by Elle Kennedy
“What do we do?” I blurt out. “Should I pee on it?”
Tucker jumps back into a sitting position. “What? Hell no.”
“I think I’m supposed to, aren’t I?”
“Babe, I’m not letting you pee on me. That’s not even a real thing.”
“Pretty sure it is.”
He grits his teeth, still staring at the reddish-purple wound. “Man, it hurts.”
“Oh my God, do you think this was some sort of cosmic punishment for drowning Alexander? Did Willie’s spirit get its revenge?”
Tucker thinks it over. Then he says, “No.” He glares at me. “I think I just got stung by a jellyfish.”
“What happens if we don’t do something?” I bite my lip in anguish. “I don’t think calamine lotion fixes that.”
This isn’t exactly a little bee sting. What if his whole leg puffs up like that? Do they amputate for jellyfish stings?
“I think urine is the best solution, Tuck.” I do an internal body scan and then moan. “You know, I don’t think I can,” I realize. “I don’t have to go—”
I halt when I see the fitness guy approaching us. Oh thank God. I flag him down, waving my arms. His pace quickens as he jogs toward us.
“Sabrina, no,” Tucker warns. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Everything okay?” the guy asks when he reaches us. Dark eyes sharply assess Tucker.
“Will you pee on my husband?” I ask the stranger. “He got stung by a jellyfish, but I don’t have to go.”
“Ignore her. Sabrina, I’m telling you, it’s a myth. I’ll be fine.”
But he looks like he’s on the verge of tears and at risk of cracking a tooth with how hard he’s biting down, grinding his jaw. His leg looks horrible.
“I don’t know if it’s a myth,” Fitness Guy tells him. “I mean, why would everyone say to do it if it didn’t work?”
I implore Tucker with my eyes. “Let him try.”
My husband remains stubbornly against the idea. “I’d rather you cut it off with a rusty spoon.”
“I’m not bringing you home to Mama Tucker with one leg! Do you remember how long it took her to warm up to me?” I’m practically vibrating from the stress of the situation.
Fitness Guy glances at me. “Take a breath, sweetheart. I can help him out. It’s the neighborly thing to do, right?”
Then, to my relief and Tucker’s horror, the guy begins to unbutton his cargo shorts—just as another man in a linen shirt and panama hat comes tearing up the sand.
“Bruce, what on Earth are you doing to these people?”
“No, no, it’s fine,” I assure the newcomer. “I asked him to pee on my husband’s leg. He was stung—”
Tucker groans. “I’m still emphatically against this idea, Bruce.”
“Better safe than sorry.” Bruce shrugs. He’s in the process of unzipping now. “Right?”
The new arrival takes off his hat and dabs the sweat from his forehead, biting back a laugh. “That’s an old wives’ tale. There is absolutely no evidence to suggest urine soothes a jellyfish sting or any other kind. In fact, some studies suggest it would exacerbate the pain and swelling.”
At that, Bruce zips up his shorts.
“Really? You’re just taking his word for it?” I glower at the man who betrayed me.
“Oh, for sure. Kevin is a walking encyclopedia. He reads scholarly journals for fun.”
“See?” Tucker sighs with relief. “For fuck’s sake.”
“I’m Kevin,” the man says, offering his hand to me. He appears to be older than the oiled-up Bruce, maybe in his early forties. “I apologize for him.”
“Just trying to help.” Bruce gives Tucker an apologetic smile.
“You folks visiting?” Kevin asks.
“We’re staying at the Di Laurentis house for a week,” I tell them. “Sorry to rope you into all this.” I look at Tucker. “I really was just trying to help.”
“Let us introduce ourselves properly. We’d love to have you over for dinner tomorrow night,” Kevin offers.
I smile. “That’d be great. Thank you.”
“Get him sorted out,” Kevin says with a sympathetic nod at Tucker. “Run it under a hot shower or soak in a hot tub for about twenty to forty minutes. Take some pain medication. That’s about all there is to be done for it. I’ve been stung twice, so I know the drill.”
“We will, thanks.”
“That was for the plane, wasn’t it?” Tucker accuses as I’m getting him back to the house after we leave Bruce and Kevin.
“I would never.”
“You almost let a man pee on me, Sabrina.”
“That’s how much I love you.”
26
Sabrina
Day 3
“You don’t have to babysit me,” Tucker says the next day. He’s sprawled on the beach chair next to mine, absently brushing sand off his abdomen. “I’m fine here if you want to go for a swim.”
“In that?” I look up from my book to nod at the lovely blue expanse in front of us. All full of terrors untold. “Not a chance.”
“So the ocean is the devil now?”
“Yes. Yes it is.”
He snorts a laugh at me from behind his dark sunglasses. I choose to ignore that. He thinks it’s funny now, but last night he was a crying toddler with his mangled leg. We spent the rest of the day laid up inside, eating and watching movies while I kept working on our will. Not exactly the honeymoon of our dreams.
“The ocean and I have an understanding,” I explain. “I stay away from it, and it doesn’t try to kill me.”
“I’ve been to the beach a thousand times. First time anything ever got me. You don’t have to be scared of it.”
“Sounds like something the ocean would say.”
I’m flipping to the next page when my phone beeps. The villa Wi-Fi encompasses this section of the beach, so I’ve been making sure to connect to it every time we’re outside just in case there’s an emergency back home. I glance at the screen to find a message Grace just sent to our girls’ group chat.
GRACE: Wanted to share the news before you saw that stupid Hockey Hotties blog post. And if you’ve already seen it, then yes, it’s true.
What news? And what blog post? Rather than ask for clarification, I click on the automatic link generated by my phone, which takes me to that ridiculous hockey blog run by a group of rabid groupies.
The article in question is at the very top of the page.
Secret Wedding Scandal!!!!!!!
Make sure you’re sitting down, ladies and gents!! BECAUSE WE HAVE NEWS!!!
We are sad to inform you that our very own John Logan is off the market!
We’ll wait while you go grab the tissues…
Okay, are you back??! Well, it’s true, everyone. Our sources have confirmed that JL has indeed married his longtime girlfriend. And not only that, but the sneaky man did it MONTHS AGO!! Like, we’re talking wintertime. The nerve of him!!!
Are we happy for that big sexy man?? Well, yeah. Of course!! But we’re also CRUSHED!!!!
I stop reading. The excessive punctuation is too much. Besides, I already got the gist of it. If this silly blog is correct, then Grace and Logan got married behind all our backs. This past winter.
The nerve of them.
“Tucker!” I growl.
He looks up in alarm. “What is it?”
“Did you know Logan and Grace got married?” I demand.
His jaw drops. “No. Seriously?”
I click back into the group chat and waste no time furiously typing up a storm.
ME: Omg. You made us find out from the internet? What kind of friendship is this??!?
ALLIE: Seriously!!??
GRACE: Oh, shut it, Allie. You knew.
ME: YOU KNEW?
ALLIE: Hey, in my defense, Hannah knew too.
ME: Yeah, but Hannah’s not a gossip. YOU’RE the gossip in the group and that means it was your duty to tell us.
HANNAH: Thanks, S.
ALLIE: Oh come on. How is this on me? They’re the ones who got married in secret.
GRACE: I’m sorry we didn’t say anything earlier. We were waiting to tell my dad until after my graduation. We finally shared the news with him and Mom last night, and both of Logan’s parents.
ME: I need details. Now.
GRACE: Remember when we went to Vermont for New Year’s? It sort of turned into an elopement. Totally unplanned. But zero regrets <3
Beside me, Tucker is trying to peer at my phone. “What’s going on?” he pries. “What are they saying?”
“Grace just confirmed it. Apparently she and Logan eloped to Vermont over New Year’s.”
“New Year’s!” he balks. He’s already reaching for his phone, no doubt to open his own group chat.
“Yup. They’ve been keeping it from everyone for months. They only told their parents last night.”
We’re each typing on our respective phones now.
ME: Ahh, this is great news! I mean, nefarious tactics aside, I’m so happy for you two <3
GRACE: Thanks! We’re pretty happy ourselves.
HANNAH: For what it’s worth, Allie and I only stumbled on the news at your wedding, S. They’d already been married for months by then.
ALLIE: Yeah, see! I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to ruin your big day. You’re welcome, bitch.
I send a middle finger emoji, followed by another reprimand.
ME: Don’t use my wedding as an excuse, you traitor. You should have informed everyone the moment you found out. I’m disappointed in you, Allison Jane.
ALLIE: Hannah’s pregnant.
My shriek nearly sends Tucker flying off his chair. “What?” he says anxiously. “Are you okay?”
I’m about to answer when Hannah’s response pops up, causing my jaw to slam closed.
HANNAH: No. No fair. You promised you wouldn’t say anything.
ALLIE: omg I’m sorry. It just slipped out. My fingers took on a life of their own. Maybe Alexander possessed them.
ME: Don’t you dare try to distract us. Also, Alexander is swimming with the fishes.
GRACE: Wait, what?
ME: We drowned him.
GRACE: No, the Hannah thing. You’re pregnant? I assumed you took the test after the wedding and it was negative so that’s why you didn’t say anything.
HANNAH: I’m sorry. I’m not keeping anyone in the dark on purpose. The test was positive. Allie’s the only one who knows.
HANNAH: I haven’t even told Garrett yet.
ME: Is this a group chat or a den of secrets and lies?
HANNAH: Don’t say anything to the guys. Please. Not until I tell Garrett.
“Sabrina?” Tucker keeps trying to read my screen.
I angle it away. “Sorry. We’re all giving Grace grief in the chat for hiding the marriage from us.”
“Yeah, Logan’s getting shit from us too.” He sends another text.
With Tucker distracted, I return my attention to my own tumultuous chat thread.
HANNAH: Please, you guys. Don’t say anything. I don’t even know what I’m going to do yet.
The rest of us are quick to reassure her.
ALLIE: I’m sorry I let it slip here. My lips are officially crazy-glued shut, babe.
GRACE: Mine too.
ME: I won’t say a word. Promise.
I bite my lip after sending the response. Normally I don’t keep secrets from Tucker. I trust that man with my life. With our daughter’s life. But I also know what it’s like to deal with an unplanned pregnancy. At least, I get the sense this one is unplanned. And if it is, then Hannah needs time and space to work through the flood of emotions—and hormones—she’s probably struggling to make sense of right now.
So I banish the news to a little box in my head labeled shut your damn mouth. Tuck will understand. He would’ve hated it with all his heart if he’d learned I was pregnant from anybody but me. Garrett deserves to hear it from his girlfriend, not us.
27
Sabrina
Night 3
At dinner later with Kevin and Bruce, Tucker still won’t let go of the fact that I’m refusing to swim in the ocean for the rest of our honeymoon. Hell, for the rest of our lives.
“I’m the one who got stung, but now she’s haunted by the water,” he tells them over tuna tartare in their immaculate dining room. The huge open space overlooks the pool deck and the turquoise panorama beyond their estate. “I swear, trying to steal my thunder at every turn.”
“I want none of your thunder,” I say sweetly, smirking at him over the rim of my wineglass. “You go ahead and wear your jellyfish sting as a badge of honor. I’ll be over there, safe on land.”
Tuck snickers.
I glance at our hosts. “In my defense, I barely escaped a fiery plane crash to get here. My nerves are a little rattled.”
“She spent all day writing our will,” my husband pipes up. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was planning to get rid of me.”
“You’re not serious?” Bruce stares at us in horror then washes it down with a gulp of red wine.
“True story,” I say. “There was some kind of electrical fire on the plane, and we had to make an emergency landing.”
“Meanwhile, this crazy couple in front of us, who were at each other’s throats the entire flight, are suddenly acting like the couple going down on the Titanic. Holding each other and professing their love.” Tucker gives a decisive nod. “Fun times.”
“See?” Bruce looks plaintively at Kevin, who’s laughing at our misfortune. “Nothing exciting ever happens to us.”
“I can cut the brake line to one of the cars and not tell you which one,” Kevin answers, deadpan.
Tucker barks out a sharp laugh.
“Oh, stop it.” Bruce shoves Kevin’s arm. “You couldn’t live without me.” Then to me, “I get it, sweetie. Look how he treats me.”
During the main course, Bruce, now a few glasses into what tastes like very expensive wine, starts grilling us. He’s clearly the nosier, more outgoing one in the relationship, while Kevin seems to prefer sitting back and letting his partner carry most of the conversation. They make an interesting couple.
“So who did we let into our house?” Bruce asks, swirling his glass while narrowing his eyes at me. “For all we know, we’re enjoying a lovely meal with those kids from Natural Born Killers.”
“Like we’ve got the Di Laurentises in a pile of corpses in the deep freezer?”
“That was deliciously specific,” Bruce says, grinning at me. He’s got a dazzling white smile, and he looks much less douchey when he’s wearing clothes.
“Ignore him,” Kevin says. “He’s desperate for someone to want him dead.”
“I’m nosy. So shoot me.” Bruce glances at Tucker. “So what do you do for a living, Tuck? My guess, judging by that physique? Athlete.”
“Nah.” Tucker shrugs. “Dean and I played hockey together in college, but now I run a couple bars in Boston.”
He proceeds to tell the men about his business. How the first Tucker’s Bar that he opened right out of college had become a popular neighborhood hangout that attracted a lot of pro athletes. With its success came the second location, which is doing even better. Bruce looks it up on Instagram, much to the embarrassment of Kevin, who frowns at his partner for pulling out his phone in the middle of dinner.
“Your content and marketing are impressive,” Bruce marvels. “You do this all yourself?”
“Somewhat. I hired a couple locals that do video and professional photography for us. In-house staff run our socials. Honestly, a lot of good friends helped us out in the beginning.” He shrugs. “A couple of my best friends play for the Bruins, so they talked up the bar, and now we’ve got some famous clientele popping by.”
Bruce looks highly impressed. “You have plans beyond the bars, or is this franchise the baby?”
“He has a ton of ideas,” I chime in. “He’s
nowhere near done yet.”
“Definitely thinking of opening more bars in other cities. But…I get bored,” Tucker admits.
Frowning, I glance over at him. “You’re bored with the bars?” This is the first I’m hearing of it.
“No. I mean, sometimes.” He shrugs, reaching for his wine. “It’s the double-edged sword of a great staff and an excellent general manager. The bars run without me, and I end up with too much free time on my hands. Gets me antsy.”
I gaze down at my plate, hoping it’ll shield my expression, whatever it may be. I’m not quite sure how I feel hearing that Tuck’s not enjoying his business. I hadn’t gotten any sense he felt unfulfilled in his job. Not a single hint of it. I always make a point to ask him about work, and he always just smiles and says it’s all good.
“I hear ya,” Bruce tells Tuck, nodding. “I’m the same way. Full of ideas. Always on the go.”
“Damn man can’t sit still,” Kevin agrees with a wry smile. “Such is the life of a fitness guru, I suppose.”
“Is that what you do?” I ask Bruce, forcing myself to focus on our new friends and not my husband’s apparent unhappiness. “I was wondering after seeing you out there with your camera.”
As Tuck and I grill him on the ins and outs of being an “influencer,” we discover that there’s a lot more to the job. Along with having millions of followers across all his social media accounts and making a fortune from sponsored posts, Bruce also works as a personal trainer for an elite clientele.
“He trains two New York Congresswomen and one former president,” Kevin boasts, clearly proud of his partner. “Can’t say who the prez is, but feel free to guess.”
Tucker and I are suitably impressed.
When Bruce turns his cross-examination on me and I mention I just graduated from law school, I discover that Kevin is also a lawyer. Not only that, but a senior partner at a top-three firm in New York.
