Everlasting (Family Justice Book 6) Page 15

Not to be outdone, her brother snapped his fingers to get his butt buddies to follow—disappeared for a few minutes and then reappeared with Drae and Cam pushing something oddly familiar into the foyer. When she got a better look at what they were doing, Sophie had a good laugh. So did their dad.

  Meghan also laughed. “Oh, jeez. Look what he’s dragged from the crypt.”

  When Alex was a teenager, he’d spent one entire summer bugging their parents to get him a drum set. Even then, his highhanded bullshit gave her a headache, and she got so sick of him bitching about it that she ended up begging them to shut him up.

  So they did. With a cheesy starter Ludwig drum kit that he treated like a gift from the gods. She was astonished he still had it—especially considering she’d been in his studio and had seen the massive drum set with the enormous Zildjian gong as big as his damn ego behind it.

  Tambourines were secured, and Uncle Matt ran to his car and came back with a harmonica.

  Angie took over on the piano and addressed everyone. Her fingers tickled the keys as she began. “I know the perfect song. Something for the baby boomers. 1968, I think. This one’s for our resident daydream believer and his very pregnant homecoming queen.”

  Knowing the song her sister referenced, Sophie threw back her head and laughed as she clapped her hands enthusiastically.

  “The Monkees,” her dad and Uncle Matt hollered with glee as they belted out a spirited version of “Daydream Believer.”

  One thing led to another, and the usual snark broke out until Matt, her dad, and Calder ripped out a comical version of “California Girls” while Wendy and her mom strutted their stuff.

  I love this, she thought. I love this crazy, half a bubble off plumb bunch of weirdos bound together by more than the ties of blood. A sense of certainty squeezed her heart. She was right to come home. Right to want her baby born into this caldron of love and goodwill.

  Every person in this room had a story, and not every page contained happiness. There’d been sorrow and loss. Tragedy and regret too. Some carried secrets and others spent their lives in atonement. It didn’t matter to any of them that she was a bit crinkly and damaged around the edges. They loved her anyway just as she loved them.

  Even that swaggering asshole Finn O’Brien. She gave the handsome Irishman some side shade while admitting that yeah—he fit perfectly.

  Champagne for those who could and sparkling grape juice for those who shouldn’t passed around freely. At some point, Carmen and a stern-faced Duke wheeled in a cart covered with round two of the wedding cake and are-you-kidding desserts. Before long, plates, napkins, and glasses littered the foyer. Just the way her grandparents liked it when family and friends were around.

  Since the in-concert portion of the festivities was being dominated by the old heads, they were treated to Uncle Ed in his famous John Lennon imitation throwing down with “Mr. Postman.” She was used to the Father Eduardo-Uncle Ed morphing. It was what she grew up with, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t funny when others couldn’t seem to find their footing around a man who wore a religious collar one second and five minutes later sported a Grateful Dead t-shirt and jeans. Always amusing.

  Her uncle could pull off a wickedly believable British accent, and his pitch-perfect impersonation of anything remotely connected to the British Invasion of the music world in the 1960’s led to her dad needling him until he did a goofy Herman’s Hermits song “I’m Into Something Good” complete with hand claps and go-go dancers. The ladies really got into it too!

  Showing the Supremes how it was done, Stephanie, Aunt Wendy, and her mom sang “Stop! In the Name of Love” over everyone’s whoops and hollers. The last-second choreography was standard beauty queen protocol. Her new aunt was an interesting lady.

  Sophie paid close attention to Stephanie’s face when Calder sat at the baby grand. The room grew quiet and listened when he sang “The Pretender.” It was his signature song, a personal anthem, and until this very day, she didn’t realize how important the words were. But now her beloved uncle had found someone to fill in the missing colors, and the song took on new significance.

  When it got late, and every song they could think of was exhausted, the celebration ended with a lively, extended “Don’t Stop.” And it got loud with all the tambourines and such!

  It was a true miracle that she never stopped thinking about tomorrow. Even at her darkest moment, a glimmer still existed. Zippy shone a spotlight on her feelings when he danced in her womb to the joyful sound.

  Happiness filled Sophie as the night came to an end. Stephanie and Uncle Calder’s wedding had been the intimate, romantic moment the happy couple wanted. Her parents were so over the moon for them that Sophie’s heart nearly burst from their joy. Maybe there was something to what her dad kept saying. That love came when we least expected it and sometimes, it waited until hope got old.

  She looked for Carmen and found her wearing a sly smile as her wedding date helped drape a shawl over her shoulders. A small sigh escaped Sophie’s mouth, and she pressed a hand against her heart. It was so fucking sweet to see the dear woman find her happiness.

  Commotion ensued as people started taking their leave. Some were scattering like confetti in the wind now that the wedding was over. Uncle Ed was hanging around through the weekend, but the Camerons and St. Johns were heading out almost immediately. Calder and Stephanie were leaving whenever. He’d chartered a private plane to take them to their top-secret honeymoon destination.

  Maybe she’d pay a visit to the stables tomorrow after things had quieted down and pretend to give a crap about the horses. She rode. Pretty damn well, too. You couldn’t grow up the way she had and not be a capable rider. But horses and the whole hanging around the barn thing had never appealed to her.

  However, she mused while waving at the departing guests, if Jace was running the stable show, it might be worth a visit.

  11

  Parker stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His face wore a thick layer of shaving cream. Behind him, Angie was gathering towels and straightening up from their morning shower. She had dressed for the day, and he couldn’t help the amused snigger for today’s outfit.

  On her agenda was house hunting with Sophie, and for some reason, she decided that looking like a deranged hillbilly was the way to go. While he would prefer a dress that would provide an opportunity to enjoy her shapely legs and didn’t make her look like a teenager, Angie had other ideas.

  “What’s with the overalls? I thought you two would be searching for a house—not a farm.”

  She stopped and looked at him—her arms burdened with discarded towels. Noticeably amused, she hastily pushed some stray hair behind her ear while juggling the laundry and smiled.

  “This is Sophie’s show.” A lazy shrug and her you-know-what-I-mean expression made sense. “I’m just along for moral support.”

  “So you dress like Miley Cyrus at a hoedown?”

  Her bright giggle was adorable. “Did we crack open the country expressions manual this morning?”

  At the hamper, she emptied the pile in her arms as he swiped the razor down his cheek. When she returned her attention to his watchful gaze in the mirror, he asked, “Is this your way of making sure nobody looks at you?”

  Lip nibble followed by a sigh. He knew her so well.

  “Honey,” he murmured after wiping his face with a towel. “I don’t know if you realize this or not, but your sister is quite beautiful. You don’t need to do this.”

  She started to defend or explain whatever was going on in her head, but he turned around and put his hand up to stop her.

  “Open your eyes, babe. She’s not hiding anymore. I know you’re used to Soph being standoffish, a little hard around the edges, and something of a wallflower.”

  Another sigh.

  “But Angie, that’s not who showed up in Arizona. I think she’s really happy, and when I’ve gotten her alone, and we’ve talked ... well, all I can say is she’s a different perso
n. The decision to be a single parent transformed her, or maybe the transformation led to her choices. I don’t know. But she’s in a whole new headspace. What’s that expression? She’s letting her light shine? Yeah. Totally.”

  “Oh, Parker,” she cried. “I hope you’re right.” She grasped the straps to the overalls and shifted on her feet. “I, um, talked to Heather a little bit.”

  “Really?” He felt his brows shoot up. Heather Clarke was the Family Justice designated marriage counselor, therapist, counselor, and general all-around smart person when interpersonal relationships and stuff like that were the focus.

  “Yeah. I mean shit. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and cause …” Her voice dwindled to a whisper.

  “What? A relapse? Angie. No.” He shook his head.

  “That’s why I had to talk to somebody.” She was wringing her hands. Angie wasn’t a nervous worrier, so the movement drew his attention. “She said that people are full of misconceptions about mental health. Made me feel like a twit.”

  “Aw, now, come on. I’m sure she didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

  Shrugs had personalities and could be as different as snowflakes. Angie’s shrug was a recognized remnant from her childhood. She wouldn’t say it out loud, but as a kid, she had worshipped Sophie. As the youngest, she had a God-adjacent big brother to adore and a sister to idolize. It didn’t matter if Alex was a king-size asshole or Sophie a stink-eye bitch with a secret heart of gold. When Sophie had her breakdown, Angie was devastated because they were close. Closer than close but over time, the closeness and Angie’s desire to fix Sophie’s problems obscured her vision. She still saw her sister as damaged and in jeopardy.

  “Sophie isn’t responsible for my fears. I am. Heather told me it’s common for a breakdown like Sophie’s to be nothing more than a moment in time. A moment of extreme stress.”

  He was glad to hear this and understood the point Heather was making. A lot of the angst around Sophie wasn’t so much about her as it was self-inflicted by those who loved her dearly. Worrying too much became something with a life of its own, but that didn’t mean the worry was helpful.

  “I dressed down for me. I want her to shine, and any little thing I can do to help that along makes me feel … helpful.”

  “It’s not a competition.”

  “I know. And you’re right. She is gorgeous, and I’m jumping with joy that she’s so calm and happy. The overalls are more about me than her. Case closed.”

  He let it go. Accepting Sophie’s new life and surprising choices was a work in progress. It was enough that Angie knew she had an important part to play.

  “Change of subject. I have a question.”

  She waved him to follow along as she hurried into a bedroom that looked like a bomb had gone off. They’d made a hellacious mess last night. Post-wedding-high spirits, far too much champagne, and a thundering case of red-hot lust made up the recipe for destruction that they visited on their bedroom. He grinned just thinking about it.

  Plopping into a chair, she began sliding on a pair of low-top black Chucks and nodded that he should continue.

  “I couldn’t help but notice last night that you begged off a duet with your dad.”

  Her eyes flared, but she immediately masked whatever she was thinking. Dammit. This right here was why he was all over the fucking map with her and the whole dominant thing. If he embraced the role, he’d have to be ready for these moments when his lady needed a firm hand and not a denial-happy wimp.

  Something was up—he’d felt it months and months ago when she refused another song request from his parents. He could let it go—everyone was entitled to his or her private thoughts, right?—but it didn’t sit well, and instinct told him he’d better get to the bottom of whatever was causing this unusual behavior.

  “Oh,” she stammered.

  He sensed her searching for a stalling maneuver. His head bowed for a second while he thought it through. She generally told him everything, so why was this different?

  “Um, it was no big deal. My, uh, throat was a little sore. That’s all.”

  Her throat was a little sore. Jesus. How was he supposed to react to such a lame excuse when a few hours after the song request she’d sucked him to the point of no return with her insatiable mouth and penchant for going deep?

  Beating around the bush would only frustrate him in the end, so he asked a different question and waited to see what she did.

  “Wanna try that again, Angel?”

  She stood and shoved her hands in the overall pockets. His composure was rocked by how young she looked. He drew in a long breath and willed his restless sex drive to back down.

  For a few seconds, she dropped her chin to shield her eyes. Her voice held a slight tremble when she answered.

  “Can we not discuss this right now?”

  Parker nodded slightly. A direct punt. Interesting. He backed off, though, because it was enough that he’d put it out there. Angie knew he’d revisit the topic at some point.

  “I will let you wiggle away,” he said with a pointed look, “if you’re okay. If you’re not—don’t blow desert heat up my ass.”

  A whole slew of emotions ricocheted across her face. Whoa. There was so much going on in her expression that he didn’t know what to address first.

  Looking directly at him, she asked a simple question in a quiet voice. “Do you love me?”

  “More than my life, Angel.”

  “Then I’m fine.”

  He crossed the empty space between them and hugged her tight. “If something’s bothering you—and I can see there is—you must tell me, baby. I can’t help if you freeze me out.”

  “I’m not doing that, I swear. It’s ... complicated.”

  He held her at arm’s length. “You know I want to force it out of you, right?”

  “Please don’t. I promise, Parker. We can discuss this later. But don’t push, okay?”

  “Is it that important for you to figure out whatever it is by yourself? Without my help? That tells me that I’m the cause.”

  “No, no. It’s me. Shit,” she muttered. “Please. Not now.”

  Her growing anxiety tore at his heart. He was about to give in when she shocked the holy crap from him.

  “I gotta go. Meeting Sophie in half an hour.”

  And then she ran away. From him. His heart sank.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Dane. Good morning. My name is Jill, and I’ve prepared the cabin according to your wishes.”

  The neatly efficient woman in a crisp business suit was waiting for them at the private terminal when he and Stephanie arrived.

  Ben, the old fart, had made a halfhearted attempt not to snicker at them when he came by the cabin in the limo to take them to the airport. And why the snickers? Because despite their age and circumstance, he and his wife had been so wrapped up in each other that they’d nearly been in the throes of making passionate love when the ride arrived. And it showed by their discombobulated confusion and awkward appearance.

  It had taken nearly the entire ride from the Villa to the airport to find some damn composure—something not in any way aided by his bride’s insistence that she sit on his lap.

  Thank god Jill gave no indication that she found their behavior unusual.

  A cool early morning breeze ruffled his wife’s hair. The delicate garnet earrings he’d given her at some point last night peeked at him and brought a smile. Always one to delve deep into an esoteric discussion, he’d taken in a raft of information from the jeweler Brody Jensen had recommended.

  There was a lot of blathering about the Gem Society and how to buy stones, but what interested him the most was the lore and meaning behind the January birthstone, the garnet. He liked the dark and deep-violet red colors and found the history of the stone fascinating. From the early Egyptians to ancient healers, warriors and nobility, the garnet had been many things throughout the ages.

  He chose the stone to commemorate the month of their union. In pop culture
terms, it symbolized peace and good health, but what reeled him in was the metaphysical meaning—eternal commitment, honesty, hope, and faith. What better way to honor to their marriage?

  Stephanie made a shivering movement and stuck her hand out for the attendant. “Thank you so much, Jill. Please don’t think me rude if I dash into the plane and grab a throw blanket. It’s cold this morning!”

  She turned slightly and met his gaze. “Will you excuse me?”

  No. He would make her stand there and freeze. Of course, she was excused—especially if that meant he got to watch her sweet, sweet ass and killer legs climb the stairs to the plane.

  Calder winked. Her mouth trembled with a controlled smile.

  Jill talked his damn head off after that. He barely had time to sigh once his wife had disappeared into the cabin before the woman started jabbering. The captain wanted him to know the estimated flight time was three and a half hours.

  He asked for the flight crew to say hello in the cabin before takeoff. It wasn’t necessary—totally a courtesy call—but he wanted to practice introducing his wife.

  His wife. He glanced at the plane. Jill was tapping on an iPad, explaining systems and availability. He didn’t give a rose-scented fart about any of it.

  “Jill,” he cut in. “Thanks for everything, but we’re on a honeymoon schedule and …”

  “What?” the attendant asked in a sharp tone. “Your honeymoon?” The sharpness turned to worry.

  “Yes.” He chuckled to put her at ease. “We got married yesterday.”

  The woman started to laugh. “Okay then! That explains so much.”

  He snorted and chuckled at the same time. “Are the roses a bit much? They are, aren’t they?”

  “Oh, heavens no,” she assured him. “I’ve just never seen six double-dozen arrangements anywhere, much less in a plane cabin.”

  “Didn’t make sense with the sparkling grape juice, huh?”

  She shook her head. “Avocado wraps, avocado dip, avocado salsa. I’m guessing?”

  Calder chuckled. “Yeah. Baby on board has a constant jonesing for avocado.”