Ready to Wed (Entangled Select)

by Cindi Madsen

  Dad eyed us again, and I fought the urge to scoot away from Brendan—I was a grown-up in a relationship I was excited about; no reason to hide it. I even smiled to show everything was A-okay.

  The lines in Dad’s forehead deepened as the corners of his mouth pulled down. “When Dakota mentioned bringing you, I didn’t realize she was already dating someone new.”

  I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “When I mentioned it, Brendan and I weren’t dating.”

  “Just living together,” Dad said as his eyebrows shot up—they were starting to turn gray and a bit out of control, giving the motion more emphasis.

  “But we’re not even—” I cut myself off. So not going there. “We’re dating. Taking it slow. I just got out of a serious relationship and—”

  “You almost got married. First you decide to go get hitched on some distant shore, where I can’t even give you away. Then that dinklewad doesn’t bother to show up. Don’t you think you should take some time before you get another boyfriend? You were always like that, in love one minute, out the next. I could hardly keep up.”

  An ache rose, the same one I used to get when he asked how I could let my feelings get hurt so easily, or when he told me to just suck it up and get out there again. Always the coach, emotions were something to shove away. A weakness.

  Was it any wonder I constantly held them in, and would nearly kill myself instead of asking for help?

  Brendan put his hand on my knee. “D.J. and I are taking things a step at a time. I know she’s worried about moving too fast, and that dinklewad, as you so accurately put it, hurt her. I care a lot about your daughter. I always have. I’ll take care of her, I swear.”

  Dad pressed his lips together. Tension hung in the air as he deliberated his decision about Brendan’s statement, mouth moving one way then the other. I held my breath, feeling like a little girl again, waiting for my daddy to tell Brendan sleepovers weren’t allowed anymore.

  Dad leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Suppose it’s none of my business. I’m just her father. She keeps insisting she can make her own decisions.”

  “And I can, though I appreciate the concern,” I said.

  The rest of the meal went slightly better—I mean, when you start at Awkwardsville, there’s not a whole lot of places to go but up. We kept to safe topics, talk of NFL and who we thought had good potential for the Super Bowl. (Always the Niners, of course.)

  After we’d eaten, I left Brendan on the couch and followed Dad into the kitchen. I cornered him as he pulled a soda out of the fridge. Unlike him, I was better at filtering emotions through what was or wasn’t said now. “I didn’t realize you were upset about not being able to walk me down the aisle. You said you didn’t care, but I should’ve known that you’d want to.”

  He shrugged and popped the top of his orange Crush. “I don’t care. I was just making a point. You were going to get married, and you were happy, so I was happy for you. He seemed like a nice guy there till the end.”

  “I just don’t think we were quite right for each other. Maybe he did me a favor. But it still hurt me pretty badly.”

  Dad reached into the fridge and handed me an orange soda, as if it was all that was needed to fix everything. When I was a little kid it seemed to. Scraped knees? Homework neither one of us could figure out? Have an orange Crush. I probably drank a six-pack the few days after Brendan moved—every time I’d teared up, Dad had just passed me another one.

  I popped open the top and took a swig, enjoying the familiar fizz of the bubbles in my throat—with my coffee addiction demanding my attention all the time, I forgot how satisfying an orange soda could be. “I didn’t expect to start dating again so soon. But he makes me happy, Dad, and I didn’t even think that was possible a month ago.”

  Dad scuffed the faded linoleum with his shoe, and I could tell he was having a hard time figuring out how to say what he wanted to. “I know I wasn’t any good with the mushy stuff. You probably could’ve used a female around. But I don’t want you hurt, kid. Like I said, you always jump in so fast. One minute you love a guy, the next the fire department’s coming to undo the damage of your séance.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t a séance. Just a…cleansing. And that was a long time ago.”

  “Then there was the guy after that, and the one in college, and that gambling addi—”

  “I get your point, Dad. No need to rehash the dating hall of shame.”

  “Go slow. Think things through.”

  “I’m trying.” But sometimes love doesn’t make logical sense. I knew that better than anyone. I’d seen mismatched couples that somehow worked and heard love stories that went against everything you’d normally call romantic. But I kept that in, because he’d call it nonsense. And despite what he said, I could tell his not being at my wedding, even though it didn’t happen, had bothered him. He was too stubborn to say it, of course. A trait I’d probably gotten from him, though in his eyes I was a soft girlie girl.

  After growing older, I understood better why he and Mom couldn’t make it work. Yes, she’d left for her career, but she needed understanding, and Dad didn’t do that, just like she didn’t take the time to see that he had feelings if you looked hard enough.

  “You’ll always be my little girl,” Dad said.

  “And you’ll always be my old man.”

  Dad chuckled at that, then glanced into the other room at Brendan, who was still on the couch, giving us space. “He was always a good kid. And I appreciate what he said about taking care of you.” Dad cracked his knuckles, as if even that admission needed a total guy gesture to bring it back to an acceptable level of manliness. “Gotta get my gear together, then we can go to the field. Unless you changed your mind about the game?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I lifted my can and he clinked his against mine. Then he headed to the garage for his pregame get-ready ritual that took seven point five minutes.

  I wandered back into the living room and Brendan stood. “Everything good now?” he asked, even though he sounded like he already knew the answer.

  I tilted my head. “Are you telepathic?”

  “Little bit,” he said with a sly smile. “I could tell you were talking, and from the smile on his face, I’d guess it went well. Plus, my tea leaves said as much this morning.”

  “That’s more clairvoyance, I think. Or maybe divination.”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I do a little of this, a little of that.”

  I put my hands on the sides of his waist. “So what else did your tea leaves tell you, then?”

  “That you were dying to drag me to your bedroom.” He nipped at my bottom lip, making my pulse skid underneath my skin in hot bursts. “I have so many memories of sitting on your bed. I wanna see how much it’s changed over the years.”

  I glanced toward the garage, then took his hand and pulled him down the hall—might as well make some of his predictions come true. I pushed open the door to my old bedroom. There was a lot more football gear than used to be in there, discarded helmets and shoulder pads, along with an old-school TV/VCR combo so Dad could watch tape. He’d finally gone digital last year, though it took a lot of swearing and threatening to throw his iPad. But some of those tapes were of classic NFL games, including Super Bowl highlights, so there was no way he’d give up the VCR completely.

  I shook my head at the mess that a part of me itched to organize. “And he wonders why I didn’t want to move back in. There’s not even a spot for me anymore.”

  “You still have all the soccer posters,” Brendan said. There was one of David Beckham for the obvious reasons, and one of Mia Hamm, the athlete I used to want to be. The high school team pictures hadn’t been there when Brendan was last here. While I loved playing, I also learned that I didn’t want to play on a professional level. I had too many other interests, and after four years of playing in high school, I was burned out with the training.

  “Here’s the hint of girliness creeping in,�
� Brendan said, pointing at the pictures of my girlfriends and me in our prom dresses. “No dates?”

  “I tore the pictures with them down when the guy I went with broke up with me. My friends and I burned them in a Cleanse Yourself of Your Jerk Ex ceremony, actually. Cathartic, really, until one of the shrubs in the backyard caught on fire and we had to call my dad’s friend Larry, who’s a firefighter.”

  Brendan flopped on the bed, pulling me next to him. “Man, this brings back memories.” He reached back and opened the window, then stuck his finger in the small slit in the screen. “It’s still there.”

  “Yep, so next time you need to sneak in, let me know and I’ll unlock the window.”

  “I was so scared your dad was going to find me, kill me, and bury me in the backyard. I kept thinking it wasn’t worth it, but then I’d come in here and we’d kick back and talk and laugh for hours, so I’d go ahead and sneak in again the next time.”

  I ran my fingers across the line of his forearm. “I looked forward to those nights. But I was also terrified my dad would catch you. And then kill us both.” I closed my eyes and thought of the two of us back then, so young and innocent, lying on my bed talking about sports, joking around, and coming up with new strategies for our next game of Fugitive. “I was so crushed when you left.” I opened my eyes and glanced at him. “I wanted to be the tough girl who didn’t cry, but I did. For weeks. Once you were gone, the dynamic with the other guys fell apart and I was a loner for a couple years.”

  “It kills me to admit this, but I might’ve shed a couple tears myself.” His cheeks colored and he ran his palms down his jeans. He shook his head. “Can’t believe I just told you that.”

  I bumped my shoulder into his. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.”

  He took my hand, threading our fingers together. “There at the end, a few months before I left, I started thinking about kissing you.”

  My throat went dry. “Oh yeah?”

  “I kept chickening out. Thinking it’d be weird. Then after I left, I wished I had.”

  “And now…?”

  He leaned in, our breath mixing together for a moment before he pressed a kiss to my lips. “Now I’m just glad I finally did.”

  “Me too.”

  I heard my dad’s heavy footsteps in the living room, meaning the car was ready to go. Over the years I’d spent countless weekends on the sidelines. Once I got to be the same age as the players, I was a “distraction,” so I’d had to move to the bleachers. That was when I’d stopped going to away games, too. Luckily I had my friends from the soccer team by then, and I spent a lot of nights at teammates’ houses, learning about makeup and bras and gossiping about boys.

  I kissed Brendan one more time—just a quick peck—and then we headed into the living room.

  Dad looked up from the clipboard in his hand. “What are we waiting for?” He pulled on his green and orange hat. “We’ve got a game to go win.”

  We. That was why, even though he sometimes yelled to get his point across and brought up the point I fell in love too quickly—a fact I was painfully aware of, especially when I looked at Brendan and realized how attached I already was—I’d forever be a daddy’s girl. He was there when I needed him most, and even when life got hard, we’d taken it on together.

  And if I ever did attempt another walk down the aisle—a big freaking if that made my blood pressure rise just thinking about it—he’d sure as hell be the one giving me away.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Brendan sent me a text that there’d been an incident at the casino so he was pulling a double shift and wouldn’t be home till tomorrow night. If you asked me, “incident” was a funny word to use to describe anything that caused that kind of reaction, but for all I knew it was a simple card counting violation.

  In a way, it was good. When Brendan was around, it was hard for me to concentrate, and I needed to start my column. The blank screen and I had a standoff, that stupid cursor blinking over and over. And over. But I’d made a goal to let the city of Las Vegas into my life on my terms, and I was nothing if not goal-oriented. Even though I thought I’d come to terms with it—and I had—laying it all out made it feel like someone had reached into my chest and gripped my heart, squeezing tighter with each line I wrote. I didn’t like feeling vulnerable, and I liked the thought of anyone actually reading it even less.

  It took five drafts to put the spin on it that I wanted, and it was way longer than anything else I’d ever written, but it was time to turn my poor-jilted-bride image around. Preferably before Phoebe made me sound like some kind of pathetic serial dater who couldn’t wait to land another man. The fact that I hadn’t really waited very long was beside the point. But I didn’t want to make it sound like I didn’t care about what had happened either, all Cheerio, mates! Being stood up’s the best, you should totes try it.

  Not sure why that side of me was British, but anyway…

  As soon as I’d gone through it again to check for typos and see how it read in one fell swoop, I sat back and sipped my second glass of wine—maybe that was why I felt better about what I’d managed to write.

  Part of me thought I should sleep on it, but if I waited, I might chicken out. So I wrote up the email to Tess, attached the file, and moved the cursor over the send button.

  In one quick motion, I pressed it. The second it left, a thrill battled the wave of nausea in my stomach. Not a combination I’d recommend, but it was done.

  Now I got to hope it wasn’t a giant mistake.

  …

  The rest of the week passed by in a blur of too-short tablecloths, a massive search for fabric in the perfect shade of blue, and a meeting with Valentina and her mom to finalize food and flowers where Mr. Maddox actually made an appearance. Brendan was working a lot, and I was going nonstop to fix all the tragedies that’d sprung up—it’d been that kind of week. But tonight we had plans, and I was counting on that excitement to get me through the day.

  Only then I noticed the Beacon in my stack of mail. Even though I knew what the article would say, I had to open it up and see it in black and white.

  …

  GET READY TO WED by Dakota Halifax

  When I Dos Turn to I Don’ts

  Did you ever want something so badly that you’d do almost anything to make it happen? Have you ever felt like you lost sight of what was important? Wondered how you became the person you are now? Well, a couple of months ago, I wrote a column about how happy I was to be getting married. In case any of you haven’t read about it already, my wedding never happened. Was it from lack of planning? No. It was well planned, I assure you. That was the one thing I got right.

  While I was raised by a wonderful dad who means the world to me, and who did a fantastic job, I dreamed of a life with two people who loved each other under one roof, raising a family together. The so-called normal families all my friends had—or seemed to have, anyway. I’m a determined person, and once I set my sights on that dream, I worked to figure out how to get it. I was so close, that dream inches from my grasp. And it wasn’t just about reaching my goal; I was in love. Alas, it didn’t end up the way I’d hoped it would.

  Did it hurt to wait for a groom who never showed? I can’t even describe how much that tore me apart inside. I’ve had my fair share of heartbreaks, but this was deeper, like my life was crumbling around me, and I couldn’t do anything but cry. Yes, I cried. I hate crying, by the way. Not a fan. At all.

  I found out a few things by getting stood up at the altar, though. I’d lost myself a little in the whirlwind of wedding details and the fact that I was about to achieve my dream. Love didn’t fit in the neat, tiny box I’d placed it in. So I’m rediscovering who I am. Figuring out how to stand on my own again. Thinking about love in a new light. And you know what? So far I’ve learned that I’m stronger than I thought I was. Also, who says what’s a normal family and how you need to get there? There’s no deadline. No race. No perfect checklist that’ll give it to you—if th
ere was, I swear I’d have found it. I love me some checklists.

  No matter how well planned out your life is, though, it’s got ups and downs. The unexpected happens. Sometimes it seems like there’s a good reason, and sometimes it seems like the universe is having a good laugh at your expense. I’m glad for these unplanned adventures—some more than others. Am I happy that people know me as a wedding planner whose wedding didn’t go according to plan? Not exactly. Am I happy that I didn’t get married? Well, I’ve had a while to think about this, and even after the pain and the heartache, yes, I am.

  Wanting something, no matter how badly, doesn’t always mean it’s right for us. You’ve got to learn when to hold. When to fold. So my advice to everyone—and especially to the brides out there—is to make sure you take time to figure out what you really want. Don’t settle (unless it’s a budget issue, in which case I’m an expert at figuring out cheaper ways to achieve the same effect). I’ve rediscovered the girl I used to be. I’ve been blessed with good friends who’ve helped me through this last unexpected adventure. I would have never gotten through this without them.

  So if you’ve been hurt before, then know you’re not alone. I’ve been there. I’m still there some days. But it gets better. And I’m excited to see what happens after better.

  “I think I’m going to puke,” I said to my empty office. People were actually going to read that. What had I been thinking? It was like those dreams where you were running around naked, yelling at yourself to put on some clothes already! Only there was no putting on clothes. It was out there. And now people were going to know that I cried. That I was human.

  “I think I preferred robot mode.”

  My office phone rang, and I answered it on autopilot.

  “The DJ just pulled out of the wedding,” a hysterical female shrieked at Code Fuchsia level. I shuffled through my brides, trying to put the voice with a face. “We’ve had him booked for months because he’s one of the only DJs who even had Hindi wedding songs, and now he bails on us? What am I going to do?”