Chapter Thirty-One

My leg bounces uncontrollably and has been for the past half-hour. It's a nervous tic I've developed that I can't seem to shake. I've chewed my nails to the quick, and my knuckles crack with each anxious flex. It's been months of therapy, sharing my deepest fears and insecurities with Samantha. However, the immaculate environment in her office still makes me feel exposed, almost vulnerable to a fine degree.

"You're doing so well, Max," she says soothingly. "I'm excited to hear about the wedding and the honeymoon."

The flutters inside my belly start up again. "Well—" I trail off, the words catching in my throat. "The minute I leave here, I have to pick up my tux, rush to the caterers, pick Mom up from the airport—and the kids out of school in two hours."

This is every bit how brides feel on their wedding days. This is, after all, the second time I've been blessed with the occasion of feeling panic rise at the list of things to complete before a wedding. Suffice it to say, I wouldn't trade it for anything. In essence, I'm marrying the second man who's ever stolen my breath.

Samantha nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "I remember the pre-wedding blitz. It feels like there's never enough time."

I force a smile, but it feels brittle. Forced, even. "Yeah, it's a lot," I admit, feeling the pressure build. "But I'm excited. It's just—a lot."

For a second, I think the only person I'm trying to convince is myself. "But it's possible, and I'm not complaining one bit," I shrug, scratching the back of my head. "I can't exactly say the man stole my heart. In our case, it's a bit more—complicated." I offer a wry smile, trying to lighten the mood.

She nods again. "Right, I get that. But it's still not something that happens every day."

Glancing at my watch, I'm quick to realize that time has slipped away from me. Samantha is terrible at keeping time. She's always going over, yet billing me for the same hour as always. The list of things I still need to tackle awaits me puts a pep in my step as I rise from her sofa. Not to mention how I long to enjoy a delightful meal with the kids before we send them off to bed by a reasonable time.

"Speaking of things that don't happen every day," I say, forcing a chuckle. "I need to run. Tuxedos and caterers will not sort themselves out."

At the base of the stairwell, I call up impatiently to Lily. She's in her room saying goodbye to each of her stuffed animals, seemingly a ritual that takes far too long.

"Come on, sweetheart," I shout, a hand cupping my dimple. "We've gotta go, munchkin."

Mom glances at the clock in our grand foyer. "What's taking her so long?"

I grimace, rolling my eyes. "She has a deep attachment to her stuffed animals," I explain, feeling the warmth reverberate in my chest. "It's a routine. She hasn't been away from this long before."

"How sweet," Mom smiles, but I can see the concern in her eyes, as if this is unnatural.

Nodding, I gesture with my hands. "It's totally normal for children on the spectrum—and I'd rather her have a routine of compassion than something completely the contrary."

"Numbers, lists, routines," Mom recites. "I got this." Then her tone softens. "After tomorrow, you're a married man again."

The pangs of nerves wash over me. To be honest, I'm not anxious about marrying Durango. I'm more concerned about the dozens of people attending this shindig in our backyard and dealing with two equally anxious children who don't particularly enjoy being among sizeable crowds of people. At least they have their bedrooms to run off to, should they need an escape?

"Mom, thank you for everything." I take a deep breath. "I'm gonna miss Lily Bean so much. It's the first time I'll be away from her for this long." My sadness is tangible, especially because the universe has glued us together since Brogan's death.

Mom flails her wrist. "It's okay," she says. "You and Durango deserve this time together. It's not every day you get a honeymoon," she adds with a wink.

I hear a sudden noise, and my head whips around to see Durango emerging from the downstairs bathroom, looking sharp in his tuxedo. My breath catches at the sight. He looks incredible, his broad shoulders filling out the jacket perfectly. This sends a thrill through me, a raging boner underneath the confines of my black Armani pants. Simply amazing.

"Babe," I gasp, my mouth hanging open. "Am I marrying Durango Walters or this month's GQ cover man?"

He offers a genuine, radiant smile that melts away all the tension that's been building up inside me. With a groove in his step, he does a little twirl as his eyes twinkle with mischief.

"Marilyn," he says, taking her hand and kissing it gently. "Always a pleasure."

She blushes while a girlish giggle escapes her lips. "Why, Mr. Walters, I do declare."

I roll my eyes, playfully lassoing Durango with my arms. "Get your own. He's mine."

Mom chuckles. "Oh, I know that. I don't get to tease you very often anymore—what—twice a year if I'm lucky?"

Turning back to meet Durango's gaze, I let out an astonishing sigh. "Babe, you look ravishing." I lean in for a quick kiss, my hand resting possessively on his lapel. "Now, go change," I bite at his earlobe. "This is just the rehearsal dinner."

He lets out a self-deprecating laugh. "Right, I guess I'm a little rusty at how this all works," he affirms jokingly. "It's like I've never been married before." He winks, disappearing back into the bathroom.

Much like shaking my legs or biting my nails, I check my phone. A message from Brogan's parents confirms their arrival this morning. It's a bittersweet reminder of the love I've lost, yes. But also proof of the unexpected family I've gained. It just feels right having Josiah and Yael stand in for Durango's parents. It's a way to honor Brogan, to keep his spirit alive in our celebration. Besides, he's practically a piece of their son, carrying his eternal life-force within him.

A smile warms me over just thinking about the day I met with them in Paris. Back when I thought they were about to ruin my life, here I am inviting them to the wedding of their granddaughter's new stepdad. Since then, we've become much closer than ever. I've attended synagogue together, exploring the rich traditions of Brogan's heritage. This has been a beautiful change of pace woven from the threads of grief, love, and acceptance.

"Brogan's parents are on their way to our Seattle-based shul now," I say, tucking my phone away.

Mom reaches out to cup my face. "Oh honey," she says, ripe with emotion. "It makes me so happy to see you happy. Your father would be so proud of you."

I feel kind of like I'm preparing for prom as a teenager. The sentimental, touchy-feely gooeyness that she'd spread on thick that day of a dance. But this is different. It's my second, and last, wedding. Sure, my father won't be here tomorrow. But I know he is in spirit.

"Daddy!" Lily gasps, her arms reaching out to me.

I sweep her up off the bottom step, comforting her with my tight embrace. "I love you too, munchkin," I say, peppering her face with kisses. "After tomorrow, you're gonna be a good girl for Grandma, right?"

Mom chimes in, patting Lily's head. "You betcha," she says, winking down at her. "All my friends are waiting to spoil her rotten. She may not want to come back."

Lily nods enthusiastically. "She's right, you know. But if I like it too much, I'll just send for my things."

My brow raises. "Have you been watching ‘Grey's Anatomy' or ‘Sex in the City' again?"

My munchkin shrugs. "Auntie Mel says for me to plead the fifth."

I chuckle, setting her back on her feet. "All right, Mrs. Sassafras. Let's get out of here and grab some dinner."

Durango appears in the doorway while shouting upstairs. "Come on, Gage, time to go!"

Hours after a rehearsal dinner, the night before a wedding, always feel so tender. It's kind of like all the plans have fallen in place, like fall leaves. Everybody knows their assignments. The caterers and vendors have been handled and confirmed. Finally, it seems like Durango and I can truly relax the rest of the evening. Yet, we're not even married yet, and the excitement has already gotten the best of us.

In the grand foyer, he bends forward to lift me in his arms. I smile warmly, aroused at the simplest of touch. Perhaps it was the pine nuts on our salmon. Our stares don't fray the entire trip upstairs when he kicks off his shoes at the entrance to our bedroom. Lovingly, he tosses me up on the bed, where I do the same with mine.

"Somebody's horny tonight," I mutter softly, running my fingers underneath his shirt.

His eyebrows curl. "Maybe?" He giggles, hovering above me for a kiss. "I could've said the same for you—or were those pine nuts causing an aphrodisiac effect?"

It seems our minds are perfectly in sync.

I snicker, cupping his crotch with my other hand. "Nope, I think it's your twitchy cock that has me so turned on."

Our eyes never parting, he runs the back of his hand up my torso. "Shower tonight, eh?"

My lips dive in for a quick kiss while he motions for me to stay put momentarily. He scampers into the bathroom, flicking the lights on with haste, where I hear the shower head sputtering on. In no time, he returns to the bedroom with a grin. I moan while slipping out of my matching plaid shirt, followed by my pants. Yes, for some reason, he thought we could make a fashion statement with flannel and Armani trousers. Suffice it to say, it worked out well.

"Tonight, we fuck like rabbits," I mutter. "You'd better be ready, old geezer."

His vision narrows. "Who, me?" He shakes his head. "I have your husband's heart—I'm gonna outlive you all," he chuckles playfully, lifting me back into his arms.

I wrap my arms around his neck on the path into our bathroom. "Oh, is that what you keep telling yourself?" I reply with a modest laugh.

In the shower, under the dim lighting, warm trickles cascade down my backside as he reaches around for my growing cock. It pulses under the weight of his touch, as if to say ‘hurry the hell up, I'm raring to go' or something equally eager. His twitchy erection only makes me harder by the minute. Durango pushes me up against the wall of the shower while our lips meet in a holy reunion.

The crests of his mouth taste like caramelized sugar, heralding a future of more mutual discoveries and shared interests. One addendum to my agreement to marry him was that he retires from counseling so we can travel the world with Melanie and the kids. He was hesitant at first, especially because he's never wanted me to feel like he loves me for my wealth. Then the night came when I convinced him. What's mine is ours, simply because he carries Brogan's eternal life-force deep in his chest. We remain under the rainfall while he slides a soapy loofah across my chest, shoulder to shoulder, then the length of my front side.

"You'd better not run out on me this time," he moans, resting his forehead on mine with a smile.

My head wavers slightly. "Not a chance," I assure him. "You're stuck with me, babe."