by Zoey Parker
“You finished?” Mac asked.
Kellan let out several impressive curses before he slapped himself down in the chair next to the bed. “I don’t wanna get married. I don’t wanna be anyone’s man.”
“I get that.”
“Mac, you know what my life was like. You know what my father was.” His eyes were fixed on the dent he had caused in the wall. Yeah, it was a wall and a cigarette tray, but what if one day it wasn’t? What if one day it was a pretty girl’s face, or even a kid. “I don’t want to be that.”
“Your father was a mean damn drunk,” Mac snorted. “And you are nothing like him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Who better than me, kid?”
Kellan raked his hands through his hair and set his palms against his eyes. “You know how it was for me.”
“Yeah, kid, I do. I also know that same shit’s been following you around since you were a kid. And I also know it’s gotta stop. In no time at all you are gonna be putting my president patch on your kutte and you know what that means.”
“It means I gotta step up.”
Mac snorted and shook his bald head. “Easy words to say, Kel. But what does that mean?”
“Apparently it means I gotta marry a hot blonde who hates me, hates you, and hates everything I do with my life.”
Mac nodded, already beginning to drift off. “If your wife doesn’t hate something about you, shit, man, you are doing something wrong.”
Kellan left the old man to get some sleep and wandered the house. It was a good deal nicer than the trailer his family had. How they’d managed to shove four adults and twice as many kids into a doublewide, he’d never know. It was all held together with hunting, whiskey, and rage.
What was he going to do, pass that on? What happened the first time Emma nagged at him to give it all up? He remembered clear as day what his dad used to do to his mom when she came at him with everything he’d done wrong. It didn’t seem to matter what words she’d used or how right she was, his father would haul off and knock her around.
Kellan found himself in front of the liquor cabinet. It wasn’t locked, it wasn’t like there were kids about, and it wasn’t like Rocco had a taste for top shelf whiskey. Kellan plucked a bottle up and poured himself two fingers before knocking it back, enjoying the burn that went from his tongue to his belly and then everywhere else. He took another two and then wandered back down the hall.
He was standing in the doorway to his room before he remembered she was sleeping there.
She looked like an angel. He knew lots of guys said that about chicks, but when it came to Emma, it was true. She had that long blonde hair with just a little curl. Her face was all these soft angles that had just a hint of pink to keep her from looking like a piece of copy paper. She was beautiful in an untouchable, unstained way, and here Mac was shoving a piece of crap like him at her.
And she’d said yes.
He cursed and swallowed his second drink. The burn shook him all the way down to his toes.
Emma Ketchum said she’d marry him. That was the craziest part of it all. Yeah, sure, it was said in frustration, but it had been said. He hadn’t expected that. Moreover, he certainly hadn’t expected to feel good about it.
He shook his head and wished he hadn’t left the bottle in the living room.
She looked good. Even in that ugly sweater and ill-fitting jeans she looked like a million bucks, which was too expensive for him to put his ugly hands all over. No, no, marrying the collegiate princess was a bad idea for a million reasons.
A small whine drew his attention away from the girl and down to a mutt.
“Go on,” Kellan said, motioning with his chin. “No need for us both to be sleeping on the couch.”
Rocco needed no more encouragement. He prowled into the room and jumped up on the bed. Half asleep, Emma rolled over and wrapped an arm around the beast. She made a small sound that made his stomach do a flop as she curled into a tighter ball.
She looked small. It struck him hard. When she was up and moving around and shouting at everyone she seemed twice as big and ten times as tough. Her dad had the same quality. It gave a person a certain kind of glow that you wanted to follow and protect.
He could protect her a whole lot better sharing that bed with her. It was just a little too easy picturing climbing into that bed and wrapping himself around her like a snake. Would she be the kind of girl who whimpered and trembled, or the kind who moaned and demanded more?
He was a snake. Kellan felt his pants go tight where they had no business doing so, followed by a wave of disgust.
“Shit,” he snapped, and shook his head. Firmly he shut the door behind him.
Chapter 4
When Emma woke up the sun was high enough in the sky to cast long shadows over a stranger’s room. There was a warm body with dog breath flopped out next to her. With the stiffness of a body that had lay too long in the same position, Emma rolled over and received a big doggie kiss.
“Hello to you, too, Rocco.” She patted his side. He gave a low grumble in response.
She swung her stiff legs over the edge of a bed and looked around the room. It was, she determined, most certainly Kellan’s. The blue bedspread was run of the mill, but the biker girl calendar hanging on one wall and the clutter of clothes all screamed thirty-year-old male. The hunting rifle casually slung over the back of a chair was a dead giveaway, too. Her father wasn’t a hunter, but Kellan was.
Curiosity, and a desire to not walk out the bedroom door and into reality, had her perusing the less obvious aspects of the room. He was, after all, her husband-to-be. There was a stack of CDs that all ran towards the angry rebellious male from the ’90s music next to an iPod that was so new the headphones still had the waves from packaging. A half-empty bottle of Brute aftershave stood next to a few simple pieces of jewelry—a school ring and a chain with a cross on it.
There was a picture tucked between an empty box of cigarettes and a book that looked surprisingly well read. It was of a young Kellan, maybe nineteen or twenty, younger than she was now. His hair was still short, and still a mess of dark curls. He was a long line of teenage youth with a smile as wide as Texas on his mouth as he held up his vest, with only one patch on the bottom. The rocker, as they called it, read Prospect.
She remembered when he first came to stay with them. He had been so skinny, so underfed, and there were enough bruises on his face that she knew he had been abused. Her father had taken him in, looked on him as a son, and started him on the path to becoming a Beasts club member.
Club, she mused, a real nice word for a gang. She put the picture back and sighed. She was feeling stupid.
Little pieces of Kellan were scattered all over a messy room.
“Stupid,” she muttered to herself.
A buzzing in her hoodie pocket made her aware of her phone. She pulled it out. There were three missed messages. The first was from the school, telling her she needed to have her stuff out by Friday, the other two were from Diana, who was worried since she hadn’t heard from her.
Emma didn’t have a clue how to phrase assaulted and engaged in emojis so she just sent her a message that said Family emergency. It was close enough, especially where her family was concerned.
“Come on, pup,” she said, rubbing the last little bit of sleep out of her eyes. “Let’s go see about breakfast.”
He gave an enthusiastic woof and hopped out of the bed, wagging the entire back end of his body. He circled twice and plopped down in front of the bedroom door. Someone had closed it. She wondered who.
She tugged off her hoodie and let it join the other piles of clothing, the grunge of old rain didn’t smell any worse than unwashed male. The dark green tank top she wore underneath wasn’t much better, but it didn’t smell quite as bad.
Emma opened the door and Rocco charged out. There was a clatter followed by a shout. She smiled. Dogs made everything better.
She took a few moments to fres
hen up in the bathroom, wash out the taste of mid-morning. A long look in the mirror informed her that her pale pallor did nothing to hide the bruised look of lethargy beneath her eyes. Her golden hair had the luster of two-day-old fries. She easily looked the worst she ever had in her entire life.
“Good morning to you, too, beautiful,” she muttered.
With a sigh she swished some mouthwash through her teeth. Maybe she ought to take a shower before heading out to go face her estranged father, and her brand new fiancé. The rumble of her stomach decided food was more important than pride. Emma wondered if her life had ever been weirder.
“I mean it,” she heard Kellan saying when she opened the bathroom door. “I won’t touch her.”
Her father’s gruff voice came from the kitchen. “Kid, you’ve never lied to me before. Don’t start now.”
“Man, that’s your little girl.”
“Do not, under any circumstance, make me point out to you that she has grown up.”
The smell of frying eggs and toasted bread hit her. She didn’t realize how hungry she was until her mouth was watering. She peeked around the corner, thankful the hallway blocked the view of her approach. A mirror gave her the vantage of seeing a very shirtless Kellan standing over a stove. Her watering mouth went sandpaper dry.
A rag was tossed carelessly over one sun-bronzed shoulder, a rivulet of water was sneaking down the long muscular line of his back, caressing the outline of a feral-looking dog tattoo, jumping out of artistically rendered flames. They danced as his shoulders moved, flipping on egg out of a pan and unto a plate.
“We both know she’s too good for me, Mac. I mean, she’s college educated, straight and narrow, all that. It ain’t just the big blue eyes that kick you. It’s all that punch in her brain.”
Her father’s chuckle was proud. “I’m glad you know it. But if she’s gonna be your wife…”
“Man, I can’t hold her to that. She said it in the middle of the night after a shitty situation.”
“Then go propose, go make it all right.”
Emma decided it was time for her to make her presence known.
“Morning,” she said stepping out of the hallway. “Any of that for me?”
Kellan glanced up. She saw his eyes sweep over her tank top. His mouth hung open for a moment as he took in the way it clung to her chest. Even Emma had to admit she wasn’t quite the underdeveloped eighteen-year-old she had been. Mac saw it, too, because he snorted something like, “Won’t touch her. Yeah, right,” under his breath.
Emma cleared her throat in amused embarrassment. “Eggs?”
“Hmm? Yeah, eggs, toast, bacon.”
“Sounds good.”
“Trying to eat healthy,” Mac said as he plopped his own plate on his lap and wheeled to the table. “Good for me.”
Emma put a hand on his shoulder, and he put his hand over hers. They stood there for a moment. It didn’t quite heal the seven-year breech between them, but it was a step. He tilted his head and placed a kiss on her hand. She patted his cheek.
“So,” Emma said as she piled toast unto her plate. “We have a wedding to plan.”
“Aw shit,” Kellan said.
Mac laughed. “Gotta be soon.”
“Listen, we still gotta talk about that.”
She leveled a gaze at him, plucking a piece of bacon up. “Does marrying you keep me safe?”
Kellan turned his eyes on Mac.
Mac held up his hands in surrender, clearly passing this over to the younger man. “She’s your fiancée. Answer the lady’s question.”
“Yes,” he finally said. “Safer, at least.”
“Does it give me a place to stay while all of this blows over?” She took a bite and slowly chewed it as she kept her eyes on him. She could see his brow furrow as he looked for a point to argue from.
“Emma, you’d have that anyway. If not here, then with Leon, or one of the others. The club wouldn’t just throw you to the wolves for this.” He jerked the pan off the stove and loaded the last plate with food.
“Fair enough, but does marrying you help pay off my student loans? Get me my last semester at college?”
“Uh…” He scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know.”
“Well, if you get married, then you get your inheritance from me, that should see you through college and a nest egg.”
Kellan gave his president a look. “Are you serious? That’s shady.”
“A man is allowed to be as shady as he wants when his kid’s safety is concerned.”
“Shit.” Kellan gave a snort. “Fine, fine. Yes, I guess marrying me gets you some cash flow.”
“Then I guess we are getting married.”
Mac laughed. “That’s my little girl.”
Kellan looked her over for a second time, but this time her tank top had nothing to do with it. “That’s a big turnaround from what you were saying last night.”
“I said I’d marry you last night.” She made a sandwich with her breakfast and took a bite. “Not that big of a jump to planning a wedding.”
“This is stupid.”
Emma jerked her arm in a one shouldered shrug, “If you think you can do better than me, go right on ahead. Maybe one of those little biker bunnies. I mean, I’m sure they’d be willing to jump right on you if you waggled a finger.”
“I don’t want a biker bunny.” His tone was relentless and cold as steel.
“Well, good. Because I’m not one,” she snapped back, her eyes filling with indignant fire.
“Why do you want to marry me?” He surged forward, covering what little ground was between them in the span of two steps. His hand slapped against the table, his other gripped the back of her chair.
She didn’t move; she barely blinked. She just stared up at him with fire filled eyes. “Why are you being so damn difficult?”
He glared at her, she stared back.
His lip quirked suddenly into a shadow of a smile. “You’ve got some balls, you know that?”
“Well, no,” she said, grabbing her plate and making for the bedroom again. “But I’m sure you’ll find that out soon enough.”
Chapter 5
A lot of girls spent a lot of time planning a wedding. They rooted through those shiny magazines at grocery store checkout lines, they pulled together every available woman from the prospective families and asked for their opinions on dresses and shoes and all kinds of frippery. Emma, so far as Kellan could tell, did none of that.
She got out a legal pad, plopped herself down on his bed, and started a list of everything that needed to be done while a mutt who had stars in his eyes tried to woo her by plopping his favorite chew toy at her bare feet. Her hair, still damp from a recent shower, fell down her back and put a wet line on the loose t-shirt she had borrowed from her father’s stuff. The pajama pants were Kellan’s, and they looked like they were swallowing her.
“Your dad sent Leon and Joe down to pick up the stuff from your apartment. You should have your own clothes back by tonight.”
“Joe?” She looked up. Her eyes weren’t just blue, they were like crystal, bright and shinning and hard to look away from.
“He’s our prospect, I think his real name is like Frohpenapple or something like that. But he’s like…second generation Swedish. Big dude, blond, and too pretty for his own good. Looks like a walking talking G.I. Joe so…”
“Ah, that’s cute,” she said, turning her gaze back to the list in front of her. Her pen scratched along the surface, leaving behind neat writing. “Do you have your birth certificate on hand?”
“Huh? Yeah, I do. Somewhere back at my place. Why?” He took a step inside and cleared off one chair of his pile of dirty clothes. He made a note to clean something up. If she were going to be staying here, he could at least make it look better than some piss-poor frat house.
“We can go down to the justice of the peace tomorrow morning and get a marriage license. We’ll need a priest to sign off. Do you know if dad is sti
ll good with the local Mennonite church?”
“As far as I know. Emma, listen—” He tried to put his hand over the list she was writing. She slid it out of his way. The dog barked.
“We can have a reception here, maybe do a BBQ, pot luck kind of thing. We don’t have time for a caterer, or one of those DJs, and that kind of thing wouldn’t really jive with most of the club anyway.” She cut him off so easily, like he hadn’t even been talking. They only other person who did that was Mac. He didn’t know if he was annoyed or amused. Probably both.
