash and the guitars ring out is something for the memory bank. Hannah’s expression though? That’s fucking otherworldly.
Get it together, Wes. It’s supposed to be a surprise.
We duck off the stage when the lights go out and wind toward the exit. Hannah practically squeals once we’re clear.
“That was incredible! I can’t wait to call Holland.”
“Yeah?” I say, handing off my guitar to the tech.
“I told her I’d let her know how it went.”
“Your final show on your first headline tour. It’s a big moment, babe.”
She grins and loops her arms around my chest as we move toward the green room.
“I’m going to remember this forever. I swear, the high right now?”
I smile to myself. Breathe, dude. Breathe.
“Right. Pretty sweet, eh?”
“It’s amazing! I mean every night is fun, but this…” She shakes her head, and I’d do anything to capture that look for my own mental vault. People write chart-topping songs about that shit.
The door to the green room looms up ahead, slightly ajar as I planned. Hopefully the guys and the crew remembered to steer clear. She’s still chatting about the show, but honestly, my b
rain is already in the dimly lit room ahead. Oh, and I’m fucking terrified.
“You okay?” she asks, drawing me back.
“What? Yeah, of course. Why?”
Her eyes squint with doubt. “You’re being quiet.”
I shrug. “Tired, I guess. It’s been a long month.”
“Yeah, I suppose. Oh! Did you get a card for the party tomorrow?”
“Holland’s thing? Yeah.”
“Great, thanks. I meant to do it when we had that break in Nashville.”
“It’s fine. Picked up a gift card, too.”
“Oh, good. That’s perfect. I can’t wait to go home. It’s been so long.”
I squeeze her shoulder. “Yeah, the road is tough. It’ll be nice to be home for a little bit.”
“Exactly. I’m gonna grab a glass of wine and go straight to the hotel. Early flight!”
“Right,” I say. It comes out as more of a gasp which gets her attention.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asks.
I manage a nod and pull open the door.
∞∞∞
Hannah gasps at the transformation of the green room into an elegant oasis. Not too flowery, mind you. The really romantic shit makes her vomit. Just enough to know something’s up and she should be prepared.
“Did you do this?” she asks, fingers brushing her lips as she takes in the details. Her favorite champagne, favorite flowers (tiger lilies), and a large vase filled with her absolute favorite food: sour gummy worms.
“Congratulations, babe. You’re incredible.” I pull her in for a kiss which turns out to be a mistake. I have a plan, but once her lips respond with all the heat and energy of the last few hours, I’m done. I snake my hands into her hair, deepening our connection until my body is primed and ready for more than what’s appropriate in a green room.
“Hold on,” I breathe, forcing myself back. Impossible with the way her eyes reflect the candle flames behind me. Her gaze is all longing and passion and curiosity and all the things that drive me crazy about her.
Still, there’s a plan.
I pull in a deep breath and struggle to let her go. Finally, I manage to step away and move to the small safe under the vanity. My hands tremble as I attempt to enter the combination. I feel her suspicious gaze behind me, sense her anticipation. That only ejects me further off my game. Fuck this safe. Should have just kept the ring in my pocket.
Finally, it clicks open, and I pull out the box. After a quick peek to make sure everything’s intact, I force myself back around. Hannah already has tears in her eyes, her hands covering her mouth. Damn, she’s beautiful. I swallow and open the box.
“Hannah Drake, we’ve known each other most of our lives. I have no regrets about the paths we’ve taken because they brought us here to this moment. But what I’m certain of now is that I don’t want to continue one more day without you on my journey. If you feel the same, please consider marrying me so we can navigate life together?”
There’s no air, no words, as I wait in agony. Her teary gaze travels over my face, to the ring, back to my eyes that have to be pleading at this point. If she says no I think my heart will shatter into a pile of ash right here on the wood floor. If she says yes…? My pulse pounds violently.
She lifts the box from my hand, delicately tracing the treasure inside. Tears slide down her cheeks as she studies the ring. “It’s so beautiful,” she whispers. “Where did you find it?”
“I had it made for you. Only you.”
I force more air into my lungs, praying I know her as well as I thought I did. A black gold snake forms a circle from tale to fangs that almost touch at the top of the ring. I tried to model the snake design as closely to her viper tattoo as possible. The snake’s eyes glisten with a unique shine from two small, black diamonds. The ring is understated, astonishing, gorgeous, and intricate, just like it’s hopeful wearer.
Please, Hannah, please.
I bite my lip to keep from begging out loud as I wait.
She pulls the ring from the box and slips it on her finger. It’s a perfect fit and looks even more beautiful on her hand.
Finally—finally—she meets my gaze with a giant grin. Before I can react, she launches herself into my arms, and I jump back to receive her. Relief bubbles out as laughter when I squeeze her against me.
“Of course, Wesley Alton. Let’s do this.”
EPILOGUE TWO: JESSE
I shake some water from my hair and step out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I saunter toward the bedroom where Mila sits at her desk, working as always. Those sexy glasses kill me, though. Wish she’d wear them all the time.
“Oh good, you’re done,” she says without looking up. “What do you think of this for the press release? ‘Jesse Everett and the members of international alternative rock sensation, Limelight, are thrilled to announce the grand opening of Parker’s Play Yard—a non-profit campus of entertainment, education, and services benefiting foster children and their families.”
A smile spreads over my lips. Huh. There’s so much I love about that sentence… and so much I don’t. “International alternative rock sensation? Can’t we just say ‘the guys from Limelight?’”
Apparently not the way her glare shoots back at me. Her expression changes when she notices I’m bare-ass naked. My smile shifts to a grin. “What is it, babe? Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
Guess that’s a no because now she’s moving toward me. She reaches up to remove her glasses, but I stop her.
“Leave them on,” I say, capturing her wrists in my grip.
“Why are you so damn sexy? All the freaking time. Ugh.” She threads her hands in my wet hair, pressing her hips into mine. Yeah, that’s going to be a problem.
“You’re killing me, babe,” I groan out as she moves in slow aggression.
“Good. Do something about it.”
Challenge accepted.
We fall to the bed, where I lean over her on my elbows. She gasps at the pressure of my erection, but it’s her own fault. She certainly doesn’t help by relocating her attention from my hair to my ass. She claws me in perfect rhythm until I’m hopelessly at her mercy.
“You’re still overly dressed,” I murmur against her neck. A mischievous spark flashes in her glacial blue gaze. God, her eyes just wreck me. Combine it with that distinctive Mila Taylor snark, and I’m a goner.
“I reckon we should change it up this time,” she says, shoving her hands up my back and around my shoulders.
“Yeah?”
Before I know it, I’m on my back, staring up at an insistent vixen. She straddles my hips, forcing my shoulders against the mattress with her palms. I shudder under the intensity of her gaze. The anticipation. She straightens slightly, her fingers scaling the large tattoo covering the left side of my chest, honoring Parker’s memory.
“It scares me sometimes how much I feel for you,” she says quietly. Her touch moves to my lips where her confession has rendered me mute. “Do you love me?”
I pull in a deep breath. “Ridiculously.”
Her grin suddenly infuses with the sensual aggression that drives me crazy.
Send me, wreck me, I won’t object to how you affect me. Trigger the pain and let’s remain phantoms of tragic desire.
“Tell me,” she whispers, leaning close to my ear.
“Tell you what?”
“The poetry in your head. I just saw the cogs turning. I can see it in your eyes.”
My breaths are getting more erratic as she works my body. I gasp when she grabs me, massaging in deliberate torture.
“It’s nothing,” I manage.
She shakes her head, nearly crushing me into the sheets. “Your words are never nothing, love. Your words are my air.”
“You just love me for my art.”
“No, I love that you are your art.”
My mouth spreads into a smile as well. “Yeah? Show me how much you love my art.”
∞∞∞
&nbs
p; This is it.
I’ve played stages around the world, but standing on a tiny platform in front of two hundred people is scaring the hell out of me. I gaze out over the crowd of smiling faces, some familiar, most looking formal and official with fancy press badges. I didn’t want any of this, but Mila insisted. “It’s necessary for a successful launch,” she’d said. I know she’s right, but still. Parker would hate the pomp and circumstance as much as I do.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming out to support the Parker Everett Foundation with the opening of Parker’s Play Yard,” Mila directs into the mic in her crisp, authoritative voice. I swear I could come just listening to her talk sometimes. “On behalf of Jesse Everett and Limelight, we welcome you and officially declare Parker’s Play Yard open for operation!”
The crowd applauds, mostly with polite claps, except for the random whoops coming from my right. I shake my head and smile over at Derrick.
There’s a ribbon too. Forgot to mention that. Mila hands me giant, stupid-looking scissors, and I wait as Chris takes the other handle so we can photo-op the crap out of this moment. My addiction mentor turned General Manager offers a warm smile, probably sensing my anxiety. So many emotions right now; my heart is racing. My brain is numb.
“He’s here with us,” she whispers to me.
I swallow the pressure in my throat and force a nod. My pain is my own; I won’t cry in front of all these cameras.
My left fist clenches, driving my nails into my palms as we wait for the official all-clear to finish this annoying ceremony. I understand, really, but I’ll never get used to this shit. Finally, Mila nods and we squeeze the blades through the ribbon.
Look, Park, we cut a piece of string.
I smirk, imagining my brother rolling his eyes beside me.
More applause at my flawless cutting skills. I guess if the music thing doesn’t work out, I could always work a gift-wrapping booth.
An NSB Wedding Page 14