Chapter Six

October 7

Napa Valley, California

“B y the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

Miller “Tox” Buchanan stood with his fellow groomsmen as Camilo “Cam” Canto planted a Hollywood kiss—complete with a dip—on his new wife, Evan. The scene was picture-perfect. They were at Evan’s family’s vineyard in Napa Valley, the surrounding hillsides abundant with grape vines ready for harvest. Stone and timber outbuildings dotted the landscape. The fifty or so guests sat in rows of white wooden chairs flanking a grass path carpeted in rose petals. An arbor of grapevines woven with poppies and heather framed the couple.

Cam and Evan stood with the priest on the low wooden platform constructed for the event, with their bridesmaids and groomsmen lined up beside them. Cam had opted not to have the men wear their dress whites—he and Evan had both wanted a more laid-back event. His closest friends wore blue blazers and khaki pants with matching orange ties. The women each had on a different yellow dress in a style of their choosing.

In Tox’s opinion, no female held a candle to his wife, but he had to admit Evan looked gorgeous. Her hair was pinned up in a fancy bun, and her white dress made her look like a Greek goddess—fitting, he thought, for an archaeologist. Cam was a lucky man. Almost as lucky as Tox. Calliope looked over from across the aisle as if she could read his thoughts, her pale blue eyes twinkling. One hand held a bouquet of wildflowers; the other rested on the swell of her belly.

Tox swallowed thickly, still getting used to this feeling of happiness, of true love. He was a 6’5” former SEAL. He understood loyalty. He knew dedication. But this? Seeing his wife’s eyes reflecting his love, growing their child? Tox Buchanan would burn the world to ashes to keep his family safe.

Beside him, Jonah “Steady” Lockhart was pumping a fist in the air with an accompanying wolf whistle, and Tox’s boss and friend Nathan Bishop was applauding. He couldn’t see the other three men in the row but could hear Leo “Ren” Jameson, Andrew “Chat” Dunlap, and Herc Reynolds joining in on the cheering.

Tox was about to yell out an enthusiastic Hooyah when the air around him shifted.

Tox didn’t shout or clap. As the happy couple stepped onto the grassy aisle to greet their families, a vaguely familiar and wholly unsettling cloud surrounded him. The sensation was dizzying, and for a moment, he thought he might throw up. A cramp in his stomach faded, and a wave of a headache came and went. He didn’t know why, but Tox’s first instinct was to check on his wife. Calliope was seven months pregnant and standing directly across from him with the other bridesmaids. He wasn’t sure why this feeling had him looking to see if someone else was okay when he was the one feeling sick. Nevertheless, he scanned Calliope from head to toe as she laughed with Nathan’s wife, Emily. Tox couldn’t pinpoint the problem; it wasn’t sickness or sadness—more like his equilibrium was off. Whatever it was, he couldn’t shake the notion that something was wrong.

Calliope looked across the arbor as if sensing his disquiet and immediately crossed to her husband. “You’re white as a sheet.”

Nathan Bishop shifted his attention from the newlyweds and backed Tox out of the fray. “Are you all right?”

Tox rested his hands on his thighs and dropped his head. “Yeah, I got woozy for a second. It’s passing.”

Calliope rubbed his back. “Just breathe.”

Steady appeared with a glass of water and passed it to him. “You okay? We can’t have the big sequoia falling on the altar.”

The wave ebbed. Tox accepted the water and drank it. “I’m fine. Too much pinot last night. Probably dehydrated.”

“You gonna live up to your nickname and re-tox instead of detox?” Steady clapped him on the back.

Tox pulled his wife close and kissed her temple. “Those days are long gone, brother. Late nights and bottles are about to have a whole new meaning.” He placed a protective hand on his wife’s middle, his big palm completely covering the small swell. Calliope tucked her head against Tox’s chest.

Steady took the empty glass and nodded his approval. Six months ago, Steady would have been shoving a shot into Tox’s hand. Now, he was in love. Steady and Very Valentine were living together and headed for the place where they were currently standing: the altar.

“Better?” Calliope asked.

“Right as rain. Let’s hit the tent.” He held his wife for a few dance steps.

“Not so fast, Swayze. Pictures. Evan wants the formal wedding photos taken at sunset.”

Emily appeared at Nathan’s side. He kissed his wife. “You look beautiful.”

Emily Bishop leaned around Tox to catch Calliope’s attention. “And they say weddings make women romantic.”

Calliope laughed. “If the world only knew a wedding turned these badasses into big puddles of goo.”

Steady stepped in front of his brothers. “A little respect, ladies. We are highly trained, elite goo.”

Emily Bishop straightened her husband’s tie. “Don’t forget dashing.”

Very Valentine popped into the group, having overheard. “Can you stand for pictures, or are you boys too weak in the knees?”

Without missing a beat, Steady scooped Very into his arms and marched up the empty aisle.

Nathan’s soft chuckle had Tox turning around. “I never thought I’d see the day. Jonah Lockhart is a one-woman man.”

“People probably said the same about you,” Tox said.

Nathan wrapped a protective arm around his wife. “Not the people who knew me.”

Tox smiled, happy to be included in that select group. “True.”

Calliope tugged on his hand. “We better go. We’re losing daylight.”

They walked through the meadow, Emily and Calliope in front, the men following. Tox said, “These days, ‘ensuring domestic tranquility’ is a much more enjoyable activity.”

Nathan watched their wives precede them through the grass. “I couldn’t agree more.”

His boss picked up the pace and slipped his arms through the elbow crooks of the women, helping them maneuver through the terrain to the spot where the photographer was already positioning the wedding party.

Tox stood for a moment, his hands in his pants pockets, and observed. Cam kissed Evan under the pink sky. The photographer snapped away as the groom held his new bride in the cradle of low hills etched with rows of grapevines. Music and laughter drifted from the white tent. Cam’s huge Chilean-American family had already started the festivities. There was magic in the air.

A gentle breeze carried the aromas of the vineyard and the hint of tri-tip grilling. With his head tipped to the sky, Tox inhaled the scent of celebration. It was going to be a great night.

And yet, Tox couldn’t shake the aura of unease surrounding him. He knew what it was, despite the fact he hadn’t experienced the sensation since he was a child. Their mother had called it the twin thing . Tox couldn’t explain it or really describe it, but this feeling was as real as the grass under his size fifteen shoes. He pulled his phone from his pocket and sent a text.

Something was wrong with Miles.