by A. J. Pine
Duncan splayed his hands on the table in front of him and stared hard at the real culprit across from him.
“It’s mine, ya right bawbag. You ken it is. Just give it to me, and let me get to my wedding.”
The guy he’d spent the flight from Scotland to Athens with finally spoke.
“I was just protecting myself, aye. You’d have done the same if someone chased you through an airport.”
Duncan growled. The bloke was Scottish as well, and Duncan hated him even more because of it. He could have been kin. Shite, what if he was? His mum could have invited a cousin or two he didn’t know.
He shook the thought away. “I was protecting what belongs to me.”
Duncan’s cheek throbbed. His head ached. For fuck’s sake, he was not the kind of bloke who got into a fight unless he was too piss-drunk to realize it, and that only happened once. Okay, twice if you count the time he and his cousin Ewan were so drunk they decided to box for sport and Duncan cracked a knuckle on Ewan’s jaw. But shite, who gets clotheslined in an airport on the way to his own wedding?
Duncan did, and Elaina would never forgive him for it. His only hope of righting the situation was getting his damned bag back. Then she’d understand.
“Maybe it is yours,” the arse said. “But maybe I thought it was mine, and got scared, and—” The guy paused. “Where’s my legal aide? I shouldn’t be talking any more without an aide.”
“Just shut it,” Duncan said through gritted teeth, and the man leaned back in his chair, looking patient as could be. Now that he had shut up, though, the silence roared in the tiny room, or maybe that was just Duncan’s pulse.
Kostas walked back in with two small Styrofoam cups and handed one to each of the men at the table.
“Wha’ about the bolt cutter? Better yet, can I take my bag and go now?” Duncan asked, just to annoy the kid whose answer was already clear.
“I’m sorry, Mr. McAllister,” he said in accented English. “I saw you assail this man and he defend himself. While your version of the story makes sense as well, I know what I saw. So until we can open the bag, I have to detain you both. I’m just waiting on my manager to find something we can use to cut the lock. Or we could just cut open the bag.”
“No!” Duncan yelled. “Christ. I asked you to cut off the bloody lock, not ruin the bag and most likely what’s inside it.” He rolled his eyes. This wanker thought he was playing out an episode of Law & Order. And as much as he’d kept his gift for Elaina safe, he hadn’t thought to put it in a box. The only thing separating the gift from a pair of scissors was the tissue it was wrapped in, and at this point, he wasn’t sure where in the bag the gift was.
Duncan wondered if the other two people in the room could hear the silent screams of rage inside his head.
“Ya do see how ridiculous this is, don’t you? I have no bag, no identification, because it’s right there in front of you. The arsehole showed you his passport.”
“His name’s Stephen, actually,” Kostas said, and Duncan’s jaw clenched.
“I don’t bloody care what his name is. Don’t you find it the least bit odd he’s not even arguing? That he’s asking for legal aide?” Duncan stood and reached across the table toward Stephen’s shirt collar. “It’s my bloody wedding, for fuck’s sake!”
Kostas was strong for the lanky git he was, wrenching Duncan’s hand from the other guy’s shirt.
“Please, Mr. McAllister. I don’t want to write you up for assault as well.”
Duncan slammed his hands down on the table, taking small pleasure in watching Stephen and Kostas flinch. Then he sat again.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, wincing as he touched his bruised cheek. He’d had everything planned perfectly, right down to his arriving with enough time to still have the entire day with both his and Elaina’s families. And he had the perfect wedding gift for Elaina, one that would show her how much he loved her. He wasn’t the best with words, but when he wanted to show her what she meant to him, he was a right genius, if he did say so himself. Asking for Elaina’s hand in marriage more than a year before he proposed? Check. Learning enough Greek to properly ask her father for permission? Check again. Researching as much as he could about the ceremony of a Greek wedding to ensure the gift he presented to his wife spoke volumes as to how important she was to him—check. Almost. Because the item that said more than Duncan could articulate was not in his possession at the moment. It was being detained along with himself and the man who’d stolen it.
The door flew open, and Duncan had to do a double take to believe what he was seeing.
Kostas startled at the flurry of movement as Griffin and Noah strode into the room. The arse still sat with his arms calmly crossed over his chest. Hopefully, that was about to change.
“Good morning, everyone,” Griffin said, a charming-as-shit grin plastered across his face. Noah just nodded at the three men in the room—the strong, silent partner. Duncan filled with hope. “I’m Griffin Reed, and this is my associate, Mr. Keating.”
Duncan watched as Noah stifled a laugh, but Kostas didn’t seem to catch it. He was eating this shite up. He shook Griffin’s hand and then Noah’s.
“I’m afraid you’ve inappropriately detained my client, Mr. McAllister.”
Duncan’s eyes widened, and Griffin gave him a little shrug. He was making this up as he went along, and it fucking seemed to be working.
“Mr. Reed, there was an altercation, and your…uh…client attacked this man and tried to steal—”
“Attacked?” Duncan kicked his chair out from behind him, and he was up again. “I should be phoning Scotland Yard—or whatever you call your police service here!”
“Hellenic Police,” Kostas informed him, but Duncan just growled. That seemed to be his preferred form of speech today.
“Right. Enough already. I’m taking my bag, and I’m walking out that door, ya daft knob. Ya don’t even ken what you’re doin’.”
Kostas held Duncan’s bag in his hands and backed against the door, pushing it shut as he did.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t let anyone leave until we’ve figured out who this belongs to.”
“Did you tell him what was in it?” Noah asked.
“Nice one,” Griffin said.
“Thanks, man,” Noah remarked.
“I could name everything in the bag,” Duncan said. “But the lock is busted. I swear it was our wedding date.”
“Jesus, Duncan,” Griffin said. “Did you try another date?”
Duncan turned to the wall behind him and punched it once. Then twice. He went for a third, but Noah caught his hand.
“I tried the date in reverse order,” Duncan said. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the back of his head, the two pills he’d swallowed doing nothing to ease the pain or clear his thoughts. He had to regain control, so he leaned against the wall, waiting for his breathing to slow, and tried to remember.
Shite. “I’m the daft knob,” he mumbled. “I changed my mind. Last night when I bought the lock, my first thought was our wedding date, but then I got superstitious, aye. Using the wedding date before the wedding happened. That could be bad luck.” He shook his head. Looked like bad luck came for him anyway. “So I switched it.” He let out a long breath. “It’s Elaina’s birthday. Her bloody birthday, but my head is a mess, mates. I can’t think straight.”
Griffin took a step closer. “Hey, Duncan. Everything’s going to be okay,” he said.
“No,” Duncan said louder, his voice firm. “It’s not. Fuck, I never should have let go of the bag in the first place, but I was doing exactly what Elaina thinks I’m probably doing right now. I was freaking out.”
Griffin put a palm on Duncan’s shoulder, but nothing would soothe him.
“It just—it all hit me when I stepped off that plane and realized Scotland wasn’t home anymore. And I—I couldn’t catch my breath. I thought it was the jumper I was wearing, so I let go of the bag and took the fucking thing off.”
/> All eyes were on Duncan, even the arse’s. He could see the worry in his stare because Duncan was about to exonerate himself, but first he had to admit to someone why this had happened in the first place.
“I freaked out, mates. I fucking freaked out, and then this guy knocked me out cold, and since then everything is swimming in here.” Duncan pointed to his head. “So I couldn’t even think straight enough to remember the combination, tell A Levels over here that in the bag is a scarf trimmed in the McAllister red and green tartan, and then open the damn thing and show it to him. I could have been out of here more than an hour ago if I was bloody fucking conscious. Because the only thing that matters now is getting to Elaina.”
Duncan removed the lock with the correct combination, and Kostas opened the bag and pulled out the scarf, nodding in recognition.
“You had this made for your wife? For the red scarf ritual?” he asked.
Duncan nodded. Of course he did. He was fine with having a traditional Greek wedding. It was important to Elaina, so that made it important to him. But aside from wearing his tartan on his kilt, he wanted to connect Elaina’s Greek tradition with his own.
“I’m sorry, Mr. McAllister,” he said. “You’re free to go.” He handed Duncan the tartan scarf, his phone, and the bag. Then he glanced at the other man at the table, the real assailant. “But I’m going to have to ask you to fill out a report and decide if you want to move forward with legal proceedings…”
Griffin motioned for the door, and Kostas stepped aside.
“You can email him the report. You’ve taken up enough of his time. Mr. McAllister has a wedding to get to.”
Kostas nodded. “Of course, sir. Thermá synchari̱tí̱ria. Congratulations. And my apologies…”
Duncan didn’t wait to hear the rest. He pushed through the door as Griffin and Noah followed. He had a wedding to get to—and lots of explaining to do.
Chapter Eleven
Griffin
Griffin sipped his champagne, which was tough because he wanted to drain his glass in one long gulp. Bullshit artist or not, he could have gotten them all in deeper trouble by trying to impersonate a litigator or whatever he was doing, yet somehow here they were.
Duncan leaned across the aisle and clinked his glass with Griffin’s, then reached around to the seat in front of him and did the same with Noah. Then he threw back his bubbly like it was a shot of whisky.
“I thought you said you had a concussion,” Griffin said. “Should you be, you know, drinking?”
Duncan waved a hand. “Possible concussion. I’d have to go to hospital to confirm, but”—he shook his empty champagne flute—“I’m feeling quite excellent right now. And, mates—that was simply brilliant. I mean, fucking brilliant.”
Noah turned in his seat to face them.
“Which part? Us barging in on that bullshit episode of Law and Order and helping you figure out your shit, or Reed snagging us a free upgrade to first class with his threat of litigation?”
“All of it,” Duncan said. “The whole bloody day—well, since you two arrived. It was absolute shite before that, but now?” He raised his glass as a flight attendant walked by to offer him a refill. “Aye. This is how a day should begin for a man about to get married. It’s all gonna work out, lads. I can feel it.”
Duncan’s smile fell.
“Then why aren’t you smiling anymore?” Noah asked.
Duncan sighed. “Because maybe I don’t feel it, but I’m trying to convince myself I do. I know Elaina loves me, but I think she’s been waiting for me to grow up, to not be the guy who wakes up on the grass outside his flat because he was too drunk to find his key.”
“That’s not what happened today,” Griffin said.
“Aye. But isn’t this some version of it? Duncan McAllister getting himself into a right mess? I don’t want to be a mess she has to clean up.”
“You’re not a mess,” Griffin told him. “You’re the guy who not only got the girl but got the girl’s father to trust you enough to give you a really great job. Everything’s fine now,” he assured his friend, hoping he was telling the truth. “But you could have used my phone when I texted Maggie.”
Duncan scrubbed a hand over his face, his fingers stopping to rest on the growing bruise beneath his eye. Then he shook his head.
“You told her I’m all right, yeah? That I’m on my way? I need to do the rest in person, face-to-face. Today was important,” he said. “Almost more so than the wedding, what with our families meeting for the first time.” Duncan laughed, but this wasn’t the typical merriment Griffin remembered of his friend. This laugh sounded bitter, a harshness to Duncan’s tone he hadn’t heard before.
“Hey, man. She loves you. She said yes to marrying you. And today? Today wasn’t your fault.”
Duncan shrugged. “Wasn’t it, though? I waited till the last minute for the tartan, got on the latest possible plane I could so I could stay in Aberdeen a bit longer. One day earlier, and this wouldn’t have happened.”
Noah shook his head. “You don’t know that. There could have been a bigger asshole on yesterday’s flight.” All three of them chuckled, and Griffin could feel this interaction getting into dangerously emotional territory. “The way I see it,” Noah added, “is that we’re all fucking clueless. There’s no rule book or manual for any of this. Best we can do is make up for the times we mess up by getting the big things right.”
Duncan relaxed into his seat.
“Elaina, she’ll be mad, aye,” he told them. “She’ll be mad, but if I get it all right from here on out, you’re saying that will make up for it?”
Noah nodded.
Griffin wasn’t so sure—not about Duncan, but about how each day he lied to Maggie, he was making a bigger and bigger mess. He swirled the pale gold liquid in his glass. He should be proud of what he’d done—getting them all on the flight back to Thessaloniki, with upgrades. But all it did was remind him that he’d been playing a part. Putting on a show. And he realized that’s exactly what he was doing with Maggie. He could use her migraine as the excuse for not immediately thrusting the envelope in her face, but what about all those hours on the plane he had her undivided attention? He needed to say something, to get this off his chest and out into the open before it was too late.
“Oi, Griffin?” Duncan roused him from his thoughts. “My lad Noah says Elaina’s going to forgive me. You’re supposed to be helping me celebrate.”
Griffin set the flute down and looked at Duncan, all his bravado for their Athens adventure having melted away.
“Maggie—she’s okay, yeah?” Duncan asked.
Griffin nodded. “So this is, like, the sharing hour now?”
Duncan didn’t say anything, just narrowed his eyes and waited.
“Fine,” he said. Maybe he could stand to get a little advice from his friends. “I took a shot in the dark and won a fellowship with AmeriCorps, the place I work for now. It’s extremely competitive, and I wasn’t expecting to get it. I just wanted to see if I could, you know?” Both Duncan and Noah nodded. “But I got it. And now that it’s mine, I want it. But if I accept, I have to move to D.C. for a year this fall.”
Okay, so maybe he was supposed to say all of that to Maggie, but what the hell? A guy could only take so much, and even if this didn’t solve his problem, it felt good to say out loud, to admit that he wanted this.
Duncan emptied his glass again. “See! This day is back on track. Good things for everyone!”
He clapped Griffin on the shoulder, but Griffin shook his head.
“Maggie doesn’t know,” he said.
“Why not?” Noah asked.
He took in a measured breath. It wasn’t his place to tell them about Maggie’s medical past, even if she survived a brain aneurysm and the surgery to remove it. God, she really was the strongest person he knew, so why couldn’t he say to her what he just said to them?
“I don’t know,” he admitted, throwing his head back against his seat. Then
he groaned. “Shit. I’m ruining your moment, Duncan. We’re celebrating your freedom, right? I’m sorry, man. Maybe Keating has more wisdom to lighten the mood.”
Noah averted his eyes and cleared his throat. Well shit, Keating was hiding something, too.
“Out with it,” Duncan said, nudging Noah’s shoulder. “We’re all getting in touch with our feelings, Keating. Your turn.”
Noah pulled his messenger bag out from under the seat in front of him. He reached inside an inner pocket and retrieved a small velvet box.
“Well, bloody fucking hell,” Duncan said under his breath.
A tiny weight lifted off Griffin’s chest. He realized in his unfortunate encounter with him on their last flight how much Noah was willing to sacrifice for Jordan. He’d already let go of any mistrust he had for the guy. But this? This confirmed what an ass Griffin had been to ever doubt how much Noah cared for his friend, and for the first time since he’d left Maggie in Thessaloniki, he’d smiled and meant it. No pretense. No show. He was just damned happy for Jordan—and for Noah, too.
“Congratulations,” he said, raising his glass.
“She still has to say yes,” Noah said, but he raised his flute as well.
“Mates, we have turned this shite day around. Jordan is going to say yes. You and Maggie are going to figure out this fellowship thing, and Elaina is going to marry me—after she forgives me, of course.”
If Duncan could turn a day like today around, then Griffin could get over whatever the hell was holding him back. He wasn’t the guy he was before he met Maggie. He was the version of himself she made him want to be. And that meant laying all his cards on the table no matter what the outcome—even if one possible outcome could destroy him. He owed her his best self.
“Slainte,” Griffin said.
“Slainte,” Noah and Duncan repeated in unison.
And they drank to the women who would hopefully say yes; who would forgive and say I do; who would understand the paralysis of fear and still believe that chasing a dream meant nothing if it meant doing it without her.
