by Ember Leigh
Kinsley and I walk hand in hand to a manicured lawn adorned with weeping willows and daisies, inlaid with decorative rocks. The lake peeks through behind us, and we begin the photo shoot.
The photographer wants all of us lined up to start, but as we’re getting into line, Dom and London are quietly discussing something off to the side.
“Hurry it up, Dalys!” I call out to them.
London looks exasperated as she joins the line. Dom jogs to his open spot on the groomsmen side, his jaw flexing.
“Everything okay, brother?” I ask him.
“She looks pale,” he says. “But she won’t hear it.”
“I do not look pale,” London objects from down the line. I stifle a laugh. “Note to self: marrying a doctor is not all fun and free blood pressure checks.”
Laughter rolls through the bridal party. Dom shakes his head, tongue pressed into his cheek.
“That was a good one,” I tell him.
“Oh, I know,” he says, looking like he’s fighting a smile. “I know.”
The photographer gets to work snapping pictures. Kinsley and I morph through various stages of embracing and blissed out smiles. We do groomsmen and groom only next, followed by Kinsley and bridesmaids only. While my brothers and I are gathered behind the photographer, adding extra moral support and distraction to the ladies while they suffer through the endless clicking and posture adjustments, London cries out.
But her gasp lands more like a gunshot. Her mouth parts and her hands go to the front of her dress. Everyone looks at her in confusion.
“Holy shit, my water just broke!” she cries out.
Chapter 10
KINSLEY
Her water broke. Her water broke.
I’m watching dumbfounded for a few moments, and I struggle to process what’s actually happening. Dom is off like a lightning bolt to London’s side. He gathers her against him, neck bent as he talks quietly to her. She’s nodding at whatever Dom tells her. Connor and the rest of the brothers are watching them with the same mouth-agape expression that betrays what we’re all thinking:
What the fuck now?
“Ummmm,” I begin unhelpfully, looking around. “Should we call a doctor?” It hits me a second later that Dom is a doctor, which Hazel quietly reminds me of around laughter. Lena and my sisters are gathered nervously behind London and Dom, looking as confused as the rest of us. I go to London’s side, where she’s got Dom’s forearm in a death grip.
“Guys, what can I do?” I ask.
“Ohhhh, Kinsley,” London moans, covering her face with her hands. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” I ask.
She gestures vaguely at her dress. “For all this!”
“London, this is fine. This is exciting,” I tell her.
“I just didn’t think it would happen now,” she goes on, pressing a hand to her forehead. “My due date isn’t for two more weeks.”
“Babies come when they want,” I tell London, gently squeezing her shoulder. “Even in the middle of a photo shoot.”
“Are you sure you aren’t upset?” she asks me. “I don’t want to ruin your day. This is your day.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Ruin my day? London, this is making my day even better! Now will you go please have this baby?”
Dom sends me a grateful look and helps her hobble toward the reception hall. They’re feet away from the door when my mom shoots outside, eyes wild. She gestures inside, urging Dom and London to follow her. Through the big windows, I watch my mom lead London to a tucked away portion of the hall, where she kneels in front of London. It looks like she’s coaching her. Dom stands with his arms crossed behind her, nodding, looked stressed as hell.
But they’ve got this. Between Dom’s medical license and my mom’s experience in the labor and delivery ward, I’m pretty sure London could safely have the baby during the toast, and everything would be just fine.
“Do we need to call an ambulance or something?” Connor asks.
“Mom and Dom are on it,” I tell him, pointing to where they’re gathered behind the window. “The experts are in the house.”
Collectively we watch what’s going on for a few more moments before the photographer urges us to finish the photo session, sans Dom and London. We rearrange ourselves, hamming and giggling and alternating between holding me up and holding Connor up. Maverick scales Connor’s shoulders at one point, and the two wobble around the manicured lawns, bursting with laughter, until Maverick finally slides back to earth.
When we’ve wrapped up pictures, the bridal party heads inside, leaving Connor and me alone on the lakeshore.
“So,” Connor says, wrapping his arm around my waist as we look out at the whitecaps and the drifting gulls. “You think London’s baby is gonna share our anniversary?”
“I hope so, even though London seemed mortified that it’s taking away from our day.”
“It would make it easier to remember our niece’s birthday,” Connor says.
“Yes, there’s that.”
A shout from the reception hall grabs our attention. Grayson is waving us over, whistling. Connor and I hurry toward the building as fast as my satin train and peep-toe flats will let me. When we get to the hall, forgoing the illustrious introduction of the new couple, the entire place is buzzing.
“Uh, apparently, London is progressing really fast,” Grayson says, a confused look on his face. “I don’t exactly know what that means, but—”
“Holy shit,” I say as we round the corner to the secluded area where London is seated. She’s clutching at her stomach, face contorted in pain. Annette is pacing nearby, looking worried. My mom is kneeling in front of London, rubbing her knees, repeating, “the baby isn’t going to fall out. I promise you.”
Dom is gnawing on the inside of his cheek, one hand pressed to his forehead.
“Is everything okay?” I ask him.
“Yeah. Your mom just checked her. She’s at eight centimeters.”
He must have noticed my dumbstruck face, because a grin erupts on his face. “It means we’re close. And we need to leave. We’re waiting on the ambulance now.”
“Oh my God!” My eyes go wide, and I rush over to London’s side. “London! This is so exciting!”
“Ohhhh my Godddd, Kinsleeey,” she moans, resting her face against my arm. “I’m so sorry!”
“London, please,” I tell her. “This is a magical occurrence. You’re going to be a mommy!”
A smile drifts over her face, then her brows draw together and she goes silent. A moment later she lets out a whoosh of air. “Sorry. Contraction. Holy shit those assholes hurt.”
“She’s doing a great job,” my mom says, using her calm-yet-firm labor & delivery voice. “I think she was progressing the entire wedding and she didn’t even know it. Lucky girl.”
“Yeah, lucky,” London says, her voice watery, then her brows pinch together again. “Ohhh, here comes another asshole.”
“You’re doing so good,” I tell London. “You couldn’t have done it better. You witnessed the wedding and you’re bringing new life into the world. This is the definition of multi-tasking. You’re a rock star, London.”
She laughs, reaching for my hand, but the squeeze turns into a vice grip as her eyebrows tell me another contraction is wringing her out.
“Ambulance is here!” Weston calls out.
Dom, my mom, Annette, and I all help London waddle to the back door where the squad is wheeling a gurney toward the building along a cement sidewalk lined with rose bushes. London meets them at the door, waves off their attempts to help, hauls her butt up on the stretcher, and collapses backward gratefully. Dom gives my mother and his own each a big hug before trailing beside the gurney, hand clasped with London’s. We all form a line along the windows, watching them load London inside and drive away.
“She’s gonna do great,” my mom says once we’ve all peeled ourselves from the windows. “I wasn’t just s
aying that.” To Annette, my mom adds, “You’re about to be a grandmother.”
Annette bursts into tears and wraps her arms around my mom. I can tell my eyes are wide as saucers as the two women hug and hug and hug.
I try not to look as stunned as I feel. Connor and I wander away to rejoin the reception, where we’re promptly swallowed into a round of cheers and applause—the greeting we missed by hurrying in the side door. Music swells and dinner is served. Our bridal party makes sometimes heartfelt and sometimes silly toasts. Everyone is beaming and happy around us.
But the real stars of the show are our parents. Once the dance floor opens and everyone is fed, loose, and happy, I spot our fathers deep in conversation at one of the dinner tables. Our mothers are seated next to them, holding wine glasses and chatting enthusiastically. I have to blink about a hundred times to make sure I’m seeing this correctly.
Helping a son’s wife in an unexpected birth moment is cause for a single hug between frosty ex-friends. But this?
This looks like two sets of adults hanging out and getting to know each other just for the hell of it.
Connor rubs my back. “Why are you crying again, babe? You getting the post-wedding sads?”
“Oh, I’m not sad, honey,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He is my rock, my light, and now, my husband. “I’m just the opposite. I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”
My mother’s laughter pierces the air, and I gesture toward the Daly-Cabana reunion taking place in front of us. “Look. They could start a band with how well they’re getting along right now.”
“I think your dad would play the tuba,” Connor states.
“Your dad would be on drums.” We hash out the instrument choices for a few moments before deciding their band name would be Cabalys and kiss to seal this good fortune.
Because this hasn’t just been our wedding day.
This has been a day of union. Of new beginnings. Of wild, exuberant happiness that can only serve as the benchmark for the rest of our lives.
And finally…finally…both of our families are here beside us. Ready for the ride.
Epilogue
CONNOR
Bzz. Bzz.
“Let me guess,” Kinsley says from across the kitchen of our rental house. We’re back in Bayshore at the same rental house after our Aruba and Dominican Republic honeymoon, excessively tanned and lighter than clouds. She looks over at me with a dreamy smile. “It’s Dom.”
My brother has been texting nonstop with photos of the newest addition to the Daly family: Charlotte Rose. I grab for my phone, which I’m confident is my own after the lock screen flashes with Kinsley’s fitting room photo, and nod.
“Oh yeah. New pictures.”
Kinsley abandons the limes she was cutting and comes immediately to my side. A picture of the wispy-haired three-week-old fills our screen. She’s grimacing over Dom’s shoulder, where a long trail of spit-up cascades down the back of his button-up.
DOM: #Dadlife.
CONNOR: Looks good on you, bro.
Kinsley kisses my cheek before returning to her lime slicing duties. A burst of laughter from the patio grabs our attention and we both turn to look.
It’s our parents, seated around the small, contained firepit in the backyard, roaring with laughter about something that is probably only funny to them.
“You know, I thought reconciliation was too much to hope for,” Kinsley says, shaking her head as she pushes the limes into a serving bowl. “But this is crazier than that, even. They skipped over reconciliation and went straight to inside jokes and the cool-kids club.”
“Swear to God, I tried to make a date with my mom tomorrow for lunch and she said she couldn’t—because of Lisa,” I tell Kinsley.
She laughs. “I can’t say I mind.” I grab a pack of beers before we head outside with replenishments for our evening around the fire. Once we step onto the deck, the full force of our parent’s conversation reaches us. My mom is shrieking with laughter about something while Lisa swats at her husband’s chest. Dad is wiping at his eyes like he just laughed himself to tears. Kinsley and I share a look.
“Think they even noticed we left?” I joke.
“It’s better they don’t,” she says, knocking me with her hip before heading down onto the grass. “That way, we can slip away later for more honeymoon sex.”
I grin and follow her, my eyes glues to her lean, sun-kissed figure. Her hair is bleached out from our sunbathing marathon in Aruba. It was hard not to spend every second on the beach, especially when Weston and Nova live on it. Nova even talked Kinsley into a morning boudoir session, just the two of them, which Kinsley refuses to show me the pictures from just yet because of a secret something she has planned for me that she promises involves “ample underwear.”
“Parents,” Kinsley announces over the din. “We have returned.”
“Hi, honey,” Lisa says distractedly, before returning to the lively conversations happening between the of four of them. We share a knowing grin. A few empty chairs complete the big circle around the fire pit. We’re waiting on Hazel and Gray still, who were both working late tonight, and Maverick, who promised he’d stop over one last time. He recently returned from Austin, where he “made up to Lettie for being the biggest dick in the world.”
Truthfully, I’m relieved we scheduled this last stop in Bayshore before heading back to San Diego in a couple days. Now that we’ve taken a break from the business, Kinsley and I feel regenerated. Ready to tackle new challenges. Completely refreshed and creatively recharged.
Of course, the insane amounts of sex we had probably helped with that too.
I queue up my laptop, which sits on a small table next to me, where the plan is to show off the wedding photos that came in yesterday. They’re downloading to my previewer while our parents chatter excitedly and Kinsley pours herself a margarita. Bulbous clouds hang low in the sky, steel gray floating against the cobalt hue of the impending night. The air is chillier now—it’s almost October in Ohio—and Kinsley reaches for the cardigan she brought out.
“I love fall nights in Ohio,” she coos.
“I love sharing fall nights in Ohio with you,” I tell her, leaning over our chairs to press a soft kiss to her lips. My laptop makes a whoosh noise, which means the photos are ready.
“Parents and progenitors,” I call out over the din. “The wedding photos are ready.” It takes a few tries, but they calm down and finally focus on us. The four of them are flushed and beaming. Reconciliation looks good on them.
I position my computer so that everyone can see, and we begin cycling through the photos. It is a joyous, beautiful walk down memory lane. Kinsley keeps her hand clasped over her mouth, eyes shimmering, as the photos progress: the bridal party getting ready, the venue, the moment Kinsley and her father paused at the head of the aisle. The photographer even caught me in that raw, vulnerable state when I first laid eyes on Kinsley, which makes my mom say, “Oh, honey, will you look at that man in love?”
But the photos that elicit the biggest response are the group photos. Because unbeknownst to us, our photographer managed to capture the exact moment when London’s water broke. The progression of photos is stunning. Hilarious, even. We flip through them sequentially a few times, watching her eyes round in the first picture, followed by her mouth turning into an O in the next photo, followed by her hands clutching the front of her dress. The next photo shows Dom mid-gallop on his way to attend to her.
“We need to print these for London and make sure she includes them in the baby book,” Kinsley says after we’ve run through the progression a few more times.
“She can make a flip book,” I suggest.
The photos cycle on but Kinsley and I just get lost in each other’s gaze. Dusk falls dewy and cool around us while the fire keeps us warm.
But not quite as warm as the satisfaction humming in the air right now, the brazen contentment that crackles and ripples through us endlessly. O
ur parents shriek and laugh in the background while Kinsley and I speak volumes without uttering a single word.
This. Right here.
This is what we’ve been striving for. Not just good, but great. Two families at peace. My brothers in love. Our present days bright, but our futures brighter. These photos are just a small fraction of the memories that Kinsley and I have been creating together. Because now, all of our families are in the mix, happy and looking toward the horizon.
And if there’s anything that will keep a smile on my face, it’s that.
THE END
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Make Me Lose
The first Bayshore novel
Grayson Daly and I aren’t just rivals. We’re enemies.
Born minutes apart on the same day in the same hospital, our parents thought this meant we were somehow destined to be together. We knew were we just destined to beat each other.
Competition boiled over until junior year, when the cold war turned into an unexpected peace offering. Maybe my hormones allowed me to notice his broad shoulders, stormy gray-blue eyes, and soccer star’s chiseled frame. But after I fell for him…he stomped all over my heart.
