All the Best Men: An MFMM Menage Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  “What, what is it?” growled Pax. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s just that … what about you?” I asked tremulously. “The application only lists Peyton and me. What about you? I want you to be a part of this too, I’m in love with you both,” I confessed.

  And my steps descended on me, stroking me, petting me, growling words of comfort into my hair.

  “No worries, we’ve already talked this through,” replied Pax. “You obviously can’t get married to us both, but we want to keep you with us, bind you to us in the best way we know how.”

  “But how did you decide on Peyton?” I asked plaintively. “I don’t love one of you more than the other, I love you equally.”

  “It was simple,” said Peyton, “we flipped a coin. Heads me, tails Pax.”

  I gasped. Something this momentous had been decided by a coin toss? That was way too simple for something as complex as marriage.

  But my brothers only nodded.

  “It’s okay,” soothed Pax, “I’m used to it. We begin every football game with a coin toss, even the Super Bowl. It’s just how life is,” he concluded simply.

  I threw my arms around him.

  “But you’ll live with us, won’t you?” I breathed into Pax’s ear. “The three of us together?”

  “Oh yeah sweetie,” he growled, stroking my back. “I’m with you every day … and every night.”

  And with that, I kissed him deeply, willing him to feel the gratitude and excitement I had for our future life.

  He returned my kiss passionately before pulling back and pressing a pen into my hand.

  “Now sign that application,” he growled, “before I change my mind.”

  And I laughed joyously, excited about our future life.

  So here I am in Tahiti, about to step out onto the beach clad in a white slip dress, my feet bare, hair blowing in the wind except for a wreath of white flowers. It was the perfect opportunity – we’d go on vacation and have the ceremony here, before returning stateside and filing the certificate with the registrar.

  I was lost in a reverie of happiness when the wedding march began to play. With a delighted smile, I stepped onto the walkway, each step bringing me closer to my future.

  The twins waited for me at the edge of the water, their eyes watching me every step of the way, hungry, waiting, eager for the next phase of our lives.

  “And do you, Anastasia Light, take Peyton Jones as your true and wedded husband?”

  I took a deep breath, looking deep into Peyton’s eyes, clasping his hands in mine. But then I averted my eyes just a bit, looking directly behind him, deep into the baby blues of Pax and nodded yes, never breaking eye contact.

  “Yes, yes, I do,” I sighed, my eyes still locked with Pax, my hands joined with Peyton.

  And that’s how I married both my steps. And you know what? It couldn’t have turned out better because we weren’t going out with a bang. Rather, we were doing a double bang … for keeps.

  THE END

  ALTERNATE ENDING

  In this edition, I’ve included an alternate ending for Double Bang. Scroll down to enjoy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Stacey

  It’s hard to believe everything that’s happened as I sat in the packed courthouse. I wished it was a closed trial but instead it seemed like everyone was here, my brothers, our parents, the lawyers, and worst of all, the media.

  It was hell even walking up the steps of the courthouse, trying to dodge reporters, my head down, afraid to look up, shielded by my steps’ massive forms.

  “Ms. Light, Ms. Light!” a reporter called. “Are you ready?”

  I wasn’t testifying today, so I shot a worried look at my attorney. “Bob,” I whispered. “Did I miss something? I thought I wasn’t testifying until later in the case,” I said, panicked. Oh crap. Maybe I’d screwed up before the trial even began.

  But Bob just took my arm and guided me inside, ignoring the reporters.

  “No Stacey,” he said calmly. “It’s like what we talked about. Sometimes these cases brutalize the victim again, forcing them to re-live the trauma. Hang tight, you’re going to be fine.”

  And sitting in the courtroom, I realized he was right. Hearing the perp testify was pure torture. Lester was his name, a middle-aged overweight man with a greasy face, his paunch visible even under the loose jailhouse jumpsuit.

  “What was it about Ms. Light that made you target her?” asked Bob smoothly.

  The guy winked like he was so smart.

  “Stacey’s pretty, she’s popular, she’s famous,” he singsonged. “I figured if I got a naked tape of her, someone would buy it.”

  “Refer to the victim as Ms. Light,” reprimanded the judge.

  But hearing the answer hurt because it was as if my success had made me a victim. If I’d been a nobody, another face in the crowd, maybe no one would have wanted to buy the tape. My face flamed. Was I to blame?

  “And how did you get her room number?” continued Bob, his voice even.

  “It was easy,” Lester bragged, his bad skin greasy under the fluorescent lights of the courtroom. “I called the hotel operator and asked. I was surprised that she didn’t use an alias or anything like that,” he tossed-off casually.

  I shrank in my seat, my face burning. Again, was it my fault? Should I have checked in as Minnie Mouse or Cinderella Jones? I shook, eyes hot with tears, unable to move in my seat, maybe if I didn’t move I wouldn’t cry. Seeking silent comfort, I clutched my brothers’ hands harder, hanging on for dear life.

  But things only got more brutal.

  “How did you film her?” asked Bob.

  “It was simple,” confided Lester, looking to the jury like they were his best friends. “I rented the room next door and when she went out, I took out the peephole and sawed off the threads.”

  “So the peephole was just a plug when you put it back in?” clarified Bob.

  “Oh yeah,” jeered Lester. “When she got back, I waited until she was in the shower and then pulled out the plug and pressed my cell camera against the hole. I didn’t think it’d be anything more than a regular shower but oh my god!” he cackled. “That Stacey Light is one horny-ass bitch! Those toys! Did you see that wall dildo? How the fuck did she get it into herself?”

  The courtroom erupted in a furor then, scandalized at his language, the clamor of voices filling my ears. Judge Martin banged his gavel, ordering for quiet.

  “Mr. Miller,” he threatened, “you better start showing some respect otherwise you’re going to see just how nasty I can be.”

  “Oh sorry Judge,” wheezed Lester. “Just voicing my opinion,” he tossed off casually, looking around and winking at the audience as if they were in cahoots.

  But the worst part was to come because I took the stand next.

  “Stacey,” began Bob gently. “What has this trial meant to you?”

  “It’s everything,” I said slowly, trying to hold my tears back. “My life has been destroyed.”

  Bob nodded sagely. “Tell us more,” he continued. “How has it been destroyed?”

  Wasn’t it obvious? I was a laughingstock now, the girl who diddled herself, who humped sex toys with every hole. But I had to spell it out for the jury.

  “People look at me wherever I go,” I said slowly. “They recognize me, they think I’m some sex fiend who can’t get enough. Women shoot me looks of disgust like I’m a dirty slut, and men,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’m harassed all the time now.”

  “Harassed how?” asked Bob gently. “I know this is painful, but could you give us an example?”

  “I was walking down the street the other day, and a construction crew was working,” I said slowly. “When they saw me, one of the guys took a shovel and started,” here my voice broke, I was so mortified.

  But I had to go on.

  “He started,” I began again taking a deep breath, “he took off his pants and started jabbing his ass with the shovel.” The memory
was wretched still, the dirty man, his ass cheeks so white they looked like flabby moons, jabbing the shovel handle up his backside like he was a dog in heat. I’d almost died.

  “You’re saying a full-grown man, on the job, in broad daylight, took off his pants and started humping a shovel?” asked Bob slowly.

  “Yes,” I sobbed. “I mean, there weren’t a lot of cars or anything but his privates were out and the entire construction crew was laughing and calling me names.”

  “What kind of names?” asked Bob gently.

  “Obscene ones,” I stuttered. “Ass-Hole Chickie, Two-Holer, Double Banger, I can’t even remember.”

  “And what did you do then?” asked Bob gently.

  “I ran!” I sobbed. “I saw a couple other guys pick up shovels as well, loosening their belts, and I … I had to get out of there.”

  “We get it,” soothed Bob, looking over at the jury. “And does this happen all the time now? The harassment, I mean?”

  “Yes,” I said, my voice cracking. “Everywhere I go, people look at me I’m some sex doll, a Barbie with no inhibitions. But I’m just a normal girl!”

  And it went on and on after that, the questioning. I described to the jury my constant paranoia, using aliases when I traveled, switching hotel rooms at the last minute, how I’d seriously considered changing my name.

  “And I’m scared,” I concluded, my voice stiff. “I’m always looking over my shoulder, thinking someone’s taping. But it’s my job to be on camera,” I said bitterly. “And it’s pure hell for me now.”

  Because it was true. I’d started filming again, reporting from the sidelines and it’d been disaster the first couple times. I couldn’t look into the camera and smile, instead I’d look around nervously, my eyes twitching, see who was around.

  “Straight into the camera!” yelled the producer. “Look straight, big smile.”

  And I tried, I really did, but with so many cell phone cameras, people holding them up to snap me, selfie sticks constantly waving in my peripheral vision, it was tough.

  “So I can’t do my job,” I concluded softly. “I had so much promise, and now I’m the sportscaster afraid to be on TV. Me, Stacey Light,” I said bitterly, looking down. “I wish you could have just one day in my shoes.”

  The hum from the crowd was sympathetic. After all, it was clear I was an innocent party and there wasn’t much for the jury to debate. The trial went pretty quickly after that, guilty verdicts handed down.

  But when it came time for sentencing, I was left in shock.

  “Six months in prison and probation for three years thereafter,” intoned the judge.

  My head spun. Six months of jail time was ridiculous when my life had been destroyed, torn to tatters. The defendant had purposefully filmed me hoping to sell the video, and admitted it fully. I didn’t care if he was remorseful, if he was old, if he was in financial straits and “acted dumb, sorry.” Six months wasn’t enough.

  It’s embarrassing what happened next. Through it all, I’d been strong. I’d gone to therapy, meditated, worked out like a maniac, even danced at the Donkey to regain my confidence.

  But this punishment was nothing, a mere slap on the wrist for destroying my life, as if I meant nothing. And I lost it, my walls crumbling, my defensive shields reduced to smithereens. With a wail, I fell into a faint, caught by Pax and Peyton, their twin forms shielding me from the negativity, the pain. I couldn’t take it … not without them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Pax

  It hurt like hell to watch Stacey go through with the trial. Even seeing the defendant in the courtroom was hard, it’s difficult to look evil in the eye. I’d watched as Stacey did it, marshalling her courage, and my heart went out to her, you could see the pulse leaping in her throat, her eyes filled with hurt and rage as she confronted her attacker. Me, I just wanted to hammer the asshole into the pavement, that guy was nothing, less than zero.

  The verdict came out guilty, but we expected that. There was no disputing the facts of the case, Lester was a dirty douche who’d tried to make a buck off of Stacey’s naked body.

  But that’s the worst thing about the process. Throughout the testimony, I could see our sister question herself. Should she have noticed that her peephole was different? Why didn’t she check-in under an alias? All public figures do, don’t they? The self-doubt and second-guessing heaped on our little sister was painful, we could see her crumpling under the strain, the barbs unbearable.

  So Peyton and I took things into our own hands. We didn’t get to where we are by being the nicest guys. You don’t get to the top without making some enemies, and my twin and I have a system for keeping those enemies in check. Fight fire with fire, right?

  “Sister,” I said to her calmly as we sat in the living room, “we want you to meet someone.” Stacey had moved in with us by now, allegedly to calm her nerves, and it was partially true. We wanted her to feel better, to be able to breathe deeply, and there was nowhere better than our Long Island estate. The water was tranquil, there was private beachfront and plenty of sunshine to keep her spirits up.

  Even more, we wanted her under our protection, installed at our home with its twelve-foot gates and top-of-the-line electronic security system. Plus, there was always us, only idiots would target the home of two six-four pro athletes.

  “I don’t know Pax,” she said listlessly, her face pale and turned away. “I’m not really up for meeting anyone.” The aftermath had been hard, there’d been public outrage about the outcome of the trial, but nothing had changed. The six month prison term still stood.

  “I want you to meet our friend Henry,” I said slowly. “He’s a friend of ours from Alabama.”

  “Oh another football player?” she asked disinterestedly. “No Pax, I can’t, I’m just not up to it, I’m sorry.”

  That was true, our step had become a shut-in, only leaving the house for a quick run or to take the dog out for a walk. Stacey had taken leave from her job to recuperate, but we were worried that she’d never go back, simply fade away, a wraith, a shadow pacing around the house.

  “No honey,” I said slowly. “Henry’s an attorney, he was at Bama Law while we were undergrads. Now he’s a law professor who’s been following your case.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “What could a law professor have to say?” she asked. “Everything’s done and sealed. No changing anything,” she said bitterly.

  “Well, that’s the thing,” I said slowly. “Peyton and I talked with Henry about the trial and he’s brought up the possibility of bringing up the judge for recall.”

  “Recall?” she asked, confused. “I don’t get it. What does that mean?”

  “You’ll have to let an attorney explain because I don’t know all the details myself, but what I understand is that if a state judge does a bad job, he or she is subject to removal from their position. It’s called a recall,” I said.

  “I don’t want to go through this again,” Stacey said vehemently. “I just want things to end.”

  My heart went out to her.

  “I know what you’re saying, but Henry’s assured us that a recall is different from a trial. There’s no trial, it just means that Henry will spearhead an attempt to gather signatures for a petition to unseat the judge. If we get enough signatures, then it’ll go up for a vote to the people of New York. If enough people vote yes, then he’ll lose his position as judge.”

  “Is this like the Gray Davis recall?” Stacey asked slowly. “I remember Arnold Schwarzenegger became governor in the middle of someone else’s term.”

  “That’s it exactly,” I nodded. “The people of California were unhappy with Davis’s performance so in the middle of his term, they recalled him. On the same ballot, there was a second question as to who would replace him, and Arnie won.”

  “Oh,” was all Stacey said. But I could tell she was thinking about it.

  “It won’t hurt to meet Henry,” added Peyton persuasively. “He’s a great guy, we almos
t thought about asking him to be our agent when we went up for the draft, but he was more interested in a legal career,” said my twin. “But we’ve stayed in touch and Henry’s more than happy to talk with you now.”

  My sister was silent. But finally she nodded slowly.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll meet with him and hear what he has to say about this recall stuff. But no promises,” she said. “I don’t know if I can live through the trauma again.”

  “No worries, Sister,” said my twin carefully. “We won’t let that happen to you.”

  And he was speaking the truth. Because no one could be more important to us now, after everything we’d been through. Supporting our step was paramount to us, her happiness, her joy, was our first priority. We had to make this happen.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Peyton

  It’s hard to explain how we feel about our sister now. Maybe going through something this big, this significant and shitty, brought out our protective sides. God knows, Pax and I have never exactly been caring guys before, we were more “one and done” types when it came to girls.

  But Stacey’s won us over with her resilience, her ability to survive, seeking productive outlets for her rage, finding the silver lining in a tough time.

  I’m not saying the situation’s great because the truth is that it can never be “good” per se. What happened to her is a clear breach of privacy and it’ll be a long time before she’s able to lose that wall of defensiveness, stop looking over her shoulder, flinching whenever someone takes her picture unexpectedly.

  But Stacey’s back on the job reporting at NFL games, and we see her from the field, her blonde ponytail peppy, staring down the camera fiercely.

  And our hearts go out to her, Pax and me both. Our sister is incredible with what she’s overcome, and we make sure she knows it.

  “You were amazing today,” I complimented once we were all back at the house. Our travel schedules are insane, so we look forward to the times when we’re home, able to relax and enjoy each other’s company.