Tied (25 page)

Delores scoffs, “I’m not sure my cousin knows how to spell
prenup
.”

Thump.

Thump.

They seem way too calm about this development. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

Now Dee glares at me. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Matthew explains, “Drew, it was your idea.”

My face goes slack. “It was?”

“It was. After you woke up from your nosedive at the strip club, you went on and on about how great marriage is. How everyone should get fucking married. How love is a precious, beautiful flower, and marriage is the water and sunlight that helps it grow.”

I seriously need to never drink again.
Ever
.

“I said that?”

Matthew nods. “You were very poetic.”

“Shit. We should call Wilson—he’s the best divorce lawyer in New York City.” And an old colleague of my mother’s. “Maybe he can draft something that’ll work retroactively.”

Matthew takes another bite of cereal. “Already left him a message.”

Thump.

Thump.

My fingers move from my temples to my forehead, continuing to rub the torturous pounding. “What else am I missing?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Matthew asks.

“Um . . . playing poker with you and Steven at Paradise. Warren singing Barry Manilow onstage.”

My best friend laughs. “You’re missing a lot.” He sets the bowl of cereal down on the coffee table and elaborates. “Kate, Dee, Lexi, and Erin decided to crash our party and showed up at Paradise. After we left the police station—”

I cut him right off. “Why were we at the police station?”

“Because that’s where they take you when you get arrested.”

“We got arrested?”

He grins. “Oh, no—
we
didn’t get arrested.”

Dee raises her hand. “
We
did.”

My eyes go wide. “Kate was in jail?”

Thump.

Matthew waves his hand calmly. “Only for, like, twenty minutes. They released the girls to our custody—no charges were filed. I smoothed things over with the strip club.”

Going with the usual-suspect line of thought, I turn on Delores. “What did you do to get Kate arrested?”

She just laughs. “You can thank your sister for that one—Alexandra didn’t appreciate her husband getting so much attention from the strippers. When one of them got in her face, Lexi showed her what was up—and the rest of us had her back. I’ll say this much: for a trust-fund baby, the Bitch has got a mean right hook.”

This is not news to me.

“Jesus Christ,”
I sigh. “All right, forget all that—just tell me where Kate is.”

Dee looks confused. “What do you mean? She’s in your room.”

Thump.

Before I can point out that Kate is not, in fact, in our room, one of the bedroom doors opens. Erin steps out, wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe, her hair wet. “Good morning, everyone!”

“Hey, naughty girl,” Dee greets her.

Erin steps into the kitchen. “Mmm . . . coffee.”

And prepare to have your mind blown—because in the bedroom doorway Erin just exited appears none other than . . . Jack O’Shay.

Shirtless. Wearing only boxers.

No way.

He stretches his arms wide above his head with a yawn, then scratches his chest and adjusts his balls. “What a great fucking night, huh? I’m actually sad you’re only getting married once, Evans. I could definitely do that again.”

Please look closely at my face. Did my eyeballs fall out of my head? ’Cause it feels like they have.

I look at Matthew. He just nods and flicks his hand, silently telling me,
What are you gonna do?

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

As Erin sticks her head into the refrigerator behind us, Jack stands next to me. In a low voice I ask, “Did you . . . is this . . .”

“Is this what you think it is?” He grins like a well-fed feline. “It is, and I did.” Then, softer, he says, “Erin’s a wildcat, man. Easily made the top three bangs of my lifetime. I’ll fill you in later.”

If this ends up causing Erin to not be my secretary in the near future—I’m going to have to kill Jack. Seriously. I can always find more friends. Finding a secretary who knows her shit as well as Erin does? That’ll be much more difficult.

Erin comes back into the room sipping her coffee. Jack grabs
a newspaper off the table and announces, “I’ll be in the john.” Before he goes, he adds, “Hey, Erin—how about you bring me a cup of coffee for when I get out?”

Erin smiles sweetly. “Hey, Jack—how about you get it yourself? This isn’t the office, and even if it was, I don’t work for you.”

Jack just chuckles and goes back into the bedroom.

Thump.

I turn to stare at Erin. My voice is teasingly aghast as I say, “Erin. I am
shocked
. I can’t believe you let Jack play you—I thought you were smarter than that.”

She clears her throat. “Did you ever consider the possibility that
I’m
the one who played
Jack
?”

I touch my jaw thoughtfully because, no, I hadn’t considered that.

Thump.

Erin continues, “I came here hoping to meet Mr. Right, but he didn’t appear. Jack is cute, and, more important, he was ready, willing, and able. You do the math.”

“But isn’t that going to be weird for you, working in the same office every day? He’s seen your cum face.” I pause. “At least . . . I hope he’s seen your cum face.”

Erin winks. “He’s well acquainted with it.” She sips her coffee. “But, no, it’s not going to be awkward. We’re adults—and what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?”

“I guess so.”

Unless you’re Billy Warren. In his case, what happens in Vegas may end up taking 50 percent of his net worth.

With that, Erin goes back to the kitchen, pours a second cup of coffee, and returns to the bedroom Jack retreated to, closing the door behind her.

I shake my head a little. “Wow.”

I’m about to ask Matthew and Dee where Kate is again—but that rhythmic knocking noise starts back up. Do you hear it too?

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

“What the hell is that noise?”

Like those disturbing twins from
The Shining
, my best friend and his wife answer in harmony yet again. “Steven and Alexandra.”

The racket does seem to be coming from behind their closed door. “What are they, nailing each other to a cross?”

Matthew mutters, “Something’s getting nailed all right.”

Thump.

Cautiously, I step toward their door. When I’m inches away, I align my ear with the seam at the hinge. Listening.

“Who’s your daddy, baby? Say it, say my name.”

“Steven, ooohhh, Steven.”

Then the unmistakable sound of a palm slapping ass reaches my ear.

“Ahhh!” I jump back away from the door as if it were an electrified fence. I cover my ears, but it’s too late.

I bend over and brace my hands on my knees, on the verge of actually vomiting. I just hope the villa is stocked with hydrogen peroxide, so I can sterilize my eardrums.

After the desire to upchuck passes, I stand up and address Dee and Matthew. “Screw all this. The only thing I want to know is—where. Is. Kate?”

Delores answers, “I told you, dumbass, she’s in your room. We tucked you two into bed together as soon as we came back last night.”

“I was just in our room! She’s not there!”

Delores shrugs. “Maybe she decided to bail on the
wedding—pried open the window and made a break for it.” Then she smiles. “If that’s the case—good on her.”

Matthew pulls Dee’s hair again, but says, “It’s true, Drew; Kate hasn’t left the room—we would’ve seen her.” He turns back to his wife and warns, “If yanking your hair doesn’t get the job done, I’m going to break out the paddle.”

She leans closer and taunts, “Promises, promises.” Then she kisses him, ignoring my dilemma completely. I push my hand through my hair, then turn away and march back to our bedroom.

My eyes scan the bed, but Kate’s not there. Just to be safe, I pick up the blanket and shake it out.

Nothing.

I enter the walk-in closet next to the bedroom door. Though I realize it’s unlikely, I check behind the hanging clothes. Not a sign of Kate to be seen. Then I walk out of the closet and take a few steps around the bed . . .

On the floor, peeking out from the far side of the bed, are five pretty toes. They’re connected to a beautiful foot. My eyes travel from the foot, up the delectable calf, to the exquisite thigh that fits so perfectly around my hip.

Still in last night’s clothes, sound asleep on her side, one leg stretched out, one tucked close to her torso, with folded hands resting under her cheek, like a pillow.

Kate.

Every cell in my body sighs her name with relief. I stand there for a minute, just watching her—breathing in the sight of her as she slumbers like a kitten in front of a fireplace. The all-encompassing love I have for her, that’s always with me—I feel it more keenly. Because even for just a few minutes, I’d thought I hurt her.

I grab a pillow and the blanket and drop to my knees beside Kate. Then I lie on the makeshift floor bed and gather her tight against me. My chest pillows her head.

She stirs with a moan. “Drew?”

I smooth her hair. “Yeah, baby, it’s me.”

Without lifting her head, she wonders in a drowsy voice, “Why are you on the floor?”

I kiss the top of her head and whisper against her hair, “Because that’s where you are.”

After a pause, she just says, “Oh.”

My hand slides up and down her back, her arm, savoring every touch—enjoying the feel of her next to me. “Did you have fun last night?”

Still lying on my chest, she nods. “Uh-huh.” Then Kate breathes deep and suggests, “Let’s never do anything like this again.”

“I could not agree with that statement more.”

We’re quiet for a few moments. I look up at the ceiling, wanting and needing to get a few more hours of sleep. But I have to tell her one more thing first.

“Kate?” I squeeze her shoulder gently. “Hey, Kate?”

“Mmmm?”

My voice is low, rough with emotion, as I confess, “I really can’t wait to marry you.”

She raises her head and gazes at me with adorable bleary eyes. She smiles. “Yeah . . . me too.”

Kate lays her head back down, and her hand rests right over my heart. I cover her hand with mine, and together we fall back to sleep.

S
o what have we learned from this story?

First and foremost, bachelor parties?

Terrible
idea.

Once you’re in a committed relationship, going to bars or a strip club without your significant other is just asking for trouble. Whoever started the bachelor-party tradition should be buried alive in a mass grave with the karaoke guy and . . . well . . . I was going to say Billy Warren.

But I guess we can let him live. I’m over it—he’s harmless. He’s also dim-witted, annoying, and . . . decent . . . a stand-up guy, a good friend.

You already knew that, didn’t you?

We’ll never be the best of friends, but from here on out, the one or two times a year I have to see him will actually be okay with me.

What else?

Have faith in yourself—it actually is possible to learn from
your mistakes. I did. And this time, when I was on the spot, I didn’t screw up. I believed in Kate, trusted what we have, and did the right thing.
Fucking finally.

Now let’s get to the part you’ve been waiting for:

The wedding.

Matthew, Jack and Steven, my parents, James and I, arrive at St. Patrick’s Cathedral right on time. Although they rarely close the church to the public, for our event—and to accommodate the thousand-plus guests sitting in the pews—the powers that be agreed to do just that. The hefty “donation” I gave didn’t hurt either.

I keep an eye on my son as he runs up and down the aisle, stopping occasionally to bask in the attention of an adoring guest. Then I shake hands with Father Dougherty, the priest who’ll actually be doing the deed.

“How are you feeling this afternoon, Andrew? Are you ready?”

“I was born ready, Father.”

“That’s good to hear. Your bride’s limousine has just arrived, so you can take your place at the altar.”

There’s no anxiety—no nervousness or fear that I’m making a mistake. No cold feet. The only thing I feel is . . . excitement. Impatience.

My mother retrieves James and they head back to the vestibule. My father and I walk up the side aisle, toward the altar.

About halfway there, he stops me with a hand on my shoulder. His blue eyes, so much like my own, are filled with emotion.
“If I haven’t told you before, I want to make sure you know—I’m so proud of you, Son. You’re a good man, you’re an amazing father, and I have no doubt you’ll be an outstanding husband. I’m so very proud, Drew.”

Then he hugs me. Tight and secure, the kind of embrace that tells me even though I’m married and a father—he’s still my dad and I’ll always be his son.