by S. E. Hall
“Fuck if I know dude, but a lady who spoke English said they’d work. Oh, shit, lookout.” He jolts back, pulling Emmett with him, as Bennett turns her head to the side and starts violently shaking and dry-heaving. Thankfully, she doesn’t actually throw up, keeping the painkillers in her system.
“Alright, you’re alright.” Zach soothes her, grabbing his shirt off the sand nearby and using some of the bottled water to wet it, wiping her cheeks and forehead to cool her down. “There’s two spines left in there, but they look pretty deep and the skin around them is purple. Let’s take you to the bath and soak those out. I know you’re hurting, but the pills will kick in soon. You’re doing great, precious.”
She nods, but barely, pale and weak. He scoops her up in his arms, cradling her while being mindful of her foot, and rushes toward the resort.
I see Whitley meet them halfway there, on her way back out, I assume telling them which room is theirs where they ran the bath.
Zach’s got it under control, like amazingly so. Maybe it was just the stress of the situation, sheer panic, or for the sake of comforting Bennett, but don’t think I missed the several terms of endearment he used.
Or the way the muscled strung tight in his locked jaw ticked and the vein in his forehead throbbed when he used every ounce of restraint in his body to concentrate on Bennett instead of throttling Shane.
“Come on.” I take Dane’s hand. “Let’s go gather up everybody’s towels and stuff.”
After a shower to wash off the salt and sand, which Dane actually did for me, all too gladly, we get dressed and go check on Bennett.
I feel bad knocking and making her get up on her injured foot to answer the door, but I needn’t have worried, because it’s Zach who opens it.
“Hey,” he speaks softly, stepping back to let us in.
“How is she?” I ask, looking around and not seeing her.
Zach motions us back to the bedroom, where Bennett is sawing, no, make that super-turbo chain sawing, logs. “Oh, my God.” I giggle, no longer concerned about anything, the apocalypse included, waking her up. “I was her roommate, and I assure you, that thing she’s doing now, did not happen. When’d she become such a snorer?”
“Today.” Zach sounds angry, but is gentle and concerned as he brushes the hair off Bennett’s forehead. “Pretty sure those pills Sawyer gave her were actually horse tranquilizers. I’ve been laying here timing her pulse and listening to her breathing. Both seem fine, and she’s definitely not feeling any pain. Fucking Beckett.” He shakes his head.
Man, if we had a win for every time I’ve heard someone say “fucking Beckett,” my softball team would be Conference Champs… every year.
“I can get one of the doctors on the island here,” Dane says with absolute certainty; because he can. “Get her checked out, prescribed something recognized by the FDA.”
“I think she’ll be okay. And I’m not just real confident in what a local doc would give her either, if ya know what I mean.”
Dane chuckles. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. Medicinal marijuana probably covers anything from a hangnail to a detached limb here.”
I clear my throat to end their little satire. “Now that we’ve got that settled, Zach, you can go. Get a shower, eat. I know you’ve got to be tired. I’ll stay with her.” I offer.
And I am not well received.
“Laney, you eaten?” I shake my head at Zach’s question. “Exactly. You go eat, get some sleep and worry about the wedding. I ordered room service, and I’ll eat it right here, same place I’ll be sleeping.”
“But—”
“But nothing. It wasn’t a suggestion.”
Dane growls low in his chest, which Zach hears and laughs at. “Save it, Kendrick. I’ve already taken lip from you once this trip, not happening again. Get your girl and go.”
“You better tell me if anything changes, Zach. I mean it!” I point at him and boss.
He smirks at me and slants his head. “You act like this is the first time I’ve taken care of her. Pretty sure I got it.”
The knock at the door gives him the perfect excuse to usher us toward it, before I can interrogate him on the other times he’s taken care of Bennett. “That’s my food. It’s coming in, and ya’ll are heading out.”
“Come on, baby. You heard the man.” Dane urges me out with a hand on my back and the hint of amusement in his voice.
Three on Me
After an enjoyable morning of breakfast with everyone followed by some sightseeing with Sawyer and Emmett, there’s only a few hours left before I can finally, truly start to brace for a sense of peace.
So when we return from our outing and walk into the resort lobby, I’m a bit anxious, but in an excited, ready to be able to relax kind of way.
That delusion sure was nice while it lasted.
Seeing Whitley at the front desk, in the midst of full-blown catastrophe, puts my hackles right back on rise, my build-up toward tranquility obliterated.
I know whatever I’m walking up on is definitely that of havoc based on several, undisputable indicators. One, Evan is standing slightly back from Whitley, head dropped and shaking slowly side to side in his universal sign for God help me, but I’m just gonna let her go with it. Secondly, Whitley’s face is flushed a bright pink and the voice she’s using to argue with the resort employee behind the check-in desk has taken on that helium-filled quality that only she can pull off without a balloon handy.
And last, but certainfuckingly, not least is the fact that Macie, one of the bridesmaids, is doing a piss-poor job of hiding out behind the miniscule stature of Whitley. Yes, I see you.
“What’s going on?” I ask as I approach the scene. “Why’s Macie here? Someone tell me something.”
“Just a mix-up with her reservation, relax,” Evan’s quick to assure me.
“Oh, good, see babe, no biggie. Whitley can handle it.” Laney talks fast through her huge, fake smile that’s probably hurting her face, tugging on my arm to persuade me in the opposite direction.
Sawyer snorts out in disbelief for me, not buying the bullshit either. “Hey Daney, I get the feeling we’re the only two assholes standing here that don’t know something. Whadda’ you think?”
And in another startling twists of events, I agree with Beckett. I look at Laney, shifting her weight from foot to foot, not meeting my eyes with her own, rather casting them at something fascinating just beyond my left shoulder.
“Macie, lovely to see you.” I address the shrinking violet, forcing her to peek around Whitley and acknowledge my greeting with a shaky smile.
“Hi, Mr. Kendrick. Thank you, for, having me.”
“You’re welcome dear. But, I wasn’t expecting you for several more hours. How are you here?”
“I, uh—”
I spare the poor girl and turn back to Laney. “Where. Are. Our. Children?” I ask with a subdued stoicism I far from feel.
“Not sure, around here somewhere.” She shrugs a shoulder in nonchalance. “But I do know they’re safe. And adults. So just calm yourself down right now.”
“Wait, what?” Sawyer yells. “The kids are here? I thought they didn’t land till later this afternoon?”
“You didn’t tell them?” Whitley’s eyes are bulged out as she asks Laney.
And now, my wife decides obstinacy is her best defense. “No. I didn’t.” She raises her chin defiantly and props both hands on her hips. “We trusted them to fly here, they flew here. So what if they landed a bit early? Not exactly newsworthy.”
If she believed that, she would’ve been able to look at me as she said it. Which she didn’t. “No big deal, huh? Then why not just mention it?” The restraint I’m still able to speak with amazes even me.
She arches her brows in condescension. “Do you think I missed you checking your watch every ten minutes? You know better, babe. No way was I letting you storm-troop the airport like an early flight was a matter of national security, and announce to our children that you d
on’t actually think they’re capable of flying by themselves.”
“I—“ Never mind, I close my mouth. No way is this bull-headed woman gonna draw me into an argument, which I would win, right now. Instead, I face Whitley. “Where. Are. My. Kids?”
“I hid ’em right where you could find ’em,” Whit replies sporting a playful smirk, obviously proud of her smartass comeback. “Out by the pool.”
How do these women possible entertain themselves when not testing my sanity?
I make it to the pool in double-step, still not as fast as I’d like, and unfortunately, hear the parade following behind me. Whereas I like to sneak up on a scene, skirt along the edges—yes, spy—Sawyer prefers a less subtle approach.
“Step away from the baby girls in bikinis you horny lil’ shits!” He screams, to… pretty much anyone currently inhabiting the entirety of Jamaica. “Presley Alexandra Beckett, what the fuck are you wearing? Get out of that pool and over here right now young lady! And walk, no running, or bouncing!”
And the kids are now amply aware we’ve joined them.
“Dad!” Presley jumps out of the pool, ignoring his specific instructions, and comes running over. Which yeah, I can see why he’s having an issue with her “swimsuit”… and I am in complete agreement with him on the no running policy. Every man, whose not in her family, have their sleazy eyes locked on her. Sick bastards, she’s a baby!
“Hi, Uncle Dane.” She waves at me as Sawyer throws a towel over her. “Oh, hey, everyone.” Her brows furrow, a confused look on her face as she greets the masses behind me…probably wondering why every adult she knows here had to bombard her all at once.
“P, not kidding about this.” Sawyer points and motions up and down his daughter, “swimsuit. Gonna need you to wear something at least two steps above being buck-ass naked or I will kill every punk with a penis within a five-mile radius.”
“Nanabug, you like my suit, right?” Presley gives Trish, laying close by on a chaise lounge, her best puppy just seconds from being put down at the pound eyes, begging for intervention.
Laney’s parents, as well as Evan’s, act as grandparents to all the Crew kids, except they call their group the “Squad,” and protect each other just as their parents always have and will.
“You look beautiful sweetie, and certainly save anyone the trouble of using their imagination.” Trish answers straight-faced, absolute honesty, with a bit of sarcastic humor to take the edge off—just like her daughter.
“Nana!” Presley’s eyes well up with tears, and Emmett comes around the crowd to wrap an arm around her daughter’s shoulders.
“Presley, sweetheart, it may be a little revealing. Especially when you knew your father would see it.” Emmett talks kindly, a loving smile joined by imploring eyes, trying to soften the reality of her words.
And I’m out. Let them settle it. Not my kid, and I’ve yet to lay eyes on the ones that are.
Laney scurries to my side, wrapping a hand around my bicep where she embeds her nails in warning. “Don’t you dare yell ‘Three on Me.’ I mean it!”
Shouldn’t have reminded me of the brilliant tactic I’ve developed, and haven’t had the chance to use in far too long.
Yes, when our kiddos were younger, trips to amusement parks, softball games, even school carnivals, became too much for me when there were three of them to keep track of in crowds, so I came up with a plan. No matter where we were, rather than waste precious time searching the area, in which my blood pressure accelerated at alarming rates, or yelling out their names, which could belong to a number of other children, I’d scream…and I do mean scream… “Three on Me!” at the top of my lungs, unashamed, and my kids knew, they better find their way to my side immediately.
It became less embarrassing for them, and Laney, as the parents of, and the kids ours went to school or played ball with got used to it.
Yes, since the minute they were born, our babies have shared the same protectiveness to which Laney grew accustomed long ago.
And I make no apologies.
I scan the pool and deck area, searching through way too many bodies that all look the same, about to ready to scream the phrase they secretly love, when I spot one of them, my baby girl.
“Brynny!” I yell, waving an arm in the air. She hears me and turns, golden brown eyes like her Mama spotting me. My angelic child climbs up the pool steps slowly, in a well-covering top and shorts suit, and walks, quickly, but a walk nevertheless, over to me.
“Hey Daddy.” Brynn goes up on her tiptoes, hands braced on my shoulders, to kiss my cheek. “What took ya so long?” She teases me. Okay, so I’m a tad overprotective of my children, I admit it. But if you had a stash of diamonds, you’d always keep them in the safest place possible, no doubt you would.
Well, my children are priceless.
“Hey, Mom.” She hugs Laney.
And doing his job as per our agreement, the only way I’d been talked into allowing my 18 year old baby girl to fly to Jamaica with the rest of “The Squad,” instead of right by my side, my son JT pulls up mere steps behind Brynn.
JT, Jefferson Tate, named after Laney’s father and my brother, flew with The Squad and signed a legally binding document, (hell yes I made one), that if one hair on Brynny’s head was harmed, I’d take his car and demote him at the family company… after his mother bailed me out of jail for beating his butt.
The Squad “just had” to make a stop in Miami to pick up Macie, the bridesmaid, who attends college there and couldn’t possibly just fly over herself, a.k.a. the perfect excuse for a pre-parent hoorah. And Brynn really wanted to go.
Little girls—I’m a sucker. What can I say.
And she is eighteen; which I pick and choose when to acknowledge.
“Didn’t know you were here,” I growl, answering Brynn’s earlier question. “Your mother didn’t think that was pertinent information for me to know. That’s what took me so long.”
JT throws his head back and laughs. “Good lookin’ out Mama.” He winks at her, then quickly pulls that shit back in when I stick him in place with a few daggers. “I mean, sorry, sir. Should’ve texted you as well.”
“Stop.” Laney swats my arm. “Don’t make them feel awkward, they did nothing wrong, and they know it’ll hurt your feelings if they side with me, the one who’s right, in front of you.” She opens her arms for a hug from JT, which he doesn’t hesitate to accept. “We’re just glad you’re here, safe.” She kisses his dark head of hair, the same color as mine.
“We saw Nana, but where’s Pops?” Brynn asks, glancing around.
Pops is what the kids call Jeff, and I know why Brynn’s asking. The two of them are thick as thieves, because Brynn plays ball…for her Mom’s team, and is currently praying her Pops didn’t actually pack a mitt and ball for an impromptu pitching lesson while in Jamaica.
“He’s around here somewhere. And yes, he mentioned it.” I laugh and tap my precious tomboy’s nose.
“I’m gonna ‘plant and peel’ that old fart one of these days!” She frumps, crossing her arms. “Stats don’t lie, he looked at those lately? Huh?”
“As much as I love discussing softball, every second of every day, the parentals have arrived and I’m off duty. See ya,” JT salutes the three of us and all but runs away, eyeing a few ladies laid back in lawn chairs as he does so. My son, just turned twenty, lacks nothing in confidence.
Two down, one to go.
“Where’s your sister?” I finally ask Brynn.
“Right behind you.” I hear the sweet giggle from behind me and spin, just as taken with her now as I am every time I look at her. Our oldest daughter, Skylar, or Sky as most call her, is the mirror-image of her mother, with the headstrong attitude to boot, and yet, so frilly, they couldn’t be more different. “How you like Jamaica, Daddy?”
“Sweetheart.” I take her in my arms and hold on for dear life, with the same amount of strength it always takes to accept how grown up she is now, twenty-two years old, mi
xed with the tender care with which I held her for the very first time. No need to rehash the mix-up on their arrival, I just enjoy holding her; I don’t get to do it near often enough these days.
“My turn.” Laney nudges me out of the way and wraps her arms around our oldest.
And that’s all of them; Skylar, JT and Brynn, the best three things Laney Jo ever gave me, besides herself of course.
Funny how things work out. It took me the longest of all the Crew pairs to convince Laney to marry me. Yes, even Bennett and Tate had definite plans before we did. And while Laney never quite outgrew her “tomboy” ways and swore up and down she wasn’t maternal and didn’t want kids… she honored me with the three most glorious ones to have ever been born.
“I have a mud bath and mani/pedi in thirty-minutes, but then dinner, as a family?” Skylar asks, dragging me out of my musings and back to the present. “And yes, Brynn, I made you an appointment too. You’re a girl, I promise. You’re coming. Lord knows we’ll have to triple-tip the poor sap who gets stuck working on your cleat feet.” She shudders, but with a smile; she never misses one of her sister’s home games. Never.
“Sounds wonderful, all five of us together for dinner.” I try subtleness; which has never worked for me.
“Daddy!” Skylar glowers. “Make the reservations for everyone, because you’re going to be nice Daddy. Right?”
“Of course he is, honey,” Laney answers for me, digging those nails in my arm again.
“I’ll take care of it.” I sigh. “Just figured it was worth a shot.” I shake my head, hug both my daughters and turn to go with my wife, but Brynny tags along with us.
“So.” I start, as leisurely as our stroll. “Why didn’t that Ryder kid come with the rest of the Squad?” I purposely didn’t mention it around Skylar, the worrier.
“He couldn’t afford the extra flights for the stop in Miami, or the food, hotel and stuff that went with it. Why?”
“Just curious, seemed odd is all. And he’s walking with Presley down the aisle, correct?”
“You’re a terrible fisherman, Daddy. I don’t know all the twists and turns at play, but even if I did, not my stories to be tellin’.” She watches my reaction from the corner of her eye, then takes my right hand, the left entwined with Laney’s.
