Mutual Release

by Liz Crowe

  He sighed, kissed her hair, then picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. By the time she fell asleep, sated in her body, her soul still clamored for more.

  She had to tell him she wanted to have his baby. Nothing would be right until she did. As she drifted to sleep, she realized something – he had never answered her question.

  The big baby plan, as she thought of it, got shoved to the back of her mind, until her period showed up, surprising her until she realized without the birth control shot she was back on the old bleed-once-a-month program. She sighed, dealt with it and tried to think of excuses so Evan wouldn’t figure out she’d stopped taking the promised birth control. It was a dangerous secret path, she knew, not telling him, and she had no idea why she’d even started down it other than recalling his adamant kid-free declarations.

  And the time was never right, in her opinion, to have the discussion. They were both stressed beyond imagining, and trying to agree on horrifically overpriced Ann Arbor housing only added to it. She told him flat out she wanted no more house hunting trips, not until things calmed down some for them both work-wise. It wasn’t important to her, she claimed. She liked his condo overlooking Ashley Street. Besides, the excursions only added to their reasons to fight. And the thought of actually trying to make such a momentous decision gave her a sick headache.

  But she’d kept up her scheming with her friends, pulling Jack into the planning for the Big Surprise, and when the day dawned – her wedding day – she was so nervous she thought he’d be able to see right through her. She knew damn good and well her hormones were ruling her when he bit her head off that morning over something innocuous, something she would have normally snapped right back about and then kissed him and made up, laughing the whole time over their mutual bitchiness. But instead she’d burst into tears in the middle of the kitchen.

  He’d stared at her for a minute, then swept her into his arms. “Shh, Julie, baby. It’s okay. I’m sorry.”

  “Who are you?” She sniffled. “Oh, I remember, you’re that grumpy guy I live with.”

  “Yes, and he is very sorry.” Evan sighed and held her closer. If anything, that made her want to cry again.

  Jesus. This sucked. Maybe it was a bad idea after all. She shut her eyes, counted to ten and was on the verge of telling him what she’d done, when his phone rang.

  He pulled it out of his pocket and frowned. “Sorry, Julie, contractors. Gotta take it.” He turned and walked into the living room, leaving her feeling limp. She sipped her coffee, working her nerve back up, then realized maybe tonight, after the much bigger surprise she was throwing for them, he’d be softened up enough not to go completely ballistic. She regretted the second she’d told her doctor she didn’t need the shot. But the deed was done now.

  “Okay, so, dinner tonight? Zingerman’s?” He rushed in and snagged his to-go cup.

  “Actually, um…” She tapped her phone, sending Jack the message that he was up, and Jack needed to call and distract Evan for the day. She smiled when his phone buzzed right on cue. Bless that guy; he could be such a prick, but he was easily their most steadfast friend. Evan sighed and ignored it. “Better get that. I’ll be… right back.” She dashed back to the bedroom, willing him to answer the call.

  By the time she re-emerged, Evan was laughing and hanging up. “Wow,” he said, flopping down into a tall chair at the counter. “That was strange.”

  “What’s up?” she asked, tossing her stuff into her briefcase. Nervous jitters had her in their grip, and she needed to get out before he got wind of them. He was at her side then, running his hand up her arm, cupping her neck and pulling her in for one of those “only Evan can do it” kinds of kisses. The kind that always went further every time. “Cut it out, I’m late.” She gasped, but her body was on ultra-high alert, clamoring for more. She shut her eyes and realized it was exactly two weeks since her period. She was the proverbial fertile turtle, hence her readiness to toss him to the floor and ride him for hours. She shivered when he kissed her neck.

  “Mmm… you smell really nice,” he muttered, cupping a breast and trying to slide his other hand up her skirt. “C’mon, baby… let’s go fuck.”

  She squealed when he pinched her nipple hard and had to bite her tongue not to agree to it. But there was way too much to do today if tonight’s little shindig were to go off as she had planned. “Get off me, pig,” she said huffily, to disguise how horny she was. “I have to go. Be a good boy now. Don’t get into too much trouble with Mr. Gordon.” She ducked out the door before he could ask how she knew it was Jack who called.

  After catching her breath and settling her tap-dancing libido, she called Sara. “Okay, I think he’s distracted for the day. What did Jack cook up, anyway?”

  Sara laughed, which made Julie smile at her luck for finding the woman as a friend. They’d had some pretty serious wine-fueled bonding sessions and were so well matched in temperament, the second Julie had mentioned needing help setting up the surprise ceremony, Sara had the damn thing organized inside half a day. Evan had been right, yet again, when it came to their potential as allies. “I am certain you do not want to know. He is taking the whole ’bachelor party in a day’ thing very seriously, as you might expect.”

  Julie put her forehead against the steering wheel. She was tired, but her brain buzzed with so many details, plus the clinging dread about being six weeks into a really major life-changing project she should not have embarked upon alone. “I’m not so sure about this…” Her voice faded.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Sara snapped in her usual upfront manner. “I’ll meet you and Amy at the spa in an hour. Hair, nails, champagne, chocolates, all done by shirtless men with perfect torsos – just like you wanted.”

  “Sara, you kill me, really.” She sat up, determined to wrestle her twanging hormones under control and enjoy this important day.

  “Nah, I’m just jealous is all.”

  “Oh, we will get you there with yon studly real estate broker, never fear. Hey, you bringing Katie? I told you she should come.”

  “Oh hell no. This is a kid-free day for me. She’ll be there tonight, clutching that basket of flower petals in a death grip.”

  “Fair enough. See you shortly.”

  She headed out to the suburbs to pick up Amy. When she got into Julie’s car, Amy gave her a fierce hug over the console, startling her a little then making tears sting her eyes.

  “Cut it out. I cry over fucking software commercials lately. Jesus.” She wiped her eyes.

  “Well, that’s what you get going cold turkey after all those years on hormone shots, remember?” Amy narrowed her eyes at her. “You tell him yet?”

  Julie sighed and put the car in drive as her answer.

  “So, none of my business and all, but, um, Julie, what the fuck? Since when would you need or want to sneak around?”

  Julie just bit her lip as she pulled onto the interstate headed back to Ann Arbor. “I don’t know. But I do know I gotta get through today. Then I swear I will tell him. Do you have your dress?”

  “Of course. It’s the most god-awful, prom-horror-show-centric one I could find. Perfect.”

  “Cool.” Julie smiled, and envisioned a successful evening, determined to pull off the perfect surprise Ann Arbor wedding. She wanted to marry Evan Adams, but since his mother’s funeral and the nasty scene after Damian left, he’d not brought it up again. Julie had a half-second’s worth of qualm, worried he’d hate it, reject it, and her, outright. But she shook it off, calling on her inner reserve of confidence.

  All the pieces were in place after weeks of planning. All that was left was for the groom to show up.

  Chapter Five

  “You are out of your fucking skull. Seriously.” Evan stared at his friend as they pulled into the parking lot of The Landing Strip after eighteen holes of surprise golf. All on a day he had zero business screwing around. There were city building inspectors due in to give him final approvals next week. He had to hire a
new bar manager, as his last one quit to get married. There were uncountable numbers of brewery crises now that his plan to take Big House products state-wide was in place with the help of Dawson Associates. He sighed, staring at the giant, exclusive gentlemen’s club on the outskirts of Detroit. “I’m not in the mood for this.”

  “Since when? You are one of the only guys I know who loves this place as much as I do. Don’t be a hypocrite. C’mon.”

  They climbed out and headed for the door. Jack kept talking a hundred miles an hour, but Evan hardly heard him. He’d come out reluctantly when Jack claimed he needed a day away from the office, from Sara and his current bizarre circumstances with her. Evan knew the man would do the same if he asked, so he’d watched Julie flounce out the door, laid down and relieved some the stress with a wholly unsatisfactory jack-off, then changed clothes and tried to quiet his mind. He’d done something pretty crazy just a few days prior and had been avoiding Julie, afraid she’d see through him and figure out something was up.

  The men were greeted by a couple of topless beauties who lead them to their seats of honor. Evan tried to focus, to give a shit about the hot woman sitting on his lap, but he couldn’t and finally handed her a twenty and thanked her before watching Jack run a hand down his companion’s long bare leg. Then he turned, sipping his beer, and watched the stage show a while. But it was as if he were numb, deaf, sightless. He saw nothing but Julie, imagining her face when he told her what he’d done, without consulting her. Groaning, he raised a hand for another brew. Might as well be a little drunk for that confrontation.

  “Slow down, dude, we have a long night ahead of us.” Jack laughed and smacked the girl’s ass as she walked away, fifty dollars richer.

  Evan glared at him and downed half the beer in one gulp. Jack shrugged and held up his bottle. Evan touched his to it. “What is this really about, Gordon?”

  Jack ran a hand through his hair. “I am not allowed to say. Let’s eat.”

  Evan stood, reaching for his wallet. Jack put a hand on his arm. “Cool your jets, POTUS. It’s a surprise. And one you’ll enjoy. So like I said, let’s eat, ’cause you are gonna need your energy.”

  “I am not in the mood for bullshit, Jack. What is up? I have enough going on to… oh hell, fine.” He sat, his mood dark, his heart pounding. He tapped his fingers on the table while Jack sipped his beer and watched the pole-dancing acrobatics. “I bought it,” he said.

  Jack turned, an eyebrow raised. “I heard.”

  Evan put his head down on the table. He was so fucked. Jack put a hand on his arm, handed him another brew.

  “And while on the one hand I appreciate the romantic gesture for what it is and think you got a killer deal on the place, on the other hand…” Jack shrugged. “Tell you what, let’s drink to the new house, shall we? I mean, what’s the worst that can happen when you tell her?”

  Evan stared at his friend, then they both burst out laughing.

  Jack pounded the table. “I mean, I hear you can grow your ’nads back after amateur castration.”

  “Shut up.” Evan wiped his streaming eyes and took a breath. “It will be fine.”

  “Of course it will be, my man. This is a big day!”

  They drank, ate, and Jack paid for a lap dance Evan did enjoy, now that he had nothing to lose really. Nothing but his nerve, telling Julie he had purchased an eight hundred thousand dollar house, for her. Without her agreeing to it.

  He watched and felt the sexy girl writhing around him, doing her job, and smiled. Yeah. He was fucked, all right. He held up his bottle, Jack clinked his to it, and they laughed some more.

  There was a limo waiting for them outside the club, which looked alarmingly like two cars to Evan’s tipsy eyes at first. He shook his head but climbed in, ready to finish the day the way it started, arguing, and hopefully making up with Julie. He ran his thumb over the keys in his pocket. The house was exactly what she wanted, and he damn well knew it. They’d seen five different types of houses, like he’d told the agent to show them, so he could watch her reactions to each one. All of them were in the upper six-figure range, each one very different, as Ann Arbor had old money, new money, and everything-in-between types of expensive neighborhoods to choose from.

  So he’d just done it, by God. He’d bought a house. And if she didn’t like it, well… “Fuck her,” he muttered, sucking down a bottle of water to try and hydrate himself sober. Jack climbed into the limo and sat across from him, holding what looked like a powder blue tuxedo. “What the hell is that?” Evan pointed, still sipping water and willing himself less drunk.

  “This – ” Jack picked it up, revealing there were two of the ugly-ass things, complete with ruffle-fronted shirt, white carnation boutonniere, and bright white leather dress shoes. “ – is where we change. And where I tell you… congratulations! You’re getting married!”

  Jack’s shit-eating grin got so wide Evan nearly burst an artery laughing at him. “You are so full of it,” he said finally, spluttering.

  But the other man just held out the horrible excuse for a suit. “No, I’m not. Get changed. We just had your bachelor party.”

  Evan climbed out of the limo into the empty parking lot of his own beer bar. He squinted, still woozy from booze and shock. He tugged at the too-short sleeves of the disgusting jacket, tried to look calm or in any way prepared for this. All the while acknowledging that his heart was light and the relief that Julie had arranged all of this, so they would finally be husband and wife, made him want to high-five the universe.

  Jack smacked him on the back. “Let’s go get this over with, shall we?”

  “You are such an asshole.” But Evan could not stop smiling. Then he stopped, looked around again. “Why is this parking lot empty on the busiest day of the week?”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “Will you just relax and roll with it? Jesus, these women have been killing themselves making this happen, and I just worked my ass off for the last…,” he glanced at his heavy Rolex, “… twelve hours, distracting you.”

  Evan took a breath, put his hand on the Tap Room door and opened it. It was pitch black, but a whiff of something unfamiliar hit his nose. Just when he was reaching for the light switch the room blazed to life.

  “Surprise!”

  Confetti hit him right in the face, making him splutter. A band fired up at the stage end of the room, and “Highway to Hell” by AD/DC blasted his ears. And the soapy smell he’d caught finally had an explanation, as the room was awash in bubbles blasting out from behind his bar. He grinned, eyes darting through the crowd of Dawson people, Big House people. He spotted Amy, a tall, good-looking guy he didn’t recognize and assumed was James, and Sara.

  The women were dressed in what could politely be called “vintage prom dresses” but were more like “embarrassing prom dress errors.” Amy’s was a puce color, with giant puffy shoulder straps and a huge Scarlett O’Hara bell skirt. Sara’s looked like the color of dried blood, and was a cheap, satiny-looking fabric with a V-neck and a giant ugly brooch. They had their hair done up big-hair-style, held fast with probably three cans of hairspray each. They held bouquets of obviously-fake silk flowers.

  Evan let the sights, sounds, and smells assault all his senses. Then grinned, sticking his hands in his pockets. Jack walked past him, holding his clasped hands up in victory as the room exploded with applause. He was handed two giant holy-grail-like cups, one of which he gave to Evan. The song ended, the room quieted. Jack held up his tacky chalice of beer.

  “To my friend, Evan Adams. May this night end the way you wish…” He trailed off, looked around. Everyone leaned in expectantly. “Well, yeah. That’s it, really.” The group laughed and took a drink.

  Sara appeared at Jack’s side, whispered in his ear. Evan watched, still bleary from all the alcohol he’d already consumed, as his friend’s eyes sharpened when he looked at the woman. Evan made a mental note to beat some sense into Jack when this was all done, so the two of them would get their act togeth
er and make the family everyone around knew they both wanted but would not admit.

  Jack kissed Sara once, in a serious enough fashion to make the room whoop and holler, then sent her on her way before turning back to Evan. “And now, my friend, your destiny awaits you. Please, join me, with our officially ordained Rasta priest.”

  Evan followed Jack to the front of the room that had been rearranged to represent a chapel, complete with a rickety-looking wooden arched trellis, under which stood a giant man, none other than Kyle Summerlin himself, dressed in bright robes and wearing a wig of dreadlocks that hung down to his ass. He held Buddy the cat in his arms.

  “Holy shit,” Evan said, as Kyle began talking in a fake accent somewhere between a stoned Bob Marley and a hyper Kid Rock. Evan groaned and let himself be positioned between Kyle and Jack. The band fired up again, some cheese-ball Lionel Richie tune which made the whole place break into song.

  Evan grinned like an idiot, unable to stop, as Katie, Sara’s daughter, came down the aisle tossing rose petals until she reached Jack and declared herself “all done” and ran back the other way, squealing for her Uncle Blake. Sara was next, on her brother Blake’s arm – the once-lovesick young man and Evan’s first brewmaster looked older and happier now. He gave Evan a firm handshake before taking his place on the other side of Jack.

  Amy waltzed down next on the arm of Jack’s buddy and Blake’s lover, Rob Frietag. The exceedingly tall and handsome blond man smiled, shook Evan’s hand, and stood beside Blake. They were all dressed in the same ghastly version of Evan’s and Jack’s powder-blue tux.

  Evan gulped, turned to Jack as the band stopped and a single man rose, clutching an accordion. “I don’t have – ” he whispered. But Jack cut him off, winking and patting his tux pocket. The hokey instrument wheezed the first notes of the bridal march, and everyone stood.

  Evan turned his head slowly, feeling every creak and pop of his muscles and tendons. A couple stood at the brewery door, backlit so Evan could barely see them. He did see that the bride wore white – blaring white – lace, with sparkling fake gems covering the obnoxious dress. As they came into view, however, everything dropped off of Evan’s radar but the woman smiling at him from under the long veil complete with a paste jewelry tiara. He watched her approach, as his ears buzzed, suddenly sober as a judge. His knees shook, and he must have listed to the left, since he felt Jack propping him up.