by Abby Brooks
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Epilogue
Claiming What Is Mine
Wilde Boys Book 2
Abby Brooks
Will Wright
Copyright © 2018 by Abby Brooks
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
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Also by Abby Brooks
Chapter One
Gabe
Look at that ass.
Don’t be shy. A specimen like that should be on exhibit. “Do you want to give it a smack? You do, don’t you? Go on then. Smack that ass.”
Smack. Smack.
I glimpse my brother Chet through the mirror.
“Gabe! I didn’t ask you to be my best man, so you could stand around spanking yourself on my wedding day.”
“No brother, you did not. I consider it a perk of the job.” I wink at him through the glass.
“Think you can pull yourself away for a minute?” Chet asks in his usually gruff way. “I can’t figure out this damned tie.”
He’s a curmudgeon, but he’s not wrong. Watching his thick hands fumble about with such delicate material is like watching a chimp tie a shoelace. Given enough time and luck, it could happen—I suppose.
I take another peek in the mirror hanging from the back of the office door. The harsh white of the lights overhead are hardly flattering, but still, I look good. I step back and turn, smiling as I imagine the reverend standing here looking himself over a final time, probably double checking that his fly isn’t down, before he heads to the sanctuary to address his congregation.
A hint of sadness, one I’ve been ignoring since this morning, creeps into my thoughts. The significance of the day acts as a not-so-subtle reminder of the happiness Chet has found that I have not. By contrast, the best outcome I can hope for today is a pretty distraction to keep me company—for a while anyway. Not so long ago I thought the occasional distraction was all I’d ever want, but lately I’ve come to see how far that is from the love of a good woman.
Suck it up man. This is not the time for a pity party.
I straighten my tie and smooth my lapel. “Happy to help brother. This sexy beast will be here, waiting.” I give my ass a final, albeit smaller slap before turning to Chet. “However, seeing as we spend most of our waking lives together, what makes you think I’ll be any better with a bow tie than you?” I ask as I fumble with the black fabric dangling from his neck.
Chet looks good today, stately even. He and Christy went with the gold standard (a.k.a. vanilla) wedding. You know the kind, early June, small chapel, no surprise flash dance entrances, or wild outfits. Hell, I suppose with Chet involved we’re lucky not to be in a barn, sitting on bales of hay. As for me, if I was the one getting married today, well, let’s just say my wedding would have more flare.
Seeing Chet all fancied up in his tuxedo, the elegant contrast of the black on white, combined with a clean shave and no hat—he’s almost unrecognizable. Until you get to the boots, anyway. For some reason, likely never to be known by the rest of mankind, he drew a line at wearing boots. They aren’t the everyday pair he wears around the ranch. Oh no. They’re brand new Tony Lamas, bought specifically for today.
“You managed to get yours on, didn’t you?” Chet points to the bow expertly tied around my neck.
“Honestly? No. Frank did it for me. I couldn’t figure out when to loop from when to knot to save my life.”
“Frank?” Chet looks surprised.
“Yeah, he’s the fancy pants down in Denver. Apparently, between the nine to five of the business world, and his highfalutin nightlife, he’s some kind of expert.”
“Think you could keep your hands to yourself long enough to find him?”
“Sure. Back in a jiff. Need anything else while I’m out? A drink? Maybe a big pair of pliers?” I catch another glimpse of myself in the mirror. Better be careful today, don’t want to steal the attention away from the bride and groom.
Chet shakes his head. “I’m certain to regret asking, but why would I need a pair of pliers, Gabe?”
“To get that stick out of your ass before the ceremony.” I close the door without giving him the chance to respond, pleased as punch with my cleverness.
The halls of this old church are familiar but somehow uncomfortable. Maybe they changed the color, or maybe the walls simply don’t seem as big as they did when I was small, but something is off. I can’t recall the last time I was here. Memories of the place from my childhood stand out, vivid and bright. Sunday school classes, painting with watercolors, my brothers and I racing from one end of the hall to the other at full speed. Until Pop caught us anyway.
Then it hits me. Our dad!
The hair on my neck stands on end as I realize the last time I was here was for his funeral. Think happy thoughts. Pop would be smiling to know what’s brought everyone back here today.
I poke my head through the double doors leading into the worship area, hoping to catch Frank’s attention without traipsing down the aisle and tapping him on the shoulder. I can’t believe my eyes. People are lined up along the walls. Chet’s wedding is standing room only? The whole damn county must have turned out. My guess? Everyone showed up to see if Christy actually goes through with it.
I scan the roo
m for my brother, waving my arms overhead like an idiot when I spot him. So much for low profile. Frank rolls his eyes and gives me the finger (not like that, jeez, you’ll have to keep your mind out of the gutter if you want to keep up), indicating he needs a minute. Jesus man, you’re not officiating the thing, what are you doing that’s so important? I step back into the foyer and lean against the wall to wait. My foot taps in time with the second hand of the clock above the door. As different as he and Chet are, both men seem to be under the impression that the rest of us should be happy working around their timetables.
A few minutes later, Frank pushes through the doors and almost walks past before he notices me along the wall.
“What’s up? Need help with your tie again?”
“No. Obviously not.” The only reason I don’t is because I’ve actively resisted messing with it. “What do you think I am, an idiot or something?” Frank smiles. “Don’t answer that,” I add before he shares his thought. “Can you help Chet with his tie? He can’t figure it out, either.”
Frank cocks his head. “Let me get this straight. You both know practically every kind of knot imaginable, unless it’s around your neck?”
“Why in the hell would I ever want a knot tied around my neck?” I put my hands around my throat as if to choke myself. “Does this look like a skill a person ought to practice?”
Frank rolls his eyes. “And to think—you’re my older brother.” He sighs. “Lead the way.”
“What were you so busy with in there, anyway?” I ask, trying not to let the walls dredge up foul memories again as we walk back down the hall.
“Um—I’m an usher. I was helping an elderly woman find a seat. Sort of my—you know—job for the day.”
“Oh. So, you’ve had a good look at everyone here, then?”
“I suppose. ” Frank raises his brow. “Why?”
“Well, I am the best man. So obviously, I can’t be caught dancing with some cross-eyed, homely thing. Not at our eldest brother’s wedding.” I wink.
“You are such a child.”
“Incorrect. I—” I point my thumbs to my chest “—am a grown ass man.”
Frank scoffs. “No. At best, you are a man-child.”
I can see by the arrogant look on his face he’s been down in Denver so long he’s forgotten where he comes from. Our family has never been the stodgy, formal type. Hell, I consider that fact to be a personal source of pride. We Wilde’s don’t pretend to be something we aren’t, and a person always knows where they stand with us. Somewhere along interstate seventy-six this asshole seems to have forgotten that. But today is not the day, and this is not the place to call him on it. “Okay. Split the difference, at worst, I’m a grown ass man-child.”
“And somehow that’s better?”
“Obviously.” I open the door and gesture for Frank to enter. An usher? Ha. Doesn’t seem that difficult to me.
Inside, Chet paces back and forth in front of the windows, from the oak bookshelves along one wall to the cluttered desk butted up against the other.
“I hear you could use a hand with your tie,” Frank states as he enters the room. “Relax, we’ll get you squared away.”
Chet, lost in thought, looks at Frank confused. “Huh?” He runs his hand through this slicked back hair while he processes Frank’s comment. “No. It’s not the tie.” He stops to peer out the window. “I’m worried about Christy.”
I dig my hands into my pockets. “Mom’s back in the room with her. If Christy had run off, I’m sure someone would let us know. ”
Chet levels one of his not-funny-Gabe glares. “That’s not what I meant. Other than her mom, she doesn’t have any family or friends here supporting her.” He turns and points through the glass. “Look at all those cars in the parking lot—I’m worried she’s going to walk down the aisle and not see any familiar faces. I don’t want today to be anything less than happy for her.”
I walk over to my brother and place a hand on his shoulder. “In an hour, she’ll be a Wilde and the whole damn town will be there for her. Whatever she needs. Whenever she needs it. Like they always have been for us.”
Frank and Chet both look at me in disbelief.
“What? I can be serious. Sometimes.”
Frank squares Chet in front of him and goes to work, swooping and looping Chet’s tie into a perfect bow. He folds his collar down and brushes a fleck of lint off his jacket. “All set.” He stands back, pleased with his work. “So, who’d Christy pick as her maid of honor, then?”
“Her mother,” Chet answers.
Frank glances back at me, grinning from ear to ear. “Gabe, doesn’t the best man typically hook up with the maid of honor?”
I level Chet's not-funny-Gabe glare at Frank. “Don’t be disgusting.”
Frank looks to Chet. “She’s single, right?”
Confused, Chet replies, “I don’t like where this is going.”
“Well Gabe here is planning to…”
Thankfully, our younger brother Jack opens the door, interrupting Frank. He quietly steps into the room and pushes the door closed behind him. When he looks up and finds the three of us staring blankly at him, he rocks back on his heel.
“Am I interrupting?”
I step forward, grateful for a topic change. “No, no. Nothing important. What’s up?”
Jack looks at Chet. “The reverend asked me to tell you it’s time. Are you ready?”
“As much as I’m going to be.” Chet walks to the mirror to look himself over.
Jack clears his throat. “One thing, Chet—and I’m sorry to have to say it, but I thought you’d want to prepare yourself.”
“Yeah?” Chet asks.
Chet and Jack are cut from the same cloth, so if Jack felt it was important enough to mention, minutes before the service starts, we all know whatever he’s about to say, must be.
“Well. Leo’s here.”
“That’s good news, right?” Frank asks, trying to lighten the mood as he looks around the room. “I saw him come in, but I haven’t had a chance to speak to him, yet.”
“Well, ordinarily, it would be. Uh…the thing is…” Jack stares at his feet.
“Spit it out, man,” I say, bracing myself.
Jack looks Chet in the eye. “Well, I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s half in the bag.”
“Sh-it.” The word slips out without me realizing I’m the one who said it.
Frank grimaces at me before turning to Jack. “That doesn’t make sense. I mean…Leo’s always been impetuous. But, I hardly think he would disrespect a day like today.”
“I hope I’m wrong. Judging by his bloodshot eyes and slurred words, I don’t think I am.”
I look to Chet. “Alright. So what? Today isn’t about Leo, it’s about you and Christy. So, he’s a selfish prick? That’s not news. Don’t give it another thought. Jack, Frank, and I will keep an eye on him. Hell, Hank too if things go that far, but—” I laugh “—how bad could he be? You focus on your bride. Today is about the two of you.” I turn for the door. “Are we ready?”
When no one answers, I look back confused by their silence, only to find the three of them standing around staring at each other. “What? I told you, I can be serious.” I push my right lapel out with my thumb. “See this badge?”
All three of my brothers shake their heads. “Jesus, have a little imagination for once in your lives and pretend there’s a badge. As I was saying, it reads best man, not good man. Now come on, let’s get you hitched before the Valium wears off the bride.”
Chapter Two
Gabe
Chet and I enter through a side door at the front of the room. Even knowing what was waiting for us, the spectacle of people catches me off guard.
“Gentlemen, over here, please. Come, take your places.” The reverend motions for us to move to his left. “Mr. Wilde, if you recall, you stand here.”
“Which one?” Chet and I ask simultaneously.
“Yes. Alright.” The portly ma
n runs a hand through what hair remains on top of his shiny head. “The groom stands here.” He guides Chet to an x on the carpet, fashioned from masking tape. “And you sir…we’ll have you stand behind him on the next step down. Yes, right there. Just as we practiced in rehearsal. That’s good.”
I scan the crowd, searching for a partner to tear up the dance floor with later. What does it say about me as a man if the thought of another drunk stranger in my bed is a turn off? I ought to know everyone here, but no one stands out. Only blank, faceless heads, chattering back and forth amongst themselves.
Except for one. She was there, and when I looked back, she wasn’t. I only caught a glimpse—brown hair and a smile, but she seemed familiar. Not enough to recall a name, but there was something.
By any standard measure, like Sunday services or Wednesday bingo, this venue would be sufficiently large. Today however, there aren’t enough seats for everyone attending and, maybe it’s only me, but tugging at my collar I find the air stale and stifling. Could someone at least turn the goddamned A/C on?
The wall behind the reverend is floor to ceiling stained glass, replete with common biblical scenes, like Eve holding an apple, or animals being loaded onto the ark, two by two. I remember appreciating the imagery as a kid because it gave me something to focus on other than the same boring sermon week after week. My mind used to wander, thinking about the stories behind the scenes. I would try to trace each slice of blue and red and yellow back to the piece of glass it emanated from. Anything to pass the time while the adults dutifully listened and nodded. Eventually, after what seemed like hours, the music would begin, and I knew I’d survived another Sunday.
