Give Me One Night (McLaughlin Brothers Book 4)

by Jennifer Ashley

  Give Me One Night

  McLaughlin Brothers 4

  Jennifer Ashley

  JA / AG Publishing

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Also by Jennifer Ashley

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Ryan

  I can’t believe you’re breaking up with me!”

  That’s my nine-year-old self, bellowing my agony at nine-year-old Calandra, my girlfriend, my soul-mate, my life.

  She gazes at me sorrowfully, her dark brown hair in pigtail braids that I thought the coolest style ever. “I’m sorry, Ryan. I just need time.”

  “Time for what?” My heart hurts so bad I want to rip it out of my chest. “I asked you to marry me. I thought you loved me.”

  “I do love you.” Calandra reaches a small finger to my cheek. “It’s you and me. Always. But I’m not ready for that kind of commitment. I just need …” She huffs a breath and swings her arms. “To figure things out.”

  “But I love you! I don’t understand what the problem is.”

  “It’s …” She shrugs, stuffing her hands into her jeans pockets. “It’s complicated. I need to be alone a little bit. To get to know me.”

  “Oh. Sure. Right.” I slam my arms over my chest. “To find yourself.”

  “Exactly.” Calandra eyes me critically. “Wouldn’t hurt you to do that too.”

  “Yes, it would. Calandra, don’t do this.”

  I’m supposed to be cool, not caring that the woman of my dreams is stomping on my heart. Chicks are a dime a dozen, right? That’s what Austin says, and he’s only five years old.

  “Ryan.” Calandra shakes her head. She has wise eyes for one so young. She leans to me—she’s taller than me at that time in our lives—kisses me lightly on the lips, turns, and walks away.

  “Calandra!” I shout after her.

  I ball my fists and make myself keep my feet still. I will not, will not, run after her across the school ground like a big loser. The fight to stay put is tough, but I do it.

  She looks back at me one more time. The expression on her face holds pain, as much as I feel. She gives me a little wave, then turns around and heads back into the school building.

  Gone.

  That was the first time Calandra and I broke up, and it was a kick in the gut. I’d been so arrogant, thinking I’d propose and we’d be engaged—you know, for the next twenty or so years. The wedding date was comfortably in the vague future.

  I’d gone and blown it. Before lunch, Calandra and I had been inseparable. After lunch, I’d been stupid enough to think she’d be mine forever.

  Even my dad’s fabulous sour cream chocolate cake couldn’t make me feel better. He’s the baker in our family. His words of wisdom did help, though. He advised me to wait, let Calandra have some time, and see what happened.

  Six months later, after a chance encounter at a waterslide park, Calandra and I have a huge, long argument, clear the air, and end up back together. Just like Dad predicted. He’s a smart man.

  Calandra and I are together for the next couple years, breaking up again when we’re thirteen. My hormones start to rage by then, and I stupidly suggest maybe we should try to see other people. Where I’d thought I’d meet these other girls when I was thirteen and hadn’t had my growth spurt yet, I don’t know, but the words came out.

  Calandra doesn’t want to break up then, but she kisses me softly, says good-bye, and walks away, giving me plenty of time to regret opening my big, stupid mouth.

  On the first day of high school for both of us, we run into each other, laugh at our silly, young selves of eight months before, talk, share a lunch table, and by that evening, are back together again.

  High school is a time of rapid change, with me finally growing taller than Calandra, and Calandra filling out in a fascinating and very distracting way—you can trace Calandra’s change from girl to woman by my plunging grade-point average.

  We break up and make up at least twice a year, and as we do, we grow closer and closer. My family loves her, and anything I do with my brothers, Calandra is included. Zach, Ben, or Austin will say, “Where’s Calandra?” Or “Isn’t she coming?” in puzzlement if I go anywhere with them alone. She’s been their honorary sister since grade school.

  Next is college. We continue our break-up, make-up pattern while we both suffer the September heat at Arizona State’s main campus, and then enjoy the mild winter months lounging outside to study or kiss. We’ll be incredibly loving, and then have arguments of spectacular magnitude. Calandra usually wins the arguments, but making up with her afterward is seriously worth it.

  Our relationship has gone physical by then, and most nights sees me in Calandra’s bed, or she in mine—whoever’s roommate is out. Only dire emergency keeps me away, and it has to be really dire.

  After we graduate, she cum laude, I start working at my mom and dad’s business, McLaughlin Renovations. Calandra lands a job as a writer and editor at a local magazine. She loves getting to know her city and the people in it, she says.

  We continue to see each other as often as work lets us, and spend our weekends together. We both love to hike, and our campouts in Arizona’s mountains and back country are memories we’ll treasure. The breaking up portion of our relationship has ceased as we realize that there’s no one else for either of us.

  Our families wonder when we’re going to tie the knot, and for the next few years, they ram some not-so-subtle hints at us. But Calandra and I have a good thing going, and we’re not in a hurry to make our relationship satisfy anyone but ourselves.

  But I have plans. I wait until we’re both settled in our careers, no longer kids, and ready for the next phase of our lives.

  One balmy Valentine’s Day, when we’re both heading for the end of our twenties, I take Calandra to our favorite restaurant, order our favorite wine, and clear my throat.

  I slide a small box from my pocket, pretending my hands aren’t shaking like hell. I leave my chair, and in front of God and everybody in the restaurant, I kneel next to her and hold out the box.

  “Calandra Stevenson,” I say. “I’ve known you since we were knee-high to a grasshopper, as my dad says. We’ve been through thick and thin, up and down, and …”

  Calandra stares at me, stunned, tears filling her big brown eyes. My carefully rehearsed speech goes out of my head—to hell with it.

  “You are so beautiful,” I stammer. “Will you marry me?”

  I flash back to that day when we were nine, when she’d gazed at me sorrowfully and told me she needed time.

  Tonight, Calandra’s eyes continue to fill, tears spilling to her cheeks.

  “Ryan,” she whispers. “Do you even have to ask? Yes.”

  She launches herself at me, and I catch her in my arms while the restaurant goes wild with cheers.

  I take Calandra to my parents’ house, where my brothers and folks wait, and we celebrate with champagne and gladness.

  Calandra and I celebrate again later at my house. She’s always sweet in public, but in bed, Calandra is a firecracker. We make love far into the night, both of us crying our passion, laughing, coming, collapsing.

  I hold her that night, the happiest man in the world.

  Too bad about all the shit that rains down after that.

  Chapter Two

  Ryan

  The trouble starts
the following Monday. I work a long day and go to bed early, Calandra spending time with her family that night.

  At two in the morning, my phone wakes me. It’s Calandra, so I answer it. Anyone else and I’d have thrown it across the room.

  “Wha …?” I mumble.

  “Hey, Ryan, you asleep?” Calandra’s voice is chipper, upbeat, way too energetic, and a little bit slurred. The family party must have included wine.

  “Yep. Sound asleep. I’m coming to you in a dream. What’s up?”

  “How do you feel about Hawaiian?”

  I pause, not sure I’ve heard right. “Hawaiian what?”

  “As a theme. For our wedding.”

  “Hunh?” I haven’t even considered a theme—we’re supposed to have a theme? “You mean like leis and grass skirts?”

  Calandra bursts out laughing. “That’s Hollywood Hawaiian, and totally wrong. I mean real Hawaiian, like making our backyard pool into a beach scene and serving Hawaiian food and drink. Like pog.”

  I have to be dreaming. I snap on the light, check the bedside clock. Nope, it’s two a.m., and my fiancée is calling me to yammer about Hawaiian-themed weddings.

  “Like what?”

  “Pog. It’s wonderful—passion fruit, orange, and guava juice mixed together.”

  “Sweetie, you are drunk, and I am wiped. I love you, baby. Good night.”

  “Wait …” Her wail pulls me back. “You can’t go yet. We make all these decisions together, right? Anyway, it’s not my idea. It’s my cousins’. Candy and Mandy.”

  “Candy and—?”

  “Candy and Mandy. The twins. You remember. They have that cabin in Pinetop. It’s not their real names. It’s Candace and Mary. But they’ve always been Candy and Mandy.”

  “I am dreaming this, I swear to God.”

  “They want to help plan the wedding. Do you think it’s a great idea?”

  I drag in a breath, taking in cool, dry spring air. “If you called to ask my opinion, here it is: We don’t do a theme. We have you and me and our family in a simple service.” When Calandra says nothing, I soldier on. “As long as I’m marrying you, baby, I don’t need all that other stuff.”

  More silence. As it stretches I have the feeling I’ve just said The Wrong Thing.

  “Calandra?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Never mind.” Her voice is bright, too high. “Good night, Ryan.”

  Click.

  I stare at the phone which briefly says, Call Ended, before it winks out. I toss the phone to the other side of the bed, fall back onto the mattress, and cover my eyes with my arm.

  “Shit.”

  Calandra

  I face Ryan Tuesday at lunch, the day after my drinking spree with my cousins and friends. Ryan’s family’s business isn’t too far from where I work at the local magazine on Missouri, and this is our favorite sandwich shop.

  “Sorry.” I rub my temples as an iced tea lands on the table in front of me. I seize it and take a deep gulp, my mouth parched. “I kinda overdid it last night.”

  “With wine?” Ryan keeps his voice soft, but it’s still too loud for my hungover brain. His blue eyes hold wariness, but those beautiful eyes are all that are keeping me calm right now.

  “Tequila shots. We had a contest.” I rub my temples again, stifling a groan.

  “Did you win?” Ryan asks in amusement.

  “I don’t know.”

  Ryan reaches across the table and encloses one of my hands in his. He has large, strong hands, always gentled for me. I used to be taller than this handsome man, who now tops me by a foot. He’s filled out with athletic grace and honed muscles, which I touch as much as possible when we’re in bed.

  “Sounds like you did win,” he says. “Better luck next time.” He chuckles at his joke.

  “Things are a little hazy. Sorry I woke you.”

  “I don’t mind my sweet honey calling me in the middle of the night. But maybe next time we can have some sexy talk instead of you telling me I have to wear a grass skirt to my own wedding.”

  I grope through the fog of my memories to figure out what he’s talking about. “I nixed the faux-Hawaiian idea.”

  Ryan lets out a breath of relief. “Thank you.” He squeezes my hand. “Sorry I pissed you off about that. I was half asleep. Not thinking.”

  “That’s not why I was mad—I don’t think. This wedding has to be good. My parents have been going on at us for years about when you and I are going to make it official. So we have to do more than stand up with a minister in front of our families. They want a show.”

  “Mmm.” Ryan’s mirth fades. “My family is kind of bugging me about the same thing.”

  “So when you said we didn’t need to do anything special, I thought you weren’t taking it seriously enough.” I gaze at him with my aching eyes, hoping he’ll understand.

  “Of course I’m taking it seriously, sweetheart.” Ryan leans closer. “I want to marry you. I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life. But I want the wedding to be about us, not them.”

  I have to laugh. “Where have you been? Weddings are always about the guests and the family. The bride and groom endure it to make everyone happy. Otherwise everyone would have a quick read-through with a judge or priest and save a lot of trouble.”

  “People do do that. They go to Las Vegas. Or the courthouse. Easy.”

  “If it were just the two of us in the equation, I’d be all for it.” I sigh, gripping his hands. “But my family is so excited. They want to help, and I don’t have the heart to tell them no. Planning a wedding is tough anyway. I could use the assistance.”

  “Okay.” Ryan withdraws his hand to pick up his iced tea and down half of it. He crunches one of the ice cubes. “I get it. Big ceremony. Dance the Charleston at the 20s-themed reception. Whatever. As long as you and I end up together by the time we escape the crowd, I’m fine.”

  “Are you?” I study him—I’ve known this man all my life, but he can still surprise me. “Cause that would be a load off my mind.”

  “Sure.” Ryan shrugs, too casually. “I was kidding about the 20s theme, so don’t get that gleam in your eyes.”

  “I don’t have a gleam. Though it’s not a bad idea. Easy costumes—suits and short dresses.”

  Ryan groans. “I get what you’re saying—the wedding is for everyone but us—but won’t they be happy if you’re in white lace, I’m in a tux, and there’s flowers and cake?”

  “Yes …” I agree. My cousins, both sweet girls, had come up with crazier and crazier ideas last night. I knew they’d finally latch onto one of them and run, because that’s what they did.

  “I hear a but in your voice,” Ryan rumbles. “Next thing I know, you’re going to ask for something impossible, like my brothers behaving themselves.”

  I grin. “Impossible? Ben can be so sweet.”

  “I wasn’t talking about Ben. I was talking about Zach and Austin, the dreaded duo.”

  I give him a patient look. “I know your brothers. Have for decades. Zach and Austin rarely hang out together. They’re too similar, and they clash. It’s Ben and Zach, you and Austin.”

  “Not in this case. They have wedding fever, those two dudes. Ben wisely backs away and runs when they start up.”

  “This I have to see.” I poke at my iced tea with my straw. “I’m glad your brothers are on board, though. Mom wants to have a big get-together this Saturday night, your family and mine, to discuss the wedding.”

  Ryan glances up from taking a drink, with a rabbit-in-the-headlights stare. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. And before you decide you have a sudden, urgent business meeting in Kingman … ” I hold his gaze, and Ryan flushes. “Let me put it this way. I have to go, and I am not putting up with constant questions all night long about where you are. Please don’t do that to me, Ryan.”

  “Would I?” He’s so innocent.

  “Not intentionally, but that’s what will happen. Please save me from the torture.”


  Ryan makes a noise of exasperation. “Fine. I’ll be there. But we will get one thing straight from the start. This is our wedding. I’m okay with making our families happy, but when everything boils down, it’s ours. I’m going to insist.”

  “Sounds good to me.” I take his hand, and we share a long look that has nothing to do with family or weddings or drunk phone calls in the middle of the night.

  It’s Ryan and me, the special bond we’ve always shared stretching between us. I see it in his eyes, the deep love, the history we’ve experienced. Even when we’re furious with each other, that bond is still there.

  I feel it between us as we clasp hands across the table, and I know it will always be there. Ryan is right—it’s him and me, and nothing else matters.

  Ryan

  “Enjoy your freedom now, bro,” my brother Austin says to me. We’re at Calandra’s parents’ home in Arcadia that Saturday evening, a sprawl of a house on a sprawl of land, the kind of property that’s getting rare around here. It’s evening, the sun slipping away into the coolness of a desert spring night, but it’s warm enough to cook out. Barbecues are going on the lawn, my dad and Calandra’s grilling enough meat to feed a parade.

  I sip beer in the back yard with my three brothers, while Calandra and her friends and cousins celebrate on the patio.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask Austin.

  “Yeah, Ryan’s never had any freedom,” Zach says. “He’s been with Calandra since he was yay high.” He flattens his hand alongside his thigh to illustrate.

  “It’s overrated.” Ben drinks from his bottle of craft beer. “The freedom of the single life.”

  Ben’s the family nerd, and while he’s had girlfriends here and there, he’s not what you’d call a party animal. He’s more at home with computers, online gaming, and reading.