Everlasting (Family Justice Book 6)

by Suzanne Halliday

  “Yep,” he slurred when he answered.

  “You boys ready to wrap things up?”

  Ben always sounded like he had nothing better to do. What a joke. Alex relied on him to be everything. Butler, driver, handyman, problem-solver, friend. Matter of fact, Finn wasn’t sure when the guy found time to sleep.

  Before he could answer, Alex ripped the phone from his hand and drunkenly stammered, “Don’t tell the wife, but I’m drunk.” He had a finger to his mouth and mouthed, “Shhh,” extremely loud.

  Two seconds later, Alex bellowed, “Men! Naked howling. Make it happen,” and handed the phone back. He heard Ben’s good-natured chuckle. “Ah. You’re at the naked howling ritual. I’d better get a move on then. I’ll be around in an hour or so.”

  There was a chorus of chuckles and grunts. A bunch of boo-yahs and some rowdy high fives. They trekked away from the Amore pergola and climbed a small peak while naked except for shoes.

  After that, there was a round of howling and backslapping. Apparently, this naked drunken wolf call was a tradition. At some point, Parker and Drae began bitch slapping each other, and Finn had to admit the sight was pretty goddamn funny.

  As they made their way back to the site, a shaft of moonlight illuminated Alex’s body, making Finn groan. Jesus god. He’d never seen the scars like this. Once or twice in the gym, he’d caught a glimpse or two of the gnarly injuries all down his left side, but naked, the man was a grizzly sight.

  He was a trained EMT, so his clinical mind was quick to fill in the blanks. He knew Alex had been through hell. Now, he knew how lucky he was to be alive and not crippled.

  It was instantly sobering and pushed his thoughts to Remington. She had grizzly scars too—only hers were internal. As for whether she was alive and not crippled—well, the jury was still out on that.

  Ben was pulling in just as they staggered to the pergola and began searching for their clothes. It was a comedy of errors as they started to dress.

  Drae put his underwear on his head because he said Victoria would expect nothing less.

  That led to Cameron stuffing someone else’s boxers into his briefs, so it looked like he had an elephant dick.

  Matt and Cris were barely able to stand they were laughing so hard.

  Alex put his shirt on backward, which earned less than a shrug from the rest of them.

  Parker took his shirt, tied it around his waist like a sarong, and started dancing. Next thing he knew, Alex, Parker, Matt, Cris, and Calder delivered a battle-of-the-drunk-bands-worthy performance of Elvis’ “Bossa Nova Baby.” There were choreographed moves that told Finn they’d done this quite a few times before.

  Ben led the applause when they finished with a rowdy assist from Cam and Drae.

  The usual round of antics ensued as the night wound down. The booze wagon took off. Calder demanded the Macallan be drained bone dry, so the bottle was passed around until completely kicked. Then, in a parade of complete drunken foolishness, they marched a good distance from the pergola, bid farewell to the whiskey bottle and Calder’s bachelorhood, set the empty on a rock, and then … what the fuck?

  Out of thin air, Calder produced a gun, lined up a shot like an inner-city gang member, and blew the bottle to smithereens. Raucous grunts, whoops, and hollers broke out. Finn almost the loudest of all.

  These guys constantly amazed and amused.

  Ben somehow got them poured into an agency van. Not an easy feat considering the amount of alcohol involved. Twice, Cam had to stop to adjust the underwear on Drae’s head like a stylist on the red carpet.

  The van was bouncing along when he realized his catering truck wasn’t moving. Ben laughed him off. “Relax, Finn. Once we’re clear and there are no witnesses, someone from security will take care of it.”

  “No witnesses?” he yelled over the noise of drunken men.

  “Thaz my wife,” Alex slurred. “Yer sister. Worried about, um …”

  “Your epu, um, repu, uh, reputation,” Cam drawled.

  “Ah. Got it.” Of course, Finn mentally snickered. Their mom was a broken record about Da’s station house antics. There was no such thing as one beer at O’Malley’s with the boys. He recalled one or two nights after a celebration and once after a funeral when a squad car discreetly unloaded a shitfaced drunk Captain O’Brien at the back door. Meghan would have picked up her protective spouse instincts from one of the best. Maggie O’Brien.

  The chorus of some vaguely familiar Marshall Tucker Band song filled the back of the van. “Heard It in a Love Song.”

  Cris took the twangy lead. Everyone else filled in the flute parts with some kickass whistling. Alex, who can drum on anything, went to town, and Parker sang the guitar in some parts. Even Ben joined in.

  Finn loved this about these crazy people. The music. The pantomime. The charades.

  “Sit up, sit up! Hurry!” Cris sniggered when the van started down the driveway to the Villa. He wet his fingers and tried to fix Alex’s messy hair only for his son to bat his hands away.

  “Dude,” Cam croaked. “His zipper is down.”

  A hasty group effort broke out to get Alex presentable. Ben barked, “Uh-oh, here she comes.”

  Finn ducked his head and peered out the window. His sister was slowly marching toward the van with a fierce expression on her face.

  “Oh, fuck,” he groaned.

  “Am I a dead man?” Alex mumbled. “I’m a dead man, aren’t I?”

  Calder cleared his throat and attempted to behave with some dignity. “Don’t worry, men. I’ve got this.”

  Then he literally fell out of the fan onto his ass. Meghan stood over him and shook her head. “Really?”

  Cris also stumbled from the van as backup. “Hey, honey,” he drawled. “Brought him back in one piece.”

  “Mmmhmm,” Meghan grunted. “Well, let’s see then.” She gave an exasperated wave. “Come on—shove the big lug out here.”

  Cam and Drae were having quite a giggle and used their feet to push Alex along.

  That was when he saw that Matt had an arm around Parker to steady his son as the fucker snapped pictures with his phone.

  When they got the big guy upright on the walkway and on his unsteady feet, the look on his sister’s face was utterly priceless. He couldn’t help it. Quickly locating his phone with whiskey-numbed fingers, Finn took a quick lopsided and probably blurred shot of her face.

  “Move it,” she snapped with an impatient gesture that ended with her pointing at the house.

  Zeus came tearing down the walk and skidded to a halt. Even she knew a stray gust of wind would put Alex on his butt, so she licked his hand and cocked her head to the side—exactly as Meghan was doing.

  Watching Major Alex Marquez lumber awkwardly toward the house like a kid sent to his room was hella funny.

  Meghan said something snappy to and Calder and shook her head. Then she saw Finn hiding behind Parker and threw him a dirty look.

  “Is this your doing?”

  “Nope,” he assured her with a good deal of cocky swagger. Pointing at Calder, he informed his sister who the real culprit was. “Talk to the groom. I’m just the caterer.”

  Fucking Parker chose that moment to point at him, scream, “Stroke 29!” and dissolve into laughter.

  “I don’t even want to know,” she snapped with her hand up to stop further comment.

  Shaking her head with female disgust, she arched a brow. “Every one of these idiots has a woman to dress them down when they’re stupid. Since you live alone, I hope you puke all night and have to clean it up in the morning.”

  With that, she flipped him off, turned on her heel, and stormed after Alex with Zeus at her side.

  “Jesus Christ,” Cris drawled with a snicker. “She really is a ball buster. My son’s in good hands.”

  Ben was having a hilariously good time but shooed them back into the van for the next stop along the way.

  He wondered how hard Meghan would go on her husband and laughed to himsel
f.

  6

  “That was lovely, Father. Thank you very much.”

  Calder studied Stephanie as she went to Eduardo Valleja-Marquez and wrapped the man in a big hug. He’d known the guy for decades. Forty years, at least. Having a priest in the family wasn’t a bad thing, and in Ed’s case, the joy he felt for God resonated in every single word and deed and rubbed off on the rest of the family in a positive way.

  He was also a Marquez—another baby boomer—and possessed a clever wit. His sister, Ashleigh, adored him and remarked frequently that she hit the jackpot with her brother-in-law. Sure, he was a man of the cloth, but he was also fucking hilarious in a tongue-in-cheek way.

  “I worked on that blessing, ya know.” The collared priest sniggered. “Maybe for five whole minutes.”

  Calder offered a high five that Ed enthusiastically accepted. Their hands slapped as they both chuckled.

  His beautiful and very pregnant fiancée crossed her arms and tried to look serious, but all he saw was how her arms rested atop the bump where his son or daughter grew. As anxious as he was—as they both were—to finally hold their baby, he happily admitted to enjoying seeing his woman with child. She was beautiful, radiant, and happy. What could possibly be better?

  Stephanie Bennett, soon-to-be Dane, was what he liked to call a raconteur of Southern chark. What was chark? Charm plus snark—with a Southern drawl. And she did it with a dollop of grace that made it better.

  “Five whole minutes, shugah?” With a doubtful smirk, she then rubbed her belly. “Although,” Miss Southern Gotcha cooed, “you can do a lot with five minutes.” She shrugged nonchalantly and gave them the eye. “Or four minutes. Maybe even three. Certainly, more than a minute and a half.”

  Ed burst out laughing and smacked him on the back. “I think she just called you out.”

  He grinned so big his face hurt. “Did you just infer I’m a minuteman?”

  Calling on all the Southern chark she could muster, Stephanie smiled and shurugged. “If the cowboy boot fits, darlin’.”

  Calder comically gasped and shook his head. “Dude,” he moaned to Ed. “Do you see what I have to put up with?”

  Ed made a stern face and shook a finger at them. “That’s what you get for fornicating outside marriage.”

  Stephanie, of course, found his statement royally hilarious and cracked up. “Fornicate? Really, shugah?”

  “It’s on the list of approved gotcha words,” Ed lazily drawled.

  “You couldn’t just say sleeping together?”

  Ed stifled a laugh. “Were you sleeping when you made that baby?”

  His Duchess screwed up her face with genteel outrage and turned to him. “Tell me again why he’s here?”

  “He’s here, darlin’, to remind us that we are just grains of sand in a …”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, zip it, Moondoggie.” She turned to Ed. “Ash told me what a troublemaker you are, Padre.”

  “Well.” He scoffed with a sly wink. “I couldn’t just stand by and let my brother marry a pagan. From California, no less!” Ed shook his head. “Sheesh.”

  “He’s joking.” Calder was quick to assure Stephanie when she startled.

  It was all kinds of amusing to see her reaction. One by one, he ticked off what he saw on her face. She wasn’t sure where the kidding ended and the church stuff began.

  “Please remember when he’s yanking your chain that Ed, Cristián, and my sister—Wendy and Matt, for that matter too—are all card-carrying official members of the sex, drugs, and rock and roll generation. There’s a reason they know every song from 1960 on. Don’t let the collar fool you.”

  The world became a perfect place when Father Eduardo Marquez flipped him off. If a distinguished looking priest had never given you the finger, then you hadn’t lived.

  “Are there Hail Marys attached to that gesture?” Stephanie asked.

  Ed laughed. “I rely on a savings account of Hail Marys. Try to bank as many as possible so that when I experience an infraction of the rules, there are a few on the tally sheet for quick acknowledgment of my grievous fault.”

  His soon-to-be wife blinked a few times and stared at Ed. She was trying to figure out if he was serious. In a flash, she turned his way. “Are you sure you want him to marry us?”

  They’d been messing around, but all of a sudden, Father Ed got serious in a hurry.

  “I shouldn’t joke when the suit is on,” he somberly confessed. “My bad.”

  Then he took Stephanie’s hands and led her to the sofa. He sat next to her and waved Calder to an easy chair.

  “All kidding aside. I’m proud of how you’re approaching the huge life changes you’re juggling.”

  “Really?” The slight tremor of uncertainty in Stephanie’s voice was kind of sweet.

  “Absolutely. And as a representative of the church? Guys, for real. I’m fine with the timing.” He patted Stephanie’s knee. “It’s a wonderful thing to be proud of the gift you’ve been blessed with. Holding off to marry until there’d be no hiding your pregnancy? Aw, come on,” he drawled. “God smiles on joy.”

  She turned eyes swimming with tears on him and gave a quivering smile.

  “And from a family standpoint, let me say this. Some of Alex and Meghan’s touching spirituality surrounding their vows rubbed off on you two. I like how you stepped back after the initial rush of excitement and broke it down.”

  He saw a flash in Stephanie’s eyes and rushed to allay her fears once again.

  “Duchess, it’s fine. Alex is one hundred percent on board with the changes.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Yes, honey. It’s all good. Cristián Marquez has been more than a brother-in-law over the years. He’s my hero in a lot of ways. If you need an example of an honorable man, look no further. He’s had my back more times than can be counted.”

  “You said it quite eloquently, Calder,” Ed added. “Cris is the epitome of a best man—in the most basic sense of what the term means.” He looked at Stephanie. “And Alex is who you turned to when Victoria was in trouble. He’s the reason you’re here at all. Asking him to give you away honors your long friendship.”

  “It’s as it should be, babe. Tori staked her matron-of-honor claim, and Cris stands as my best man and chief supporter while Alex hands you to me.”

  “Don’t forget Bella and Daniel.”

  “That’s right.” Ed chuckled. “Every small, intimate family wedding needs a precocious six-year-old flower girl and a toddling ring bearer. Sure to be entertaining.”

  Calder’s heart pounded when her hand crept out and reached for his. He clutched her fingers and noticed the slightest tremble. Bringing her hand to his mouth, he gently kissed her knuckles.

  “I love you, Duchess. I love Victoria, Daniel, and that butthead St. John. I love the baby we made. I love the life we’re making here, and I love how much and how fiercely you love. Thank you, sweetheart. Thank you for taking a chance on a beat-up old surfer with zero relationship experience.”

  She smirked at Ed. “You might want to look away or run to the bathroom.”

  The affable priest chuckled. “Understood.” And with that, he rose from the sofa and casually walked off toward the half bath behind the kitchen.

  Stephanie wasted no time wiggling onto his lap so she could kiss him with more than a little passion.

  “We’re having a baby,” she murmured close to his lips.

  “And we’re getting married.”

  She kissed him again, this time with her fingers getting insistent in his hair. Whispering into his ear, she said, “Hurry the good father on his way, okay?” Then she sucked his earlobe into her mouth and bit it.

  He very nearly turfed her ass in his haste to get Ed out of there. Anyone who imagined pregnant sex would be a drag had obviously not had kids. His lady was a rodeo champion and a graceful dancer. She combined both into a sexy penchant for riding his cock. Nobody rode like Stephanie did. Nobody.

&n
bsp; 7

  “Honey, what are you doing?”

  Alex knew he’d blundered when a muffled groan behind his shoulder made his gaze swing in that direction, and he found Carmen with an armload of laundry shaking her head. The exasperated frown on her face told him he’d stepped in it again.

  Dammit.

  Trying not to show any fear, he turned back to his grumbling spouse and silently prayed he hadn’t stumbled onto a wifely landmine. Picking his way through the booby-trapped landscape where his pregnant ladylove currently resided, he fixed a bland expression on his stupid face and crossed his fingers behind his back.

  Carmen’s amused snicker when she spied the telltale gesture let him know his mother would be hearing all about whatever this turned out to be. He didn’t doubt the two of them would laugh their baby-booming asses off.

  A wad of scrunched-up plastic suddenly whizzed past his face a second after he ducked to avoid impact. Noting that his red-haired wife was in Badass Boston Bitch mode, he wisely controlled the laugh trying so damn hard to break free. He’d gotten used to his balls being where they were and had no wish to have them ripped off his body.

  The closer he got, the more audible her grumbling became. Straining for clues, he listened carefully but came up empty.

  “Look at this,” she snapped. “I mean, seriously!”

  Her hand slapped onto the island counter where she sat before a mound of plastic and tissue paper. On the floor next to her feet was a pile of cardboard that he assumed was a box at one time.

  Visibly annoyed, his lovely wife snarled, “Is this a joke?”

  Arriving at her side, he gently rubbed her back the way he would calm an excited horse and murmured, “Is everything okay?”

  She turned on him so fast that he jolted slightly. The icy whiplash of her response made him swallow. Hard.

  “No, Alexander, everything is not okay.”