13. Tatum

CHAPTER 13

TATUM

" G od dammit, Tatum. I've told you at least a dozen times; I walk down the aisle first." My biffle Scotty stomps the final four paces separating us and drives his finger into my chest. "I'm not going to say this again: this is my big day, and I'm not letting you steal the show."

We've been standing in the entryway of Harmony Baptist Church for the last twenty minutes, waiting to be told it's time for us to make our entrance. Honestly, the venue choice is one that offends me to my very core. Brody didn't seem terribly fond of the idea either, but once Scotty reminded him it's the church his mother attended as a child, he quickly changed his tune. When the pastor refused to host a homosexual wedding, both Brody and Abi paid him a little visit, and he's been quiet as a church mouse ever since.

"I'm not stealing anything, you salty son of a bitch," I hiss. "I was peeking out the door to see if they're ready for us. Jesus Christ, why must everything be a battle with you?"

"I'll give you a battle," he growls. "Now shut up and walk me down the aisle." He approaches like a tidal wave, stomping his way toward me. Once he's at my side, he closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath. "I breathe in love." He takes another deep breath and lets it out slowly. "I exhale light." I don't know what the fuck that's about, but I don't care for the new-age bullshit. Then again, I worship a reality television icon, so who am I to judge? When he opens his eyes, he turns and eyes me up and down. "Your outfit is stupid."

He probably has a point. Ever since my date with Abi, I've been itching to slide into my see-through shirt. I really enjoyed having a fabulous cape to fling about. It makes me feel like a Hollywood starlet walking down the red carpet. For pants, I chose sheer leggings that leave little to the imagination. Like the shirt, they're basically translucent. You can see my banana-yellow jock through the fabric and everything.

"This is why no one likes you," Bennet says, folding his arms over his chest. Bennet and Benji look adorable in their matching outfits. I almost want to ask if they're willing to wear them to the wedding. They've both got on blue-and-white checkered shorts that fit in all the right places. Having seen them naked, I know what lies beneath. While neither have much to write home about—Benji especially—their smaller-than-average penises fit them perfectly. And Goddess help you when they turn around. "Booty for days" doesn't even begin to describe them.

Scotty scowls at Bennet. "People don't like me because my dad threatened to kill every gay person in America if he won the presidential election." A smirk curls on his face, and he takes a threatening step toward Bennet. "We see how that ended, didn't we? Keep it up and he won't be the only one swimming with the fishes." He pulls his hand out of his pocket, and there's something in his grip that sparkles against the light. For fuck's sake, how the hell did he manage to wedge garden shears in his skin-tight slacks? Ridiculous. Everything about this is ridiculous.

"You don't scare me," Bennet says matter-of-factly. "And people don't hate you because of your dad. We hate you because you're a prick. "

Scotty stomps forward and pokes his finger into Bennet's chest. "Just wait until I tell Daddy what you said. He's gonna get you, Bennet. He's gonna get you real good."

Bennet slaps Scotty's hand away and sighs. "Bored now. Fuck off." He turns to Benji, who's now shaking like a leaf thanks to Scotty's threats. Bennet places a hand on Benji's chest and nods. "Breathe in." Like a good boy, Benji follows his friend's instruction, closing his eyes and inhaling for a five count. Once it's done, Bennet says, "Good, baby. Now, out."

Benji exhales slowly, and when his eyes open, all the worry and fear is gone. I don't know how Bennet manages to pull him back so easily, but I'm pretty sure Benji would follow Bennet over a cliff if he asked him to.

As they console each other, Scotty and I make eye contact. Though he's just threatened Bennet's life, even he can't mask the subtle smile he's trying to hide away.

"You ready, Scotty?" I ask, squeezing his hand, but he doesn't answer me. He just stares ahead at the door. "It's just a rehearsal. You don't have anything to be worried about."

"I know," he agrees. "That's not what ... I mean, I'm just—" Closing his eyes, he lets out a loud groan like he hates everything in the world. "Thank you, Tater Tot."

"For what?"

He rolls his eyes. "For going along with all this. For not hating me after I stole your license and got married on your behalf. A lot of people would be mad."

"Oh, no. Make no mistake. I'm fucking livid with you." I wait until the worry settles on his face before leaning closer and bumping his shoulder. "But I still love you." He nods, his eyes a little mistier than before, and holds out a pinkie for me. I wrap my finger around it and tug. "Biffles for life?"

"Biffles for always." Another squeeze, and he turns and looks ahead. I do the same, staring at the closed doors, trying to steady my racing heart. I know this is only a practice run, but the thought of walking down the aisle toward Abi sends my stomach fluttering beneath my skin. To my surprise, Scotty slides his hand into mine and squeezes.

"Thank you for doing this with me," he says, his voice quiet but coated in affection. "I love you."

My heart swells in my chest, and I grip his hand even tighter. "I love you, too."

The next thing I know, Scotty's leg is in the air, and he kicks the swinging doors to the chapel wide-open, startling everyone in the room ahead. It's an action he clearly hasn't thought through, because the door simply swings back and strikes him in the face, making him cry out in pain. I close my eyes and sigh, because I already know what's coming. Sure enough, a heavy set of footsteps thud toward us, and a loud crash echoes through the space when Brody rips the door off its hinges and flings it against the wall.

"Don't fucking touch him!" he shouts at the discarded church door. There's a loud growl, and when I open my eyes, Brody's glaring at our intertwined fingers. "You either. I don't know how many times I have to say it, you stupid fucking cumdump—don't touch my boy!" He lifts his arm high to the sky, his fingers aimed in a straight line. I scream when he brings his hand down, karate chopping our hands apart. Thankfully, Brody's sense of aim leaves much to be desired, so instead of smacking my hand, he strikes Scotty's wrist, making my biffle cry out in agony.

"Daddy!" Scotty wails. "Why?"

"Ahh, Christ," Brody cries. Seriously. There are tears in his eyes and everything. It's an unsettling sight, seeing him like this. "Baby, I'm so sorry." Bending forward, he scoops Scotty into his arms and holds him against his chest. "I was trying to hit your finger-fucking friend over there. Shit." He grabs Scotty's chin and stares into his eyes. "I'm sorry, Freakshow. I swear to God, I didn't mean it." As Brody continues ranting and raving about his actions, occasionally striking himself in the side of the head as some form of a self-inflicted comeuppance, I realize I've lost every ounce of my patience in this fucking lobby.

Ahead of me, just past the pews, stands Abi Kincaid, staring at me with the biggest smile I've ever seen. I lift my hand and wave, stupidly shouting, "Hi, Abi," at the man I love.

"The man I love," I whisper. Huh. It's strange to say those words and mean them. For half a year, I've rejected all his advances. I've made him feel like he's been a constant pain in my ass. Now, I kind of want to rain down affection on him like an unending spring shower. To drench him completely, and not just in the sexual way.

Standing at his side is Fiona. Next to her, my mother. For reasons I can't understand, their pinkies are locked, just like Scotty and mine were a moment ago. I'm not sure when or why Mom and Fee became friends, but it strikes up an irrational pang of jealousy in me, because Fee is mine. My friend. My sister from another mister. I kind of don't want to share her. Whatever. I don't have time to focus on Fiona. Not when Abi's standing at the end of the aisle, waiting patiently.

"Hello, little one," he shouts across the chapel.

"If everyone is ready," the pastor says, his voice coated with disdain. "We need to get this sodomite wedding rehearsal out of the way so I can beg the Lord's forgiveness for allowing it to happen here."

The sound of a gun cocking cuts the silence in the room, but to my surprise, it isn't Brody or Abi holding the gun. Instead, Fee's got her pistol out, and she's aiming it at the pastor's head.

"I'm sorry," she says with a sly smile. "What was that comment?"

"You motherfucker," Brody's voice calls out from behind me. "Unless you've taken a cock up your ass, you can shut the fuck up with your homophobia. Get ready, Reverend. The wrath. It's coming for you." I look over my shoulder to scowl at him, but his face is coated in rage. "Are you ready for it, Reverend? You wanna meet your Messiah? "

The man's eyes blow wide as the moon itself, and in his panicked state, he holds his hands above his head in the shape of a Y. The room watches as he contorts his arms to a hummed version of "Y.M.C.A." by The Village People.

She nods. "That's what I thought. Leave it to evangelicals to turn into cowards when faced with grievous bodily harm." She lifts her arm and motions me forward. Scotty and Brody don't seem any closer to walking down the aisle, so I suppose I'm on my own for the moment. She smirks as she takes a threatening step forward. "I bet I could get you to do anything, right now. Couldn't I?" The pastor whimpers. "Shall we test out that hypothesis?"

"I have a son," he pleads. "My family needs me."

"A family?" Fee cocks her head to the side. "Just you, a few adorable kids ... and your husband?"

The man's eyes bulge. "I am not a sodomite!"

Fee jerks her hand down and fires a shot into the floorboards before aiming it at the man's head again. "And your husband?" she repeats.

"Please," he pleads. "Don't make me say it. The Lord is here. This is his home."

The gun pops again, firing another shot into the floor. "Say it."

"With my husband," he quickly agrees, looking like he might vomit at any moment.

"Because being gay is okay?" She raises an eyebrow, and when the man reluctantly nods, she adds, "Say it. Say it isn't a sin."

The man looks like he's waging war in his head, but he eventually mumbles, "It isn't a sin."

"That's what I thought. Coward." Fee forces the gun into the back of her slacks and holds her hand out at her side. I'm not sure what she's wanting, at first. My mother's hand reaches out, weaving their fingers together.

I don't have time for this foolishness. Not when I'm supposed to be rehearsing for my big day. Closing my eyes, I draw in a deep breath in an effort to steady my racing heart. When I open them, Abi is staring at me like I'm the only one in the room. Maybe I am. Maybe we are. It takes me a moment to realize everyone is staring at me, and I haven't moved an inch.

I'm not sure how long I spaced out for, but it's long enough for Scotty to slap the back of my head and hiss, "Dammit, Tater Tot. If you hold up the actual wedding ceremony like this, I'll drown you in the baptismal pool in front of God and everyone. Get your ass down there so I can fake-marry Daddy."

Not wanting to give him any reason to derail the rehearsal any longer, I begin my short trek up the aisle. As I walk, Abi's eyes never leave me. He stares at me like I'm the last thing he'll ever see, and he wants to memorize the moment. I drink the sight of him in, my thirst quenched when I see the shirt he's wearing. It's white, but in the center, it says, #Tatabi. When our eyes meet, I arch a brow. He flicks a finger between me and himself, saying. "It is our couple name. Fiona came up with it. She says we are ships."

"I don't know what the hell that means."

She rolls her eyes. "I told him that if this were one of the romance novels I read, fans would ship you. I guess it got lost in translation."

"She gave us one too!" Scotty shouts. "Brody and me. We're Scrody."

I look over my shoulder at him. "Scrody?"

He nods. "For Scotty and Brody. It's cute, isn't it?"

"It sounds like scrotum, but sure." We've wasted too much time on useless banter this morning, and I'm not letting them derail the rehearsal of the first day of the rest of my life. Marching onward, I keep eye contact with Abi. When I make it to his side, he holds out a hand for me. I think part of me knows if I take it, I'll never go, and it's in this moment—when he's staring at me like his future's been laid out before him—I make my decision .

This.

This is what I want for the rest of my life. Carnage at the hands of our friends. Unending chaos. Abi Kincaid.

When our fingers lock, my heart flutters in my chest. When we first made it back to Texas, I couldn't think of anything worse than walking down the aisle toward Abi. Now, standing here in front of our friends and family, nothing has ever felt so right. Tears prick my eyes, and while I should probably be embarrassed, I'm struck with an overwhelming sense of urgency. To give myself to him fully. To take him in return. I don't think, just act, lunging forward and wrapping every limb around him. He laughs into my ear, his hand falling down my back until he's cupping my ass.

Around us, people are talking, but I can't pull my face from his neck long enough to pay attention to what's being said. The longer it goes on, the more soothing his touch becomes. It tethers me, cementing me to him, making me wonder why I ever denied him in the first place. Abi Kincaid is the man I love, and tomorrow, I get to marry him. It's a realization that leaves me dizzied and more than a little emotional.

Eventually, he taps my back, getting my attention. When I pull away, his eyes are locked on mine, raining out affection. "This is the part where you say, I do, little one."

I stare dreamily at him, unable to do much else. "I do, Daddy."

He smiles at me. My Goddess, he smiles at me.

"Everyone out," Abi says, his voice commanding. "Leave now. We will meet you at home. I would like a moment with the little one."

The preacher clears his throat, his voice hardly even a whisper when he says, "Please do not defile our church. The Lord will not be mocked."

Abi stares at him, blinking slowly. "Where I choose to fuck the man I love is of no concern to you. Leave us before I force you to watch. "

The preacher's eyes widen, and for a brief moment, they dart down to Abi's crotch. He licks his lips before shaking himself from his haze. "I'm sorry, sir." With that, he rushes from the church like it's burning down around him.

Once the rest of the room clears, Abi carries me to one of the pews and takes a seat. I cling to him, refusing to let go. Neither of us speak for a while, we just rest here, chest to chest. Heart to heart.

"When this is all over," I finally say. "What are we going to do about Fee?" The question isn't so much a question as it is a plea for assurance. A way of saying words my mouth can't get out.

"What do you mean?" The look in his eyes tells me he knows what I'm saying, but he's too scared to hold out hope.

"I mean, we're going to be married," I say, nervously tugging at the tail of his shirt. "We're going to be ships, remember? Tatabi. Is she going to stay with us or are we ..."

"Do you want her to stay with us?"

After everything that's happened with the Bens—seeing their love reduced to a glorified cuckold situationship—I don't want to take any risks. I trust Abi implicitly, just as I trust Fee. Neither of them would hurt me, so while I know I have nothing to fear, the fear still lingers.

"Does it make me a bad person to say I want you all to myself?" I ask, unable to hold his gaze. I can't remember the last time I've felt this vulnerable. I've encased my heart in concrete just to keep it safe, but it's like that TJ Klune audiobook Fee insisted we listen to on the journey down here said: stone crumbles. Right now, it's doing just that. The walls are falling down around me and all I can do is hold out hope Abi won't make me feel terrible for the admission.

"If it does," he finally admits, "I suppose I'm a bad person as well." His finger touches my chin, and he tugs, lifting my face until we're eye to eye. "I do not wish to share you with anyone. I do not wish to share a bed with anyone other than you. "

"Good," I say. "That's what I want, too." We cuddle for a while, his hand rising and falling down my back as he tells me all the dreams he has for us. Places he wants us to visit. He mentions nudist resorts and clothing-optional beaches which makes my cock twitch beneath my jeans. He doesn't mention children, which worries me. Not because I want children—because I'm pretty sure I don't—but because I know if he has any dreams of raising a child that looks like him, it's a dream he's giving up for me.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You may ask me anything."

"It's probably not going to come out right, and I know I run the risk of sounding biphobic by asking, but?—"

He covers my mouth with his index finger, shushing me. "You do not need to preface your questions with a disclaimer. Ask whatever you would like to ask."

"Okay," I mumble against his finger, kissing the tip when I'm done. He lets his hand fall to my side, and he holds on to me, probably trying to reassure me. "I'm just worried that I won't be enough for you. A woman can give you things I can't."

"Ah," he says as if it's the most normal question in the world. "I was wondering when you might broach the subject." Leaning forward, he kisses me gently, his grip tightening around my hip. "Are you worried I will cheat on you?"

I roll my eyes, because that question is absolutely ridiculous. "Of course not. You're a rational adult—you're more than capable of remaining faithful. I'm talking about everything you get with women that you can't get with me. Kids. Normalcy. You wouldn't have to worry about bigots and homophobes. You could have a normal life."

Again, he presses his finger against my lips. "There is nothing unnatural about what we have."

"I know. That's not what I meant. You told me you always pictured yourself ending up with a woman. I feel like I'm taking that away from you. What happens if you wake up one day and realize you picked wrong. Fiona can give your children, Abi. I can't do that. We're never going to be able to look at a kid and know he's half of you and half of me. I'm the wrong choice. How do you not see that?"

"I am not picking a side," he says, his voice serious. "I am picking a person." His lips graze mine, and I open my mouth in invitation, but he ghosts past it, bringing his mouth to my ear. "I pick you, Tatum. I am picking the man I love. If we have children one day, that is fine. If we do not, that is fine as well. Whether they share our DNA, I do not care. The only thing I care about is getting to spend the rest of my life with you. I pick you, Tatum."

There are so many things I want to say to him, but nothing comes. So, when I can't find my voice, I find him, clinging desperately to the man I've chosen. "I pick you, too."

I hear a groan, but it doesn't sound like it came from Abi. I want to pull away to see if we've got a Peeping Tom on our hands—probably the kinky bastard of a pastor—but I can't bring myself to break the embrace.

When he stands, he brings me along for the journey. Once he's up, he pats my ass the way he always does when he wants me to let go. Reluctantly, I unhook my legs from around his waist, letting my feet dangle down, ready to be on solid ground again. That doesn't happen.

The next thing I know, I'm airborne. Apparently, Abi has taken it upon himself to treat me like an overgrown toddler. He throws me into the air, making me shriek. I brace myself for the fall, but I'm a fool to doubt him. He'd never hurt me. He catches me with his big rough hands, holding me in front of him like one might hold a puppy while musing about its cuteness. Before I can ask what the hell he's doing, his arms rise, and I'm flying in the air again.

"Abi, what the fuck? Stop it!"

"Mine!" he says, smiling wider than I've ever seen him smile before. Again, he tosses me into the air like a toddler, only to catch me seconds later. "Always mine, Tatum? Forever?"

Each time he catches me, his fingertips tickle my sides. I know we would probably look ridiculous to anyone else, right now, but I don't particularly give a damn. Because this is us. Me and Abi. It's our moment, and we don't have to justify our immature behavior to anyone.

"Yours," I cry, giggling as he tickles my sides again. "You know I am. Stop that!" I try to slap his hand away, but the Russian motherfucker just throws me in the air again. There's a loud popping sound behind us, then a groan that sounds like it's coming from somewhere nearby. When I fall this time, Abi doesn't catch me. I just fall to the floor in a heap. Narrowing my eyes and ready to lay into his ass for letting me fall, I look up, but he isn't there.

Then I hear it. A grunt. A gasp. Whimpers.

It takes me a moment to realize where the sound is coming from, and when I do, my heart stalls in my chest. Lying at my side, Abi is on his back, staring up at the church's rafters. His mouth is hanging open like he's about to say something, but nothing comes out.

"Abi?" His eyes are fixed ahead of him, but it's like he's not really looking at anything. It takes me a moment to realize his shirt is stained red, and the stain keeps spreading. I don't understand what I'm looking at. He was just standing in front of me, throwing me up and down in the air like a kid. Now, he's crumpled on the floor, barely breathing.

Something snaps in him, because his body jolts, and his eyes search frantically for mine. "Little one?"

His teeth are red. Why are his teeth red?

"Daddy?" I whisper, touching the side of his face. "What's wrong?" There are footsteps behind me, but I pay them no mind. Not when Abi won't even speak to me. "Abi, I'm right here. Talk to me."

"Tatum," he groans, shifting onto his elbows only to fall back to the floor, wincing with pain. "Go." I blink at him. Is he talking to me? Why would I leave? I'm right where I belong. At his side. Keeping him safe. I start to shake my head, but he moans the word again. "Go, little one. Run."

"Probably not the best idea," someone says behind me. It's a familiar voice, but I don't care enough to turn around and find out who it belongs to.

"Can you sit up?" I ask Abi. I reach for the tail of his shirt, wanting to lift it up so I can see what's going on. Abi's hand stops me, grabbing my wrist and refusing to budge.

"Do not panic," he says cautiously. "But I believe I've been shot."

His eyes close, and I'm left here on my own.

Abi

The little one looks frightened, and it's a sight I can't stand to see. I'm supposed to protect him. To care for him. Keep him safe. How can I protect Tatum when I can't even sit upright?

This isn't the first time I've been shot, but it's the first time I have something real to lose. Before—when it was simply Brody, Fiona, and myself—I put my life on the line regularly, knowing the potential price I might pay. It's only now I realize it's a cost I'm no longer willing to pay. Thirty seconds ago, Tatum was mine and I was his. Now, all I feel is my body going colder.

When I saw the man enter the chapel from the foyer, I knew something was amiss. I hadn't seen his face at first, I just watched him pull a gun from his pocket and fire a round into my stomach. I blacked out, and for a moment, I saw Tatum's goddess. She didn't look much like a goddess at all, however. She looked like my little one. I prayed to her, I think. I cannot remember the words, but I know their intent. To get me back to him. To protect him the way I always do. Then, my eyes shot open, and I sat up, groaning as pain spread through my stomach.

The taste of blood is strong in my mouth, and I know I must look frightful to Tatum, but his fear is not something I can focus on. Not with the man still heading toward us. The closer he gets, the clearer his face becomes, and my heart pumps faster when the man's identity finally registers.

Benito.

He's got a rabid look about him, and his hand shakes around the gun's grip. It would only take the twitch of a finger, and Tatum or I would be snuffed out of this life and launched into the next. Perhaps, he'll meet me there. Or maybe I can wait for him. I think I'd rather enjoy welcoming him home. Of course, that would mean leaving him. How could I ever leave him alone in this world? I've sworn to protect him above all else. He is my love. My life. My little one. So, I fight. I kick and I claw until I've managed to pull myself into a sitting position, shuffling forward on my hands until I'm between Tatum and Benito.

"You took everything," Benito says, getting Tatum's attention. He's been so focused on me, Tatum hasn't even seen him approach. He jerks his head up until he sees Benito, and his mouth falls open.

Benito is not an unattractive man. I'll give him that. He looks a bit like Brody, actually. Maybe not as muscular, but the overall aesthetic is the same. Big brown eyes. Short dark hair. A peppering of freckles across his nose.

"He is mine now," I manage, my voice small and weak. "You may not have Tatum back. Leave while you still have legs to do so."

Benito snorts, and a grin settles on his face. "Why the fuck would I want him back? The day he left was the best day of my life." He turns his attention to Tatum and sneers. "You're fucking pathetic. Who would want a loser like you?"

"I would," I growl. "I want him."

Benito shrugs. "I guess there's a fly for every steaming pile of shit in the pasture, then." Tatum is shaking, and whether it's from fear or from Benito's cruel words, I'm not sure. Either way, Benito will pay for this. No one hurts Tatum's heart. Certainly not this man. "Where the fuck are they?" he growls, marching a few steps forward. There's hardly any room separating us, but even if I were strong enough to kick my leg and knock him off balance, he's still too far away. "Where are my boys?"

"Why do you have a gun?" Tatum says, his voice light. Frightened. "I don't understand."

"Tatum, he is here because he wants the Bens. Does it matter where he got his gun from? Priorities, sweetheart. As for you ..." Every move I make is agony, but I can't stop moving. Not if I wish to keep Tatum safe.

"Nyet," Tatum says. "Nyet to that. I'm handling this." Suddenly, I'm being pulled back, and it feels like my insides are ripping away from each other. It's a sharp, piercing pain that starts at the entry wound and spreads through my upper body. My eyes are squeezed tight from pain, and when I'm finally able to open them, my little one is in front of me, barricading me with his body by spreading his arms like Jesus on the cross. "You don't touch him," he shouts at Benito. "Ever. If you've got a problem, you come to me. You kill me. He's innocent."

"Innocent?" Benito snorts a laugh. "Are you stupid? Did you forget the cameras I've got installed around the house, dipshit? You two destroyed everything I owned, then you fucked your boyfriend in the guest room." He kneels in front of Tatum, and I can tell it's taking all Tatum has to keep himself from lunging. "You stole my boyfriends. Then, you destroyed my bar. Fucking rude, Tatum. I want Benjamin and Bennet, and I want them now. You had no right taking them from me."

"You left Benji locked in a cage," Tatum shouts. "Bennet was in the attic, terrified. What did you expect us to do?"

"I don't expect anything from you, asshole. I never have. All I want is what you took from me. Give them back or I'll repay the favor." Cocking the gun, he aims it at my head. "Get your fucking phone out, and call Benjamin. Tell them to get their asses in here."

Tatum's eyes are darting back and forth between me and the gun. With shaking hands, he reaches into his pocket and fishes out his phone. He stares at it for a moment, and the last thing I hear is Tatum's magnificent voice screaming, "No," and then a loud pop.