Keep It Classy

by Vale, Lani Lynn

  “Yes,” she answered morosely. “I’ll put on my happy face, and be my happy no-nonsense self just for her.”

  I patted her on the leg, then extended a hand to help her out.

  When she was steady on her feet, I led her, arm around her shoulder, to my front door.

  The move was quite a bit different than how we’d entered earlier in the night.

  Without having to be asked, she walked to the couch, flopped down on it, and covered herself back up as if she’d only been gone long enough to go to the bathroom.

  This time when I went to bed, I didn’t slam the door closed.

  I also didn’t sleep another wink, because I spent the rest of the night listening to her cry.

  Chapter 10

  The worst part about online shopping is having to get up to get your card.

  -Castiel to Turner

  Castiel

  That morning, when the night gave way to the light, both Turner and I gave up the pretense of sleep.

  I got up and started moving around, unable to pretend to sleep anymore and act like I didn’t hear her crying.

  I took a shower, trimmed my beard so that it was back down to Bear Bottom Police Department regulation neat, and went in search of my jeans that I’d washed the night before with a towel around my hips.

  I found her sitting on the couch, the television on, and drinking a cup of coffee.

  “You don’t have any milk,” she told me.

  I grinned. “Lactose intolerant.”

  Her eyebrows went up.

  “You can’t have ice cream?” she questioned, sounding sad.

  I shrugged. “I can have it…if I want to have stomach cramps for hours.”

  She frowned. “It might be worth it.”

  Chuckling, I walked over to the area of the cabin where the washer and dryer were located behind a hanging sheet and pushed the sheet to the side as I bent down to open the dryer. When I came back up, the towel had come loose, and I had to make a grab for it, or I’d have shown off my ass.

  When I caught it, had my jeans secured under my arm, and was sure that I wasn’t going to flash her my business, I turned around.

  Turner was facing the television, her cheeks flaming.

  I grinned and walked back to my bedroom, thinking that I maybe should’ve put on some pants and a t-shirt before I went out there. But, saying that, I hated t-shirts. Despised them, really.

  I’d always had a sensory motor problem when it came to my clothes.

  One, they had to be soft. Two, there had to be no tags, anywhere. The first thing I did when I got a new pair of pants or a t-shirt of any kind was to cut out every single tag in sight.

  Three, all of my clothes had to fit me correctly. My jeans had to hit the perfect spot right at my hip bones or I wouldn’t wear them. And don’t even get me started on my socks.

  T-shirts were just a necessary evil for me, as was my police uniform that I had to force myself to put on every time I went in to work. It was literally the bane of my existence.

  That was why I nearly always wore a wife beater underneath my club colors. The only time I didn’t wear the wife beater was when it was too cold outside to tolerate and I had to change to a wife beater and a flannel shirt.

  Which was what I was planning on wearing to the wedding since it was supposed to drop thirty degrees over the next seven hours.

  But, for now, I didn’t need to put a shirt on, so I didn’t. I’d had enough of being uncomfortable in my own house to last a lifetime, so I didn’t spare a single thought for the woman in the outer room as I walked out in boots and my jeans only.

  Turner once again looked up as I exited and blinked.

  “I think you forgot to put your shirt on,” she teased.

  I studied her face for a few long seconds as I nodded and said, “I’ll put it on a little later. After I make you breakfast.”

  She blinked. “Uh, okay.”

  “Bacon, eggs and pancakes sound okay?” I asked.

  She was already shaking her head. “Make what you would normally make for yourself, and then just add one extra egg and an extra piece of bacon.”

  I frowned. “You need more to eat than that.”

  She smiled sadly and looked down to her blanket-clad thighs.

  “I had a gastric sleeve done when I was sixteen. I’m physically incapable of eating more than that at one sitting,” she said, her face dropping slightly. “Which is why I encouraged my mother to have the surgery done.”

  I studied Turner and looked at her curvy body, unable to picture what she looked like before.

  “Really?” I asked, surprised to say the least. “You don’t look like you were ever overweight.”

  Her smile was barely there, but I saw it.

  Making my way to the fridge, I did as she suggested and made bacon and eggs, adding one extra piece of bacon and one extra egg to the mix for her. When it was all done, I set it down on the coffee table in front of her, and only then realized that I never asked her what kind of eggs she liked.

  “Um, I guess I hope you like fried eggs.” I shrugged.

  She snorted and dragged the coffee table over so that it was butted up next to the couch, allotting no room for me to sit beside her unless I sat with my legs tucked up underneath of me like she was doing. Which was a no-go. I couldn’t get my body to bend like that if I’d tried.

  Instead of asking her to move it, I positioned myself in the recliner and set my plate of food on the end of the coffee table and moved the recliner into a better position.

  It was as I was digging into my third egg that she said, “Why did you look like you swallowed a lemon whole when I asked you about your shirt?”

  I used a strip of bacon to mop up some of the egg yolk on my plate. After eating the entire piece, which marked the end of my meal, I leaned back and began to explain.

  “My ex-wife used to throw a hissy fit when I didn’t stay dressed in our house,” I explained. “There was always the possibility for company and she wanted to make sure we were both at our most presentable at all times. It was honestly exhausting, and the moment that I moved out of there, my desire to wear clothing in my own home stayed with her.”

  Turner nodded.

  “That makes sense,” she declared. “Do you and your ex-wife get along?”

  A startled burst of laughter flowed out of me, and I took about fifteen long seconds to get myself back under control. When I did, it was to find Turner looking at me with amusement written on her face.

  “My brother and his ex-wife don’t get along, either,” she said, staring at me with a small smile on her face. “She cheated on him while he was deployed this last time, and he found out because his best friend had stopped by to check on her. He was Facetiming my brother as he walked up the front steps. His ex-wife was shoving another man out looking startled and guilty. He broke up with her over video chat, told her he’d call the lawyers, and also told her he wanted her out of his house in the next two weeks or he’d be calling his lawyer to deal with that, too.”

  I shook my head. “Unfortunately for a lot of military members that are deployed, that happens. I wish it didn’t, but there are a lot of assholes in this world.”

  She nodded in understanding.

  “I expected my brother to call by now,” she whispered.

  I felt my stomach dip at the first mention of what happened only hours before.

  “The Red Cross has to vet every piece of information that was given to them. They’re going to call the hospital to confirm the death. They’re going to gather every piece of information that they can find on your brother to make sure that he’s getting all the facts. Likely, they’ll take the information to his command, and allow the command to deliver the news,” I explained.

  She looked at her hands which were balled up into fists in her lap.

  “I hate that I have to tell him over the phone,” she whispered.

  I did,
too.

  But that was just part of life. People died all the time.

  Luckily both of my parents were still alive, but that was only because I would be the only one that would handle their funerals.

  “You’ll be okay, darlin’,” I told her. “It may not seem like it…but you will.”

  She blew out a breath and pushed the table away from the couch, standing up and exposing her pantless self.

  She was wearing one of my t-shirts that went all the way down past her knees, and I had a fleeting thought that she filled it out way better than I did.

  She opened her mouth to ask how I knew that she’d be okay and I winced, hoping she wouldn’t go there. I wasn’t in the mood to explain myself. That, and I wasn’t sure that she needed my sadness added on top of hers.

  “I was going to ask you how you know this, but your face went all closed off the minute I opened my mouth to speak,” she murmured.

  I grinned.

  “What time do you have to be at the church?” I asked.

  “I have to be at Jubilee’s house in an hour.” She looked at her watch. “The church comes later.”

  “Are you going to tell her what happened?” I questioned.

  She shook her head. “No. I’m going to wait. She’ll figure it out eventually, I know, but for now, this is her special day. I’m going to help her get through it. Then I’m going to go home and have a good cry.”

  ***

  She didn’t tell anyone.

  She hadn’t told a single soul that her mother had passed away the night before.

  When I arrived at the church at two in the afternoon, dressed so uncomfortably that I could barely find it in me not to fidget every ten seconds, it was with Pru rushing in after me with a bag in her hand and her face a line of stress.

  “You’re late,” I pointed out.

  She sighed in exasperation. “The spawn of Satan decided to puke all over me as I was walking out the door. The other spawn of Satan sat in his daddy’s lap and laughed. I’m exhausted already and only got three hours of sleep.”

  The fact that I knew that she worked the night before, and on a patient that was dear to someone I was reluctantly starting to care about, caused my heart to stutter.

  Which Pru saw.

  “How is she?” Pru asked, slowing down slightly.

  “Acting like nothing happened,” I said. “She’s put up a wall that’s keeping everything out. I saw her building it as I drove her to her truck this morning.”

  Pru looked sick to her stomach. “She didn’t tell anyone?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  Pru sighed. “That’s not going to last. Jubilee will figure it out. She’s very perceptive.”

  I agreed, but it wasn’t my place to tell anybody anything. If Turner wanted them to know, they would. And that was the end of that.

  “I’ll talk to her,” Pru said.

  I didn’t show the frustration that streaked through my mind at having that excuse stolen from me. I wanted to see her. Badly.

  Now that Pru would be talking to her, what excuse did I have to go over and see her?

  I held the door to the church open and Pru slipped inside.

  I spotted Turner from across the room and felt my heart skip a beat at how beautiful she looked in her bridesmaid dress.

  When Turner saw Pru, they disappeared to have a conversation and had come back long minutes later, both of them looking a little less down.

  I felt a little bit of relief at that, but I still couldn’t stop myself from going over to where Turner was standing—in the corner—and saying something.

  “Hey,” I said softly.

  She started, looking up in stunned disbelief.

  “You can’t be over here,” she said, sounding worried now.

  I frowned. “Why?”

  “Because Jubilee will see you, and then she’ll wonder what we were talking about so amicably over here, and then she’ll know something’s wrong,” she blurted.

  I blinked.

  “You really think that she’s going to do that?” I asked. “Get all of that information out of one tiny conversation that we have that’s amicable?”

  She nodded once.

  “Really?” I started to laugh. “We don’t have conversations that turn into fights all the time.”

  “Name one besides the ones that have happened in the last twenty-four hours,” she deadpanned.

  I opened my mouth to list off the numerous times, then stopped.

  Because she was right.

  Every single one of our conversations always ended up going badly.

  And I blamed that all on her.

  On her lips that drove me wild.

  On those goddamn hips that just begged for me to have my arms wrapped around them.

  Those legs.

  Even her goddam feet.

  And don’t get me started on those breasts or her beautiful eyes.

  They just drove me wild, and when I got distracted like that, it got me thinking of all the other times that I’d been distracted by beautiful women, and how they fucked me over in the end.

  “I guess you’re right,” I admitted. “But Jubilee’s not here.”

  “No,” she agreed. “But all the other Guardian girls are, and they’ll confront me just as much as Jubilee will.”

  I looked around the room and saw that she was right.

  Rome’s girl, Izzy, was sitting on the couch with their young daughter in her arms, fast asleep. She was getting makeup applied to her face by Landry, who had obviously already been to makeup and hair.

  Conleigh was talking to Pru, and they were both staring at Turner as if they wanted to come over here and wrap her up in their arms.

  Then there was Phoebe, who had Bayou’s daughter in her lap playing a puzzle, who was staring at us so intently, with her eyes narrowed, that I knew she already had to suspect something was going on.

  “I give it twenty minutes and they will know,” I said. “Pru’s talking to Conleigh right now. Conleigh will go talk to Landry because they’re best friends, and then the rest of them will know in about two seconds. Not because they’re gossips, but because they worry about their own. And you’re one of their own.”

  She shook her head. “To be one of their own, I’d have to have a man that belonged to this club, and I don’t. As for them knowing, yeah, I can see that. You can stay and talk, I suppose. It’s not like they’re going to figure it out based on you talking to me with a small smile on your face.”

  I snorted.

  “Did your brother get a hold of you yet?” I asked, reaching up and absently tucking a strand of curly hair behind her ear. It wasn’t a natural curl, either. It was one of those hair spray curls that felt hard and stiff. I didn’t like it.

  I liked her hair when it was soft like it was last night when she’d been in my lap and I’d been holding her tight.

  “No.” She deflated slightly. “I just hope he doesn’t call during the ceremony. I don’t want to miss his call.”

  I looked at my watch. “The ceremony starts in twenty minutes, correct?”

  She nodded.

  “Give me your phone. If he calls, I’ll answer and explain,” I offered.

  She handed me her phone without a second thought.

  “My dad’s called four times, too,” she said. “I think he’s lost and doesn’t know what to do with himself.”

  I felt my belly clench.

  “You should go see him after this,” I suggested.

  She grimaced. “We’re going to the funeral home and getting the funeral figured out. Once I’m done here, I’ll go pick him up, and we’ll head there. I’ll just have to try to skip out of the reception without Jubilee seeing.”

  “I’ll help,” I suggested. “But you do know that she’s going to figure it out, correct? Maybe not today, but tomorrow. From what Zee has told me, she already told him that she wasn’t going to be lea
ving her business behind for weeks while they celebrated their honeymoon.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I hadn’t planned on giving her a choice in that matter. I planned on not answering the phone and telling the other staff to screen her calls.”

  The curl that I’d tucked behind her ear once again came free, and yet again, I couldn’t help myself. I tucked it back behind her ear, then pressed one fingertip lightly against her ear.

  “Are you already finished with makeup and hair?” I asked.

  She nodded and pointed to her feet. “All done but my shoes and slipping on my dress.”

  It was a light purple sheath dress that would hug her every curve like a glove.

  Oh, God.

  That was going to be bad, seeing her in that.

  “Do you need help?” I teased.

  She slapped the back of her hand against my belly and scoffed.

  “I think I can manage.” She paused, her eyes meeting mine. “Thank you, Castiel.”

  And her words weren’t because of my offer, I knew, but because of my help over the last night. Because I stayed with her and made sure that she was okay.

  “Anytime,” I murmured. “You need me, I’m there.”

  Her eyes went soft, and her hands went to my lapel where she smoothed out the shirt that was driving me insane.

  “You look good,” she whispered.

  Then she walked away, leaving heated imprints of where her hands had once been.

  ***

  I watched her throughout the wedding.

  Watched her walk down the aisle with a fake smile on her face. Watched her hold Jubilee’s bouquet and grin like her heart wasn’t broken in two. Watched her take photos with the wedding party.

  And watched her face fall into a lost expression each time the camera wasn’t on her.

  I would’ve watched her throughout the entire photo process, but her phone rang, making me wish it hadn’t.

  “Hello?” I answered quickly, walking away from the loud guests.

  “You the man that called the Red Cross looking for me for my sister?” the man asked.

  Bud.

  Her brother.

  “Yes,” I answered. “Castiel Hendrix.”

  “She at the wedding?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I confirmed. “She’s getting pictures taken with the wedding party right now, and I’m sure she’ll have time to break away for a few minutes in about ten or so. Do you know?”