No Weddings (22 page)

She turned slightly, angling toward her car, but kept her gaze locked onto mine. At the last second, she leaned into me and brushed her lips across my cheek, kissing me just below my ear. “You know I’ve already decided, Cade Michaelson.”

My brain fogged with the sexy tone of her voice, but before I could respond, she turned, slid into her car, and shut her door. I crossed my arms over my chest, grinning until my cheeks hurt. She drove away with a final wave.

Minutes passed as I stood there unmoving, feeling like the luckiest bastard on Earth. The freezing night air didn’t faze me with my blood still heated from her touch.

I felt an all-knowing presence approach seconds before Kristen moved to stand beside me. She stared off into the same direction I did, where the end of her drive stretched into darkness.

“She could be good for you, baby brother.”

I turned, blinking at her.

She met my gaze.

All their meddling seemed like they’d been messing with me, but I now began to wonder if they were rooting for me deep down. Although I’d never shared the horrid details of my devastating Valentine’s Day massacre two years ago, Kristen knew what the aftermath had done to me. Some things didn’t need mentioning. And to have her support, their support, even through all the superficial shit we gave each other, meant a lot.

“What about the rule?”

She snorted, laughing. “When have rules ever stopped you?”

I stared at her a few beats more, floored at the conversation we were having. Having never spoken with any of my sisters in seriousness about my relationships before, the moment seemed surreal. However, I didn’t want to give away my feelings just yet. Not about her suggestion, and not about what was developing between Hannah and me.

She didn’t say anything more, and I didn’t ask for clarification.

But something had been offered between us in the unsaid words, eldest sister to younger brother, and I recognized it for what it was—a gift of support, even though she didn’t know the details.

Nevertheless, an enormous weight lifted off my shoulders with her veiled blessing, taking the troubling guilt I’d been feeling about breaching our agreement out of the equation.

After a deep exhalation, I nodded. “Thanks, sis.”

M
usic blared out the door and three blocks down, or so the cops informed us. We promptly turned it down (a decibel), then invited the officers to join us when their shift ended.

McGinty’s had an unprecedented showing. Wall-to-wall people were well on their way to being shitfaced. The Irish sure as hell knew how to party. So did the rest of us who adopted the Emerald Isle as our homeland for the holiday.

Since we’d essentially lent our name as a customer draw, we didn’t have much responsibility during the event. That was all being handled by the owner, managers, and employees of the bar.

Hannah’s cake was a hit. She’d created a bar top replica with giant frosted mugs of green beer on one side, one of them knocked over, spilling beer and foam to form a sheet of cake down the “bar.” But with most of the guests smashed by the time they dug in, that it was there and tasted good was all that mattered. Still, we made sure the local press got their photos early in the night, not only for publicity, but also for our portfolio and the bar owner’s history wall.

When customers began eating the served pieces, they moaned, begging for seconds. Curious, I picked up a slice and sampled the chocolate cake with white icing.

As the first bite settled onto my tongue, I closed my eyes and groaned. “Bacon.”

Hannah grinned, her eyes lit with mischief. “Hey, at least it’s not ganja.”

I blinked. I knew I’d downed a few beers, but my people-reading meter seemed way off. “Did you say there
is
or
isn’t
weed in here?”

She snorted, then broke out laughing. “There is
not
.
No
ganja. Here, have another beer.”

She handed me a frosted mug, and I gladly took it. It wasn’t my imported favorite, but tonight wasn’t about taste, it was about getting shitfaced. Damn. That rhymed. I made a mental note to make T-shirts for that.

It’s not about taste, it’s about shitfaced.

Mom would be proud.

I steered Hannah away from the cake toward a side booth that the Sisters Three had commandeered. Boisterous singing had been going on all night, but when Bondo came over the sound system, the chorus was shouted by everyone, including me.

“
Fuck you I’m drunk! Fuck you I’m drunk—
” I coughed out a laugh at Kristen’s glare. “Don’t blame me. It’s his bar.”

By the end of the song, Kristen defected, joining the rest of the world in wailing shitfaced profanity. She did me proud. I passed her another full beer.

When I looked down at Hannah, she smiled wide. She also vibrated, bouncing on the booth between me and Kendall.

“Having a good time?” I leaned toward her.

She gave me one of those megawatt smiles, crushing into my side. “The best!”

I laughed. “Are you plastered?”

“Pffft. No.” She shook her head as if I’d suggested the impossible.

“How many beers have you had?”

Glancing up at the ceiling, she stared at a spot up there, biting her lip and frowning.

I looked up, wondering if she saw imaginary tally marks etched into the hammered tin ceiling tiles. “You know, if you have to carry the one, you’re plastered.”

She snorted. “I think I’ve had four. No, five.”

I’d only ever seen Hannah have a glass or two of wine. “And that doesn’t constitute plastered.” My comment flattened into more of a statement than a question. Because arguing the levels of drunkenness with the drunk brought out rare forms of smartass in me.

Hannah shook her head. “Nope. The first beer is buzzed. The second, tipsy. The third one is drunk.”

Kiki leaned around Hannah, pressing in. “The fourth one’s hammered.”

Kristen slammed down her now-empty beer mug. “The fifth is plastered!”

I barked out a laugh. “Which, clearly, you are. Have another beer, O Reserved One.”

Hannah nodded once, as if an oracle had spoken through the mouths of beer-laced babes. “And shitfaced would be beer number six.” She hiccupped. It was adorable.

Sitting in a booth surrounded by my sisters with Hannah by my side, I felt like the night couldn’t get any better. Although Hannah had let loose with the guys and had settled in with my sisters like one of their own, I’d never seen her…filterless. The complete transformation was refreshing.

And she looked amazing.

With disheveled hair framing pinked cheeks and with those dark hazel-green eyes sparkling, she had this great messed-up look, like she’d just been thoroughly fucked. And damn, I wanted to give her that look. I wanted to give her the messed-up look of her life. Little Miss Ice Queen had irrevocably melted. And I loved every minute of it.

We all sang the last chorus to “I’m Shitfaced.”

Kristen no longer hesitated, belting out the words at the top of her lungs, “And I only bought her one rouuund.”

Her letting loose was golden, because I had turned on my phone’s video, capturing it all. Moments like this needed to be relived, maybe at a family gathering, like Thanksgiving. Or Christmas. Again, Mom would be so proud.

“I have to pee.” Hannah made the announcement like a newsflash. It was the third such bulletin in the last two hours, but her drinking pace made it a redundant given.

Before I could slide out, she knocked into me like a bumper car. I chuckled, shaking my head. “Hold on! I’m moving.”

Of course, I’d had as many beers as the girls, plus a few shots of scotch. None of us drank this much normally, but I wasn’t feeling much more than a slight buzz. I think mine was masked by the adrenaline of the night, of having Hannah attached to me by the hip while she had the time of her life.

When she stood from the booth, her body swayed and she tilted at a forty-five-degree angle, crumpling against me and the back of the booth.

I wrapped my arms around her from behind, my hands sliding up just under her breasts. “Whoa. How about I escort you to the bathroom.”

She tilted her head back against my chest, gazing up at me with half-lidded eyes. “You gonna help balance me over the toilet?”

My mouth opened. No words came out. I glanced back at the girls, but all three of them looked at me with wide-eyed expectant expressions, like the entire world’s problems would be solved by my answer. I glared at them.

“Do you need me to?” I furrowed my brow at the limp girl in my arms.

Hannah burst out laughing. “Nooo, silly. Was bein’ smartass.” Not only were her words slurring, she missed a few as she spoke. “Worst case, I’ll grab handicap bars. Did last pee.”

She pushed against my hips with her hands, righting herself by spreading her arms wide. I stood there as she took a tentative step in those high heels, fully prepared to fireman-carry her ass to the bathroom, pull down her jeans, and hold her over that toilet, if necessary.

Her next two steps were faster, and I almost thought she was falling forward until I slammed into her back, nearly knocking her over.

I threw my arms back around her, righting her.

But she didn’t need my support. Like a cement wall that had been poured and hardened instantly, she drew herself up and held there.

Some clean-cut guy stood two feet in front of her, staring at her.

And she stared back.

I shifted to her side to see her expression. She’d gone white like she’d seen a ghost.

“Wh-what are you doing here?”

Cocky expression on his face, the guy shrugged. “Saw your picture in the paper for the event. Thought I’d come down and see you.”

Every ounce of protectiveness programmed into my DNA fired to life. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that was her piece-of-shit ex. I took a step forward, ready to block Hannah and body check Dumbfuck, who had the balls to show his cowardly face now.

A hand on my shoulder held me. I growled, glancing back.

Kristen now stood by my side, serious as a heart attack and shaking her head. “Don’t, Cade. Let her fight her own battle.”

My brow furrowed. Had Hannah shared her past with my sisters? Or was it just blatantly obvious to any person who wasn’t passed out cold that this guy bothered Hannah?

Fighting the urge to pummel the guy into the earth, I held fast. Kristen was right. The fight wasn’t mine; it was Hannah’s. And who knew, maybe it would help her get some closure.

Hell, maybe I could live vicariously through her. Maybe for all of those shredded and abandoned hearts out there, Hannah could give the uncaring fuck a piece of all of our minds.

Hannah crossed her arms and stepped forward, invading Dumbfuck’s space. Her stance was suddenly steady as a rock, like adrenaline had spiked through her too, readying her to fight. “You don’t get to ‘come down and see’ me.”

I forced a calming breath into my lungs as Hannah took another step closer to him, getting right up in his face.

With Kristen’s restraining hand on my shoulder, I took a step forward, leaning in, pushing to make sure I remained within a three-foot boundary, ready to strike the asshole if he so much as twitched.

Hannah’s razor-sharp words were loud and clear over the music from where I stood. A wry smile twisted onto her face as she lifted her arms straight out from her sides. “Like what you see, Brandon? Well take a good look. This is me
happy
. This is me
moving on with my life
. This is me
so damn glad you left
, because I was only a shadow of my true self with overbearing you.”

She dropped her arms to her sides, leaning in so far that Dumbfuck had to sway back on his heels to prevent their foreheads from smacking.

“I’ve stepped out into the sun and I love it. Go back into whatever hole you crawled out from. You’re not welcome here.”

Hannah turned toward the bathroom.

Dumbfuck shot his arm up, grabbing her wrist.

I launched forward, slamming open palms into the asshole’s chest, sending him flying. The momentum knocked Hannah off-balance and I lunged sideways, grabbing and steadying her before tucking her into my side.

His body crashed into a couple of occupied tables. Glasses flew and shattered on the floor. Dumbfuck sat on his ass for only a few seconds before jumping up and charging me. I shoved Hannah behind me, into my sisters.

The music stopped and a low chant grew louder, escalating to shouts. “Fight! Fight!”

In a blur of movement, Kevin, the bar owner, tackled Dumbfuck from the side, obliterating another table. The crowd cheered, then sang yet another Irish song about drinking and brawling.

Before things got out of hand, Kevin’s employees descended, lifting the asshole off the floor and forcibly removing him from the building. The entire time, he stared at Hannah with a psychotic grin on his face, like ruining her night had made his.

I spun around. Hannah stared at the floor where he’d been, her gaze unfocused. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

My sisters surrounded her from behind. We were a pack who protected our own.

Rage coursed through me that the idiot could pull her out of having such a great time and upset her to this extent. There was a special place in hell for the Dumbfucks of the world.