by Mj Fields
“I highly doubt that,” he grumbles.
I try to focus on anything but Ranger’s shirtless form lying on the exam table. His ink is incredible, and there is so much more of it than there was four years ago.
“I’m going to step out and wait for the meds to kick in. Brisa, would you like to join me?”
“I think I’ll stay with him.”
“All right then.” He smiles as he steps out then pulls the double doors closed behind him.
“If I were your father, I would tie his nuts in a bow to match the tie around his neck,” Ranger hisses.
I pull my phone from the pocket of the white lab coat Ranger asked for when we got here. I thought it was for him, since his shirt was covered in blood. Apparently, it wasn’t. My first hint should have been the daggers he shot the doc when he told me I grew into a beautiful young woman.
I snap a couple pictures of him, not hiding the fact that I’m doing so.
He opens one eye and utters the first words he’s said to me since we’ve been here. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Before pictures,” I only half-lie.
He lifts his arm and rests it over his eyes. “Delete those now.”
“Dad wants them.”
“Don’t give a fuck if the Pope asked for them. Delete them.”
“Sorry,” I say as I quickly send them to Dad so that it’s not a complete lie, and also so I can look back on them if, in fact, he insists. “Already sent them.”
“If I didn’t think that asshole wanted to get you alone for his own fucking twisted reasons, I’d kick your ass out of here.”
He’s jealous. Well, at least I like to think he is.
“He’s been our family doctor in Italy for years.”
“And?”
“And whatever you’re thinking is wrong. He’s a professional.”
He licks his bruised lips before huffing.
“But he is quite handsome.”
“He’s old enough to be your fucking father.”
“So, is that the criteria for dating someone older? If he’s old enough to be your daddy, you can’t actually be in a position that you may want to call him Dadd—”
“Date men your own age,” he grumbles.
My heart begins to beat faster as I watch his hard body tense. I know I shouldn’t push him, shouldn’t want him to feel agitated, especially in the state he’s in, but I do.
“Been there, done that. Just not my flavor. None have ever gotten me there. Always had to finish myself. But a man who knows the human body as well as a doctor—”
“Keep your shit up, and I’ll—” He snaps his lips shut, the muscles in his jawline ticking.
“You’ll what? Tell my dad?” I whisper.
He turns his head so he’s not looking in my direction so I’m unable to see his eyes when he mumbles, “He should have bent you over his knee years ago. I should bend you over my knee now.”
“A girl can dream,” I whisper, mostly to myself.
“People like you can dream up whatever the fuck you want. My people? We deal in reality,” he slurs. Clearly, the medication is kicking in.
“All people can dream. Tell me, Ranger; what do you dream about?”
He turns his head so his blue eyes are pointed at me. “What do you think I dream about, Brisa?” He licks his lips again as he looks me over.
“I don’t know what you’ve dreamt of in the past, but tonight, when you’re numb to the pain of the past and allowing yourself to let go, maybe you’ll dream about—”
“You?” he scoffs. “Not ever gonna happen.”
I lean forward and whisper, “I wasn’t going to say me, but now that you’ve opened that door, feel free.”
“Never been a fan of glitter.”
“What?” I almost laugh.
“Never mind,” he says, eyes becoming unfocused.
The double doors slide open and Dr. Salvatore walks in, “How’s our patient?”
“He’s perfect.”
“Then let’s begin.”
As much as he tries to hide it, his guard is down due to the drugs and worry etches his gorgeous eyes.
I scooch the stool closer to the table, take his hand, and smile. “I see stickers and suckers. Maybe if you’re extra good, I’ll even throw in some glitter.”
“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know,” he mumbles.
Dr. Salvatore laughs. “Let’s begin.”
Apparently, Ranger the badass really doesn’t like needles. He did well with the pain med, yet he literally passed out when Dr. Salvatore stitched the gash under his eye. When I freaked out, the good doctor hugged me. Was it odd? Yes, it was. Odder yet was when Ranger woke up as Dr. Salvatore was asking me out to dinner before I left Italy and growled.
Still high on pain meds and glassy-eyed, he sits in the passenger side of the vehicle, nose taped up and splinted and a bandage under his eye. He actually looks worse than he did covered in blood.
“Hope you’re happy,” he grumbles.
“Happy that you’re stitched up and not bleeding all over? Sure am.”
“Your date with Doctor Daddy?”
I bite my lip to stop from smiling, or laughing, maybe both, because I didn’t actually agree to go on a date, or even have dinner, but I am actually loving that it annoys him.
“Funny until your actual daddy finds out and cuts his balls off.”
“You’re a bit obsessed with Salvatore’s balls tonight, huh?” I ask as I slow down to take the next left, thinking, Goodbye, sexual tension. Hello, anxiety, as we near the castle.
“Not—”
“I’m tired, Ranger. I know you are, too. Let’s fight tomorrow. Or, better yet, let’s just bury the hatchet tonight, start over, and be friendly.” I turn into the driveway and look up at the castle, anxiety washing over me a bit just thinking of what kind of discussion Tris and I will be having. “For Tris.”
He doesn’t reply. For that, I’m grateful.
As soon as we pull up in front of the house, Dad and a bunch of guests come out the front door and onto the massive steps.
“Jesus Christ,” Ranger mutters. “What did you tell them?”
“Trust me, big guy; you have nothing to worry about.” I put the vehicle in park. “I’ll hype up what a badass you were. The little nap will be our secret.”
“Not sure I like the idea of sharing secrets with you.”
I open the door and whisper, “I bet you will.” Then I slide out.
“You okay?” Dad asks, jogging down the stairs.
I look behind me and see Ranger surrounded by his buddies, or team, or whatever they are, and he nods to me.
I turn back in time to receive a bear hug from Dad.
“I’m good, Dad.”
Hands on my shoulders, he steps back and looks down at me. “We have a lot to talk about. A lot I should explain.”
I smile and shake my head. “I think we’ve all had enough excitement for one day. I love you, Daddy, and everything’s fine, but I’m exhausted and think I should head to bed.”
“Then tomorrow, after the wedding, or the reception, or whatever we’re calling it, you and me—”
“I thought Tris wanted to call it off?”
He smiles sadly. “She changed her mind.”
“Oh, okay then, so we better all get some sleep.” I throw him a grin, even though I don’t feel like grinning at all. “Big day tomorrow.”
“I just want you to know that it was only a month ago that she was finally diagnosed. We really weren’t keeping it from you or Amias, Brisa. She just wanted you two to enjoy the last few weeks of your senior year.”
Yeah, it was a fucking riot, I think.
“Okay then.” I push up on my toes and kiss his cheek. “Love you.”
As I’m walking inside, I look over my shoulder and see him—Ranger, Wyatt Dalton—scowling at me.
I rub the inside of my middle finger with my thumb, the spot where ink is presently etched onto my body,
and then Dad puts his arm around me and says, “Let me walk you up.”
I look back one last time, move my arm behind my back, and flip him off, because my fifteen-year-old self obviously won’t get the forgiveness I asked for, and my nineteen-year-old self needs to not give a fuck.
An hour later, the clock on my phone reads one forty-five a.m. Still restless and again thirsty, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and head to the door, reminding myself that this time, I need to bring a bottle of water back up with me to refill it in the en suite bathroom sink if I wake up thirsty in the middle of the night.
Opening the door—
“Oh my Go—”
He covers my mouth. “Jesus, be quiet. You’ll wake everyone up.” He quickly lets go when he realizes his hand is on my mouth.
Confused, I just stand here, gaping at him.
“The pain pills. I’m gonna need them in the morning.” He sweeps his eyes over me. “Could you invest in a housecoat, for fuck’s sake?”
“A what?”
He shakes his head, looks past me, and scrubs his hand over his face. “Can I get the pills?”
“Yeah, sorry. I think they’re in the bathroom.” I step back and wave my hand in front of me. “Sorry, I forgot to give them to you.”
“Don’t be.”
I look back and see him still standing in the doorway.
“You want me to grab them?”
He doesn’t answer so I walk to the bathroom to grab them.
I grab the lab coat that holds them in one of the pockets then walk toward him. “Are you feeling any better?”
“I’m fine,” he says as I reach in the pocket and pull out the bottle of pills.
“He said one every four hours, as needed for pain. You’re not due for a pill until, like, five in the morning. You might want to set an alarm on your phone so you remember.” I look at the bottle. “It’s written in Italian.”
“I think I can manage.”
“Gotcha,” I say, handing him the pills.
He takes them and shoves them in his pocket. “I can take the lab coat and see that it gets returned.”
“I can give it to him tomorrow. He’s on the guest list.”
His jaw tightens, and the muscles in it tick again. Then he narrows his eyes as he looks at me like he wants to say something but doesn’t.
It’s sexy. So fucking sexy.
“Anything else?” I ask.
“I’m sure you’ll be busy enough tomorrow; I’ll take care of the return.” He grabs it from me then turns to leave. When he then stops and looks back, my heartbeat accelerates.
“Thank you for helping me out.”
“Anytime.”
Then he turns and walks away.
Post Wedding Number Two
Brisa
“Where was Ranger all day?” Tris asks as she paces in front of the windows in Mom and Dad’s suite while Mom, Dad, Amias, and I sit at the table.
“He was around,” Dad assures her.
And he was, just keeping a good distance.
“And Torrance, Melanie, and Sabato? They didn’t come. They hate me, right? They think I’m all to blame.”
“They didn’t come because I asked them not to,” Dad says, a façade of calm surrounding him.
Tris scowls. “Why?”
“Because their kid’s a fucking psycho,” Amias snaps. “Because if he did show up, I would have torn him apart and tossed his ass in the—”
“He’s not the psycho.” She stops pacing and pokes herself in the chest. “I am.”
He chuckles. “Nah, you’re not psycho; just a little bit crazy.”
“Amias,” Mom scolds him.
He stands up and walks toward Tris.
She throws her hands in the air. “So, they told you?”
“Chill, T. We all share the same DNA. I just haven’t been diagnosed.” He grabs her hand and pulls her into a hug, laughing as he says, “We’re all mad here.”
“God, you’re annoying,” she grumbles as she hugs him briefly then steps back.
Rolling her eyes, she looks at me. “Brisa’s been diagnosed.”
Now I know exactly how she feels about people finding out she’s “different,” I think as my face heats up.
“Overly empathetic, I know.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, which it really isn’t in comparisons to what label Tris has been branded with, but still. And if I didn’t know she was going through a lot of shit, I would be pissed that she seems to take joy out of tossing me under the bus. Deep down, I think it’s just her throwing shade, so that’s the feeling I lather myself with.
“So what? We’re all going through shit. Lucky for us, ten times out of ten, we come out smelling like roses dipped in sexiness.”
Tris begins biting her nails, and Amias pulls her hand away. “Stop tweaking.”
“I’m not.”
She looks over at me. “So, are you going to be our photographer? Or now that you know about me you’ve decided not to?”
“We haven’t had time to discuss it,” Dad answers her question to me.
“Is that code for no?” Tris starts pacing again.
“Do you really want me there?” I ask.
She turns and looks at me. “On your honeymoon?”
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked. I want my social media to look good. Girly and glittery. And who better than to make things look pretty than you?”
“Tris, Brisa probably could use some time to think—”
“Stop answering for her,” she interrupts Dad. “You’re part of the reason she is the way she is. I mean, let her breathe like you did me.” She pauses, and I see Dad’s shoulders slump. Then she adds, “And Amias.”
She looks back at me and smiles. “We want to leave as soon as we can, so you’ll need to make up your mind.”
She looks at Mom and Dad. “Thank you for today. I’m going to find Matteo.”
As soon as she leaves, Dad looks at me, holding his finger in front of his mouth, telling me not to say anything. A few seconds later, the door clicks.
I glance at Mom, who smiles sadly.
“We’d like you to truly consider sticking with your plans and heading to college,” Dad says quietly.
I look at Amias, who looks at Dad, Mom, and then me. “I guess I could back out of—”
“Oh, hell no.” I shake my head. “You were a top pick for the draft. The freaking Yankees picked you for their club! Don’t you dare back out.”
“Dad and I offered to travel with her, but she was adamant that Patrick would reconsider staying,” Mom says quietly. “We talked to Ranger this morning, and he was a bit upset that we didn’t trust him with the information but assures us that he’s capable.”
Dad explains, “Apparently, his mother and sister have some issues, as well.”
“Due to being addicts,” Amias clarifies. “Tris isn’t an addict, and she—”
“She’s on meds. She’s been great since we came.” Mom smiles softly. “But we do think that you need to continue on the path you’ve chosen. Momma Joe and Thomas—”
The door opens, and Tris walks back in, saying, “No.”
Mom and Dad look at one another, not even a little bit shocked that she was eavesdropping, but they look a bit defeated, and then they look at her.
She marches over to us. “I know my triggers, I know what I need to do, and I know if I get manic—”
“Since graduation, you’ve been a little off,” Dad interrupts her. “You’re doing better now, but—”
“That’s simple. Life changes, Dad. I fell in love. I left him and went home. Marcello and I …” She waves her hand as if to remove the thought. “I had a wedding to plan, and I just got married. I know how to cope. I take meds, and I do video therapy with Marley once a week. Matteo and I do a couples session once a week, too.”
Simple life changes is a severe understatement. She was, as Amias says, tweaking while he stood for my parents to take our picture, holding his diplom
a, smiling while looking around, expecting to see them come down the aisle, only to see them both hovering over her, whispering while she looked angrier than I had ever seen her.
He heard his name and looked right. Uncle Jase was standing there, holding a camera. I was next. Uncle Jase winked at me and took my picture, too. Amias, being super laidback, didn’t give a shit. Me? I was hurt.
“Yeah, well, he doesn’t speak English, so how’s that working out?” Amias jokes.
“He speaks enough. I just told him to pretend he doesn’t, so he doesn’t get overwhelmed by all of you,” she huffs.
Dad narrows his eyes. “You know how fucked up that is, Tris?”
“Zandor, please,” Mom whispers.
Tris glares at him. “It’s not fucked up. He gets headaches when he tries to translate for any length of time, when he’s talking to more than just me, so until I learn more Spanish, I think it’s best for him. It’s called a partnership. We’re partners. If you don’t believe me, do some research on the subject. I did.”
Dad’s ears are beginning to turn red. “This isn’t—”
“I’ll go,” I interrupt. “I’ll go, but I have places I really want to see. And I really want to do things alone at times. And—”
“I’ll get you my credit card,” Tris says, beaming. “Book whatever you want, whenever you want. Sixty days’ worth of travel. Ninety if things are good. Apparently, fall and winter are my bad months. So, if that holds true, that’s when I’ll be low. The good news is I should be able to write more fuck you, man-hating songs and pump out an album and a tour in the summer and spring, without all the issues I had with the last tour.”
“Tris”—Dad walks toward her, arms open—“I’m proud of you.”
“Dad …” she sighs.
“No, baby girl, I am.” He hugs her. “I’m glad you’re figuring out how this works.”
“It’s my life, right?”
Mom walks over and hugs them both. “Love you, Tris.”
“You, too, Mom,” she says then pulls back.
She looks at me and mouths, “Thank you.”
“Thank me after you freeze your ass off under the Northern Lights.” I wink.
