The photographer's assistant scurried into the tent, returning moments later with Andy in tow. She shared a firm hug with Lauren, and nodded at something she said. Lauren gestured to the far end of the pose, where I stood with Erin on my right. "Right there, between these two."
Andy wedged between us, and my reaction was involuntary. My hands landed on her hips and into those devious pockets, my lips coasting against the exposed nape of her neck as I ducked to her ear.
"Do you remember that weekend?" I whispered. "Twenty-one inches of snow, Order of the Phoenix and The Half-Blood Prince?" My hand traveled over her bare shoulders. "And this."
To her credit, Erin locked her eyes on the photographer and stifled a knowing giggle. Whether she was laughing at my desperate attempts at Andy's forgiveness, or me watching Harry Potter movies, I wasn't about to inquire.
"I'm here for Lauren. And Matt. It's their day, and I can't do this with you right now, Patrick."
I pressed my hand to the small of her back and kept the other against her hip from the comfort of her pocket. Other than a slight inhale, she allowed no recognition she possessed all of me.
"You know, it's funny," Sam said, hitching his elbow on my shoulder as we stood at the edge of the tent. Matt and Lauren swayed together in the middle of the empty dance floor. Most of the crowd cleared out around eleven, the stragglers stayed until midnight, and now only family remained. "Everyone's spent the past few months worrying over my mental health, expecting a Hiroshima-level explosion, but it's been you all along."
"Hilarious." I rolled my eyes and sipped my beer, the swirling skirt of Andy's dress drawing my attention to the other side of the tent. She was with Erin and Thor, ahem, Wes, and they were embroiled in an animated conversation that appeared to require repeatedly refilling shot glasses. What were the odds it was peppermint schnapps?
"Write the caption for that." Pointing with his beer bottle, Sam chuckled. "A preservation architect, a volcanologist, and a Navy SEAL get drunk at a wedding. I'm putting fifty bucks on them staging a coup to seize control of Naples, and devising a plan to rehab and restore Pompeii before sunrise. Hundred bucks says they get it LEED certified."
He jutted his chin toward the bar. Red-faced, Shannon yelled and wagged her finger at Will while he laughed. Captain America had more balls than sense. Sam narrowed his eyes. "What the fuck is all that about?"
"It's the price of keeping Matt from taking a long walk off a short pier," I said. "We will owe her in ways we cannot begin to imagine."
"Fuck," he sighed. "At least the good doctor didn't need to sedate them into next Thursday."
Rooted on the tent's sidelines with the surf crashing a few feet behind us, we observed our people: Nick and Riley debating the quality of the Red Sox dugout; the hostile takeover of southern Italy by Erin, Andy, and Wes; Shannon and Will squabbling like political pundits; and Matt and Lauren whispering to each other, oblivious to the world around them. Our ranks were growing and celebration was in order, but it wasn't how I imagined this night.
From across the tent, Andy glanced over her shoulder and our eyes met. Our connection used to be so rare, so potent, but now dark awkwardness filled the space between us. My stomach slammed into my throat, and I shifted my eyes to the dance floor, forfeiting.
Following my line of sight, Sam produced my phone, holding it just beyond my reach. "Do not interpret this as permission to make unwise decisions."
I grumbled in response and went breadcrumb hunting. The lack of texts from Andy didn't discourage me. She needed me to go to her. She always did. Her Instagram featured new photos from inside the inn, the Chatham Lighthouse, and Chatham Inner Harbor. Facebook offered a handful of random likes, including Lauren's status, 'this girl's getting hitched today!' and Shannon's 'wedding day!!!! (keep your knickers on, not my wedding).'
It wasn't much. I didn't expect Taylor Swift lyrics in her status, but some evidence she was experiencing a fraction of my hysteria would have been nice. How long could I keep this up? It wasn't possible to live in this state of desperation for more than a week or two. My liver wouldn't survive this level of abuse for much longer.
Matt and Lauren strolled toward us, and he caught Sam in a hug before turning to me. "Your efforts at keeping my husband alive and unharmed are appreciated," Lauren said, her hand on Matt's chest. She smiled at him, and mouthed, "My husband."
"We'll see you in a couple hours, at the brunch," Sam said.
"No promises my wife and I will be there," Matt muttered, his lips meeting Lauren's.
Gifting Matt with a fond smile, she stepped out of his arms and motioned for me to walk with her toward the inn. "It's time to fix it. I know she wants you to. Whatever it takes. Throw her over your shoulder and tie her up if that's what it takes for you to get her listening, but don't let another day go by without fixing it."
"I tried!" I shouted, my arms spread wide. "I've tried everything. I don't know what else to do! I wrote her a letter to tell her that we'd make it work, and I tried to talk to her during the pictures today, and every day this week and…nothing."
"Try again." Lauren rubbed my arm. "Don't let her think you're giving up. She's expecting that. She's used to people walking away from her, abandoning her, and she's used to protecting herself because no one else ever has."
Matt wrapped his arms around Lauren's waist, announcing, "I'm taking you to bed, Mrs. Walsh."
"That sounds splendid, but I never agreed to change my name."
Matt laughed against Lauren's neck. "You don't have to, sweetness, but don't think I'll stop saying it." He smiled at me. "Whatever my wife told you to do, do it."
They walked toward their cottage on the far end of the beach, and I absently waved as my siblings took their cues and relocated the party to Sam's cottage.
Time ambled by while I sat in the sand and watched the waves as they met the shore. They never stopped. Some waves pounded the sand with force and fury, leaving trails of broken shells and seaweed in their wakes. Others merely lapped the shoreline. But they never stopped.
Forever intertwined and necessary for each other in ways only they knew.
A wave curled across the shoreline as it broke and I turned my head to watch its path, and there she was. No more than five feet away, Andy stood with her shoes hanging from two fingers. I blinked, stunned and speechless, and she nodded with an uneven smile.
"I'm going to sit down, if that's okay." She held my gaze a moment before dropping to the sand.
A breath away, with her toes dug into the sand, Andy sat gazing up at the night sky.
"It came to my attention that I'm an insufferable, self-important bitch," she announced after a long silence. My brow furrowed, and she elaborated. "My friend Jess, from Wiscasset. The one who likes all those smarmy clubs?" Eager to keep her talking but utterly confused, I nodded. "She dumped me last weekend. Cited my self-important bitchiness as well as my intolerance for smarmy clubs and idiots, even if they're nice. The idiots, not the clubs."
Her toes emerged from the sand and burrowed under again, and she shifted her gaze over the ocean. "I've been trying to feel bad about it, and I truly regret that I didn't take better care of her feelings, but I'm not sad we went our separate ways." Andy sighed and brushed the sand from her fingers. "We outgrew each other, and we didn't get each other anymore. I need to take better care of the people who are important to me. Much better care. All of this," she swept her hand in the direction of the ceremony area and the tent. "It's too short to spend with people that aren't right for me. It sounds cold and it sounds bitchy, but I'm not apologizing."
I wasn't right for her, and she was saying her final goodbye. "Does that mean you're…?"
"Sometimes, the worst decisions…they make all the difference," she said, her voice faltering. She tore a hammered silver cuff from her wrist and dropped the back of her palm against my knee. "Bruce drew it." She lifted a shoulder. "I like that it's kind of wonky."
The moonlight illuminated the delicate shape o
f a lopsided shamrock inked alongside her pulse. A breathless minute passed while I studied the thin lines.
I used to think Andy didn't give me much, that she only presented bite-sized morsels of herself when it suited her, that it was a matter of playing the long game. Tracing the ink as my heart beat a bruising rhythm against my ribs, it was obvious I was wrong. Andy gave me everything. Her everything never took the shape or color I expected, and she forced me to see it in places where I never intended to look. But it was everything I needed.
"Bruce?" I asked, my finger tracing the lines.
"Bruce. The bartender. He's studying graphic design. Good guy. He poured an excellent gimlet, and pointed out that Jess and I wanted our old relationship, and we never accounted for the fact we're different people now. We handled each other with too much passive-aggression, and that's why it all blew up. He also convinced me to stay even when I wanted to resign. And when I sat on the curb in Chinatown and cried about you after last call, he asked me what I needed to feel better. I told him I needed some Peking duck and a flawed shamrock, and he made sure I got both. Then he took me home and hid my phone so I wouldn't do anything I regretted."
I wanted to hug Bruce the Bartender.
She nodded at her wrist. "I risked it all with you, Patrick, and it kills me you never told me about the partnership structure. I'm a perfectionist and I freak out when I feel trapped in situations. Finding out you never intended to have another partner, or partners from outside your family, that was a nightmare. I need you to be upfront with me about that stuff. Can you handle all that?"
I closed the gap between us and tipped her face toward me, away from the ocean. "I should have told you and I own that clusterfuck. I can't change the partnership structure right now. You know that and you know I was serious when I said I would." My eyes closed as my lips pressed against her wrist, offering a thousand silent apologies.
"I know, I know," she sighed. "I'm sorry I freaked out and it took so long to crawl out of it. I just…I felt like I needed to protect myself, and backing far away was the only option."
I nodded, recognizing Andy adhered to her own timelines, even if they were infuriating. Rushing her wasn't in the cards for me. "I figured out I won't turn into a sadistic bastard if I lose you," I said against her racing pulse. "But I'll do whatever it takes to keep you. I love you too much to let you walk away." Her fingers curled around my cheek and I leaned into her caress. "I don't expect this to be easy, Andy, but you're it for me. And I think I might be it for you."
Looking up, a tiny smile pulled at her lips and she nodded.
"I can handle you. I might Google half of what you say, but I can handle you." My fingers dug into her hair to loosen the knot and she promptly slapped me away to do it herself. "I'm telling you right now, I am far from perfect and I will fuck up again. You have to promise you'll talk to me, always. I love you, Andriel. Just don't shut down on me."
Her head snapped up. "You remember?"
"I'm from Boston and Irish. It takes a lot more to get me blacked out." She stared at me, confused. "I remember everything about that night." My arm wrapped around her waist and my lips pressed to her neck, I inhaled a wisp of lavender and felt my universe slide into its rightful place. "It's probably the only thing that's gotten me through this past week. What was that second middle name again? The long one?"
"Mazanderani." I met Andy's eyes. "There's more to talk about."
"Yeah, there probably is," I conceded.
"But right now…" Andy smiled, and speared her fingers through my hair. "This is terrifying and amazing," she whispered against my lips. "I love you, and you're mine. You've been mine since the start, and even before then. It just took some time to figure out. That seems to happen for me a lot."
I hauled Andy to her feet and claimed her lips as the last words vibrated between us. I tasted her tart cherriness and I knew I could make it to our cottage in a few strides if I kept all thoughts above the belt. I needed to feel her skin, needed to be inside her while she told me she loved me, and I wanted to hear it again very soon.
"And if something is terrifying and amazing, you should definitely do it, right?" I murmured, pulling her across the sand.
"Definitely, Patrick."
Epilogue
Andy
"Remind me why we're doing this."
Patrick stomped his boots on the doormat and shook out of his coat, leaving a small mountain of snow around him.
I glanced up at him from my nook beside the fireplace, watching as he dropped his outerwear into a soggy heap. He muttered about the cold and the snow in his socks while pouring a tumbler of whiskey, and then settled onto the sofa.
"Goddamn Christmas lights," he said to his glass. "Where the fuck do you expect me to put all those?"
He gestured to the knotted pile of lights in my lap and groaned.
"On the tree," I said. "When we get one."
"Of course," he sighed. "Of course you want a tree."
Oh, he was so grumpy, and there was nothing better than grumpy Patrick. It was irrelevant whether I intended to string the lights on the terrace, and he growled at me until I handed them over. Not to mention the mathematical precision he brought to the activity, starting with measuring every inch of the terrace and sketching a design, and ending with using a laser beam guide to ensure the lines were perfectly plumb. And he refused my assistance every time I peeked outside.
Setting the tangled lights aside, I crawled into Patrick's lap. "Thank you. They look perfect. They're exactly how I wanted them."
He moved his hands to my ass, squeezing and pulling me closer. "Remind me why we're doing this."
I shrugged and laced my arms around his neck. That simple gesture never failed to jolt me with the realization that Patrick was mine. Maybe it was absurd to assume that I'd wake up some morning and discover my feelings for Patrick were less intense, less electric, less overwhelming. If anything, the past six months seemed to prove the opposite. We weren't just living and working together; we were becoming an entity, our ends and beginnings blurred.
And I loved it.
"We're doing this because it's our first Christmas together," I said. My fingers passed over the nape of his neck, up to his hairline and down to his shoulders.
Patrick laughed. "Since when do you celebrate Christmas?"
"Since never! Since I was the only kid in town who didn't have a Christmas list or a letter to Santa or stockings. I had major Christmas envy, and it wasn't like we did the Hanukkah thing at all, either."
"I will never figure you out, kitten."
"This is not me being weird," I said. "Plenty of Jews have some degree of Christmas envy. The decorations. The songs. The movies. The food. The parties. Just not the whole wise men-manger-Virgin Mary thing."
"So now you want lights and a tree and…what? You want to roast a ham and listen to Bing Crosby?"
"I was thinking we'd have a Christmas Eve party here," I said. "We could start our own tradition."
Patrick ran his hands up and down my arms, his gaze trained on my hair yet faraway. He was sorting something out but I wasn't sure whether it was the notion of people invading our space, more decorations, or doing something other than drinking at Shannon's place on Christmas Eve.
"I want a holiday thing. Something we do with all of our people, something fun and weird, like us. But if you hate it, it's fine. We don't have to—"
"Tradition implies it would happen for many Christmases," he murmured. "That we'd have a party. At our house. Every year."
Right. He didn't want people in our space, and truth be told, I wasn't the biggest fan of entertaining either.
"I'm aware of that, Patrick."
I liked our apartment to be the one place we didn't share with anyone else. Memories lived on every inch of this place, and they were just for us.
The awkwardness we endured while learning how to live together.
The fight we had when Patrick found me sunbathing on the terrace. I still
didn't see the problem with some naked tanning.
The way he fell apart on the anniversary of his mother's death.
The feel of the cool, metal door on my ass when he backed me up against it and fucked me before visiting my mother and step-family for the High Holy Days.
But the closer I got to Patrick—his siblings, too—the more I realized I wanted a family of my own. I wanted to be part of something that Patrick and I created.
"Does that mean you're thinking about being here next year?" he asked.
I leaned my forehead against Patrick's. "Where else would I be?"
Patrick laughed, his lips brushing over mine. "Stand up and take off your pants."
Eyebrows arched, I said, "Excuse me?"
"Be a good kitten. Do as you're told."
I complied, but left my socks on. I couldn't decide whether I was annoyed with his demands or massively turned on. I could be both, right? "Happy?"
He nodded and beckoned me closer. "Come back here."
A smirk pulled at the corner of Patrick's lips, his eyes sparkling. As much as I wanted to know what was going on in his mind, I was content being in his lap, his hands moving over me with urgent reverence, his cock hardening beneath me.
My sweater and camisole were discarded without delay, and Patrick folded my arms behind my back. With my hands gripping my elbows, he reached behind me. Before I could ask what he was doing, I felt the uneven texture of the twinkle lights snaking around my arms. His smirk grew into a bright, devious smile as he bound my arms together and crossed the strand over my shoulders and around my breasts.
His mouth dipped to my chest, and he sucked my nipple until I was grinding against him. "How do you feel about these lights now?" I asked.
"Baby, I will cover the entire building in lights if that's what you want," he growled.
In a few quick movements, his pants were down and he was easing his cock into me. He was still for moment, his lips pressed to my throat and his body vibrating with tension. I used to think he stopped like this to gather himself, to restrain the beast that lived inside, but now I knew better. I got the side of Patrick that was fully wild and unchecked.
The Walsh Brothers Page 54
