The Other F-Word (38 page)

I wrapped my arms around her, wondering what I had done to deserve a man like Damien Wolfe.

She sobbed in my arms. “Damien tells me you’re going to adopt a baby.”

I handed her a tissue. “Yes, it’s something I never thought I’d be doing at this age.”

“If anyone can do this, you can.”

“Mom, would you like to walk me down the aisle?”

A stunned expression formed on her delicate features. “I would be honoured, but are you sure about this?”

“Yes, a daughter needs her mother. And I’m very grateful to have you here.”

The procession was long—everyone was in the wedding. Derek was the best man. Dillon, Adam and Rick were groomsmen. My girls and Kate were all bridesmaids. Bobby was the ring bearer, and he looked so adorable in his little tux. I held onto my mother’s arm, walking slowly to the tune of
Here Comes the Sun
. I smiled as we passed all our family and friends, all smiling, excited to bear witness on our special day.

But when I glanced at him, I couldn’t look away. I gasped. It was mutual. His eyes were inviting pools of golden green. It was the colour of happiness…at least for me. He wore a Gatsby-inspired tuxedo. He arched his eyebrow and moved the lapel of his jacket, showing off…suspenders. I laughed so hard people joined in, not understanding the secret joke between us.

Damn
. I was ready for this honeymoon to start already.

My mother put my hand in his and we faced each other. We’d written our own vows, and I was seriously worried I’d forgotten them all staring into his handsome face.

“You look beautiful, Jessie.”

“You brought my mom here,” I whispered.

“I thought you’d want all your family here.”

“Thank you.” I wrapped my arms around him, unable to express how much it meant in any other way. I was close to crying so I tried to lighten the situation. “I like your suspenders.”

“I figured. That’s why I wore them.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting, but I’m trying to officiate a wedding, if you don’t mind,” the pastor said.

“Sorry.” I cringed, realising this was not the best time to talk.

“It’s all right. Don’t worry, you’ll have the rest of your lives to finish your conversation,” she said.

“Yes, we have the rest of our lives to…extrapolate,” Damien said, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

I lifted an eyebrow in warning, which only made him laugh.

When it was time to say our vows, I was glad Damien was going first. He was calm and collected as usual.

“Jessie, I didn’t think it was possible for me to find happiness again, but you’ve proven me wrong. I know you didn’t count on me either. But fate had other plans for us. When I look at you, I see the woman I’m meant to be with. The one who cheers me up when I’m feeling down, the one who makes me laugh when I need it the most, the one I want to take care of for the rest of my life and the one who wants to take care of me. I see my future when I look at you. My heart belongs to you. I love you.”

He wiped away a tear from my eyes. He cleared his throat, as if he was trying to hold his own emotion back. The men in this family always played the strong protector. Damien was no different.

I swallowed, taking a deep breath. “Damien, sometimes you don’t realise what you’re missing until you find it. You didn’t just find me. You saved me. You make me a better person by being in my life. You make me whole. You were my family even before you asked me to marry you. I will protect your heart and heal your scars just as you’ve done for me. I love you.”

It was simple and perfect. It was us.

* * * *

My face was flushed and my hair was a mess, but I didn’t care. I was dancing with my man. We’d sneaked off to have a piece of German chocolate cake. He winced as we did our version of a samba to the sounds of
Hips Don’t Lie
by Shakira. I rubbed his back, knowing the marks from his suspenders had to be painful.

“Sorry.”

“It was worth it,” he said, pulling me in for a kiss. Damien and I had planned the wedding together, but I’d made sure the band was capable of playing our songs…all of our songs.

Then the song was over and it was time. Time to throw the bouquet of white and red roses.

The cast of single characters was shrinking, but both Dillon and Billie stood prominently in front.

“Who am I supposed to throw this to?” I asked them.

“Me!” they both exclaimed at the same time. They both looked at each other in some type of stand-off.

“It’s my turn,” Dillon said.

“Maybe, but nothing’s fair in love and war. We both know the bouquets in this family are magic, and I’m ready for some magic.”

“You guys could share it,” I suggested.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Dillon replied. He stared down at Billie in what I assumed was supposed to be intimidation, but she did the same thing to him. “Fine, may the best contender win, but I’ll warn you, I’ve got experience catching these.”

“Three years of varsity volley ball says I’ll catch it.”

“Unless you’re planning to spike it across a net, I doubt that’ll help you.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I interjected.

“Just throw it, Mom, let fate fall where it wants to,” Billie said.

Dillon nodded.

I shook my head when they both stretched. I bit my lip when they bent at the knees in a sort of athletic stance. But when they stared each other down that one last time, I almost insisted we cancel this tradition.

“Those flowers belong to me, curly boy,” Billie said in an assured voice.

“Bring it, Barbie,” he challenged in his own scary, seething voice.

This wasn’t going to turn out well. I just knew it. A mother always knows. I made my way up to the stage as Beyoncé’s
Single Ladies
played. I said a silent prayer that they both found magic. I turned around tossing it over my shoulder. Surely, nothing could go wrong on this day.

* * * *

“I can’t believe I broke your nose!” Dillon cried, stroking Billie’s hair. We were all in the office area of the hotel.

Derek was examining Billie. Dillon was freaking out. Damien put his arm around me, trying to comfort me. Adam was trying hard not to laugh.

“It’s not broken. The swelling will go down,” Derek said. “Everyone give her space. The girl can’t breathe with you all hovering around her.”

We backed up. It was true—there were too many people in this room.

“Still, I hit a woman. It just tarnishes this whole thing,” he said, holding up the bouquet he’d caught. “I might as well start buying wife beaters and drinking beer from a can.”

“It was an accident,” Rick said.

“Yeah, my nose got in your way,” Billie said, holding the ice pack. She offered him a sweet smile, but Dillon couldn’t see through his own guilt.

“I ruined your wedding,” Dillon said to me, ignoring Rick. The poor boy was completely distraught, but before I could reply my husband did.

“This will just be another great story. We’ll be laughing about it in a few months. And what family is complete without its share of funny stories.”

“Oh, he’s definitely going to fit in,” Adam said. “Welcome to the family, Dad,” Adam said, clapping Damien on the back.

Damien raised an eyebrow, shooting Adam a warning expression. “Thank you, Adam, but if you ever call me that again, we’re gonna have issues.”

“Understood,” he said, chuckling.

“This isn’t the time for you to joke around, Adam,” Dillon replied.

“Calm down, Dills, I’m fine,” Billie said.

“Well, this is yours,” he said, putting the bouquet in her lap.

“No, you caught it. It’s yours.”

“You guys could just share,” I suggested.

“It doesn’t work that way,” they both replied.

“I don’t think I’m ready for it anyway. I want you to have it, Billie. Take it. I promise I’ll make this up to you.”

She giggled, pulling his tie. “Are you going to become the man of my dreams and whisk me off into the sunset?”

He sighed, rolling his eyes, but a playful smirk crossed his lips. “Honey, these flowers aren’t that magical.”

The hearty, robust laughs that followed were probably heard throughout the whole hotel.

I figured out that the best F-word is the one you always carry with you. The one that gives you strength and hope.

Family.

Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

What’s Her Secret?: A Girl by Any Other Name

MK Schiller

Excerpt

Chapter One

Excerpt from
Raven Girl

The worst part of being a kid was that you never knew how good you had it until it was too late.

Childhood was simple. My parents told me it was because I didn’t have bills to pay or mouths to feed, but it was more than that. It was because nothing was planned. When you didn’t plan for it, you didn’t worry about the consequences. They just happened naturally without the coercion, manipulation or mindfuck games that came with becoming an adult.

I never planned for Sylvie Cranston to be my best friend. I never expected her to be the muse in all my dreams, or the girl who later haunted my nightmares. I certainly never planned to fall in love with her, but that was exactly what happened.

Everyone told me I needed to move on. That was like asking me to pierce my own flesh and crush my empty, beating heart. They wanted me to toss it away and continue to breathe. How could a man function without his heart?

Age 10

“Caleb, the neighbours are moving in. Come on, I need you to carry the casserole.” My mother’s hurried voice echoed down the hall to my room.

I didn’t think that woman knew the term ‘lazy Sunday’. I had no desire to meet the new neighbours let alone bring them a casserole. I wanted to get out of my Sunday suit and fish before it was time to worry about Monday.

“Why can’t Mandy carry it?” I asked. My little sister and my momma were pretty much a package deal. Wherever Amelia Tanner went, Amanda Tanner followed. Mandy was my momma’s mini-me with long, curly red hair and dark green eyes that my father fondly referred to as sharply sweet. They even had the same pattern of freckles across their noses. However, my momma was elegant whereas my sister was as clumsy as a blind dog in a figurine factory.

“It’s way too heavy for her, and I’m not risking it. I worked too darn hard on it. Now get your butt in gear and help me.”

I begrudgingly walked out of my room to the foyer where the two females in my life waited for me impatiently. “Can I at least change first?”

My mother sighed, putting her hands on her hips. “They’re going to see you looking like a bum every day this summer. At least make a good first impression. I hear they’re from up north, and we want them to think of you as a perfect Southern gentleman, not the wild ruffian you are.” I shook my head, but didn’t protest. You didn’t argue with my mother. Even a peaceful protest was out of the question. “You know, there is no hospitality like the Southern kind, so let’s go show these folks how lucky they are to be living here.”

I tried not to roll my eyes, but it was exactly what I wanted to do. She smiled at me, ruffling my hair. “You never know, they might have a little boy your age.”

“Geez, Momma, you act like I’m five. I’m not a little boy and I don’t need a playmate.”

“You sure are throwing a temper tantrum like a little boy,” Amanda chimed in, who actually
was
five.

“You will always be my little boy. Now come on,” my mother stated.

I led the procession of Tanners, carrying the cheesy casserole dish that felt like it weighed at least twenty pounds. We marched outside our little brick ranch, walking all the way out to the sidewalk and crossing over the ten slabs of cement to the driveway of another almost identical brick ranch. It was easier to cut across the grass, but I knew better. My momma would have a few remarks if I dared cross the patch of grass between the houses. It was not proper. It was not neighbourly. And we had manners. This philosophy applied even though the other house had been vacant so long it was more like weedy thistle than a real lawn. Still, my father mowed it down once a week for appearances’ sake when he tended to our lawn. “Can’t let the neighbourhood go downhill,” he’d say. I knew with his promotion to sheriff, he would be working longer hours, and the chore would soon be mine. At least I’d only have to mow our lawn.

I stepped aside so my mother could knock on the door. A moving van was in the driveway and several men were unloading it. The whole thing was a little weird. No one ever moved to Prairie Marsh, Texas. Sure, there were people who left to pursue life in other parts of the country, only to return homesick or bitter from their experiences, but it was a strange occurrence to see a new family here. We were a small town in the middle of nowhere, East Texas. Even at ten, I knew that much.

A tall dark-haired man in black trousers and a crisp white shirt answered the door. This was strange too. People around here either wore Sunday clothes or regular clothes. This man was in semi-Sunday clothes. If you were doing heavy lifting, you definitely wore jeans. I doubted he would fit in.

“Well, hello, we’re the Tanners, your neighbours next door. I’m Amelia. This is my son, Caleb, but you can call him Cal. And this little princess is Amanda, but please call her Mandy.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Harry Cranston.” He shook my mother’s hand and smiled widely at Amanda. I one-armed the casserole dish to shake his hand, happy he wasn’t ignoring me like most adults. “Nice grip, son.”

We walked into the three-bedroom replica of our house I’d always known as Mrs Miller’s place. Mrs Miller had died last year and her son had sold it, but that had been months ago. We’d begun to think the new owners had changed their mind until my mother had spotted the moving van this morning. The old house appeared new again. The oak floors were so shiny they looked wet, and the furniture was brand new with the store tags still on it. The whole house smelt of fresh paint and lemon juice. That would please my mother. She liked a clean house.