After the Shut Up Ring, page 1
AFTER THE SHUT UP RING
CATE C. WELLS
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright 2024 by Cate C. Wells. All rights reserved.
Cover art and design by Clarise Tan of CT Cover Creations
Edited by Nevada Martinez
Proofread by The Blue Couch Edits, Jess Jaeger, and Kayla Davenport
Special thanks to Noelle Benach, LCPC, CST, Jean McConnell of The Word Forager, Pepper Knight, Grace C, Jess T, Jen S, Elizabeth L, Allyssa B, Sara B, Erin G, and the CCW Street Team
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CONTENTS
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Angie
Chapter 2
Brandon
Chapter 3
Angie
Chapter 4
Brandon
Chapter 5
Angie
Chapter 6
Angie
Chapter 7
Brandon
Chapter 8
Angie
Chapter 9
Angie
Chapter 10
Brandon
Chapter 11
Angie
Chapter 12
Brandon
Chapter 13
Angie, A Few Months Later
Epilogue
About the Author
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book is not going to be for everyone. It’s meant for everyone, but you might not be in the headspace, and I want to give you a heads up.
A few spoilers—Angie, the female main character, has HSV-2. She is coming out of a bad relationship, and she’s navigating visitation issues with her ex. Both main characters experienced the loss of a parent before the story begins.
1
ANGIE
“Ready for this, sweetheart?” Tyler says, gazing at me, his blue eyes twinkling.
I’m beyond ready. I’ve been dreaming about marrying him since I was fourteen years old.
He clears his throat, and the corners of his lips twitch like he’s stifling a smile. A trickle of dread drips down my spine. I know that look.
The hall is deathly quiet. Our guests lean forward in their seats. They can’t wait to hear this.
My breath is shallow from nerves, but I can still smell the booze coming out of Tyler’s pores. He partied hard last night and started early today. Good thing he wasn’t the one who had to walk down the aisle. He wouldn’t have been able to do it in a straight line.
“Uh oh,” he says, patting his pockets. My heart leaps into my throat. Did he forget his phone?
“Oh. Here it is.” He laughs and holds it up. A few people chuckle. My heart sticks where it leaped.
Everyone’s been joking about Tyler writing his own vows, but it was his idea. He didn’t want a preacher to marry us. He wanted his friend Duck, who got ordained on the internet, to do the ceremony. Duck said he would, but he didn’t want to do too much. Tyler promised him fifty bucks and said we’d write our own vows. Duck said, “Bet.”
My best friend Madison said Tyler’s going to burp his vows like he does the lyrics to Kid Rock’s “Bawitdaba” every time he chugs a beer. I thought he’d be more likely to forget them in the car or in his other pants. I asked him earlier when we got to the Elks Lodge, though, and he said not to worry.
Actually, he said, “For once, can you not worry?”
Now he’s scrolling and scrolling. Did he accidentally delete his vows?
“What’s going on?” I whisper.
“Oh! Here they are!” he says brightly. He’s playing around.
I can hardly swallow past my heart in my throat, and he’s joking.
He flashes a smile at our girls sitting in the front row. “Ready for Daddy’s vows?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Tamblyn answers obediently. The crowd goes awww, and my chest eases.
The girls are sitting in the front row with Madison’s mom, Miss Dawn. Tamblyn’s spindly legs stick straight out of her ruffled petticoats. She’s munching Goldfish crackers from a bag on her lap. Ivy is twisted around and folded over the back of her white plastic folding chair, chatting to my aunt.
Tyler’s mom is on the opposite side of the aisle, casting a stink eye at her grandbabies and muttering to her sister. I just know she’s saying that the girls wouldn’t be eating Goldfish or turned around in their seats if they were sitting with her. She’s right, they wouldn’t, but they’d be bawling because she’d yelled at them about some petty thing, for sure.
For the hundredth time today, I wish my mom was here, that she’d turned it around in time to see this day. I’m wearing her angel pin under the hem of my dress as my “something old.” I even kind of wish I knew how to get in touch with Dad. Walking down the aisle alone sucked.
“Well, without further ado,” Tyler says, lifting his phone. He frowns, swipes, and taps. It must have timed out. His frown deepens, and he taps some more. He entered his passcode wrong. A few folks chuckle again, and he scowls. Tyler doesn’t like to be laughed at.
His groomsmen are getting restless beside him. They don’t look so great today either. They’ve gotten haircuts, and their rented tuxes are pressed, but they all have bloodshot eyes and that greasy sheen you get when you’re still drunk and hungover at the same time.
Tyler taps and scrolls, seriously searching this time, and folks begin to shift and whisper in their seats. I hope none of the chairs give. They’re not the sturdiest, but they came free with the hall rental.
Thank goodness, Tyler finally finds what he’s looking for. His whole head has turned red—you can see it through the buzz cut he got yesterday. I guess it’s too much to ask that this day go smoothly.
Smooth isn’t what Tyler and I get. The condom broke nine months before high school graduation, and we got Tamblyn instead of senior week at the beach. Then, his parents were supposed to move to Florida and rent their house to us, but his dad got busted banging an IT girl from his office, so he got fired and lost his retirement package. After his parents did counseling with the priest, they decided to stay put. And then there was all the drama with Ivy’s ears and the tubes.
Nothing ever breaks our way, but we’re still together, almost eight years after he asked me to his freshman homecoming, and that says something.
Doesn’t it?
My stomach refuses to settle. I’ve got wedding day jitters, only instead of butterflies, I’ve got a huge bird of prey stuck in my guts, flapping its wings, trying to get out. Like an osprey or something.
“We are gathered here today because I finally gave up and let Angie here win,” Tyler starts, his voice low and stilted. He’s not used to reading out loud. He pauses for laughter, but I don’t think anyone heard him.
He coughs and continues louder. “We’ve been together a long time, and today’s the day, as they say.”
My gaze wanders to my babies again, and then, like I always tend to do, I search out Brandon, Madison’s older brother. He’s sitting behind his mother, a few seats over, stiff and solemn per usual. He looks hungover, too, even though he didn’t go to the bachelor party last night. Tyler made a point to invite him—I heard him do it—but Brandon said he had to work.
When I was in eighth grade, I had a massive crush on Brandon, but he was a year ahead. Plenty of high school guys, including Tyler, would give us middle school girls the time of day, but he wouldn’t.
I used to see him all the time at school and Madison’s house. Now that we’re grown, though, I only see him in passing. He usually makes me nervous, but for some reason, today, the sight of him grim-faced in probably the only button-up shirt he owns, makes my stomach ache.
Tyler coughs, and my gaze flies back to him. Good Lord. What am I doing staring at other men on my wedding day?
Tyler goes on. “Ever since we started talking back in high school, I knew that one day, you would drag me down the aisle. I mean, I fought the good fight as long as I could, but in the end, you wore me down.” He waits a beat, and his groomsmen snicker. There’s a chuckle or two from the men in the audience.
I should have known Tyler wouldn’t be able to be serious. Honestly, I’m relieved he has something prepared. In the back of my mind, I was half afraid he’d pull a stunt like that groom in the viral video who just said something like “I vow to ride it like a pony every night” and called it a day.
And Tyler’s right. I’ve waited for this moment for a long time. Every Christmas and birthday and Valentine’s since Tamblyn was born, I held my breath for a ring, and now finally, after so many tears and so much pain and disappointment, it’s finally happening. We’re going to be a real family. This is what I’ve always wanted.
“Plenty of people here thought we wouldn’t make it, but here we are.” He gestures
It sucks to be reminded, but he’s right. Tyler and I were young when we got together, and we had our growing pains. No one is their best self at sixteen or nineteen or even twenty-one. We had a lot of responsibility when most people our age were out at the bars. Tyler resented that, and he made some hurtful choices, but at the end of the day, he came home to me. To us.
This is our new beginning. Life is going to be easier now. We’re in the duplex. He’s finally got the truck he wants. Ivy gets her tubes out in a few months. All the drama is behind us.
I smile up at him. He’s so handsome that sometimes I still can’t believe he ever asked me out. He was so popular, with his good hair and his boy-band face. I really am lucky. I’ve seen the DMs Madison gets from her matches in the dating apps. It’s rough out there—way rougher than I’ve got it.
Tyler shoots his boys a look over his shoulder and then smiles back at me.
It’s a strange smile. He must be nervous, speaking first in front of everyone we know.
He reads on. “So today, I’m going to make you the happiest woman in the world. You’re welcome.”
There are a few more laughs this time. Everyone thinks Tyler is funny. He says the things other people are afraid to say—or that they know they shouldn’t.
“They say that marriage is give and take,” he continues. “I promise to give it to you hard and take your shit with a smile, and if I can’t, to gather your shit up for you and dump it on the lawn. Like a gentleman.”
What? My mouth sours, and my throat tightens. Why would he bring that up?
That was years ago now. I was expecting Ivy, and they ran some routine tests, and when the tests came back, it was a whole thing. My hormones were out of control. I lost my temper and screamed at him that I’d had enough. He went crazy and threw all my stuff out on the front lawn, since technically, the house belongs to him and his dad since he co-signed. Then he drove off in his truck and didn’t come back all weekend.
Mr. Neudecker from next door helped me carry everything back inside because it was starting to rain, and I was so far along, I couldn’t really bend over to pick things up. Tyler and I worked it out, though. We forgave each other. We don’t talk about it anymore.
Except when he’s drunk and mad at me.
And he brings it up now? Here?
Tyler is still smiling down at me, and my shoulder muscles knot as I place it—it’s the smirk he gets when he’s about to give someone what he thinks they have coming to them. My stomach bottoms out.
“They say when you’re married, you should never let your wife go to bed angry, and I promise I won’t. You can sleep on the sofa.” He pauses again for laughs. Duck snorts. His best man Keith snickers. None of the other guests laugh this time. My face catches on fire.
He looks over at his groomsmen, his eyes lighting with glee. When he turns back, he’s not really seeing me. He’s focusing all his attention on keeping a straight face as he says, “When you said I had to write my vows, I looked up marriage on the internet, and it said communication and a sense of humor is key, so I promise to listen to you when you run your mouth and laugh at your jokes, which as everyone knows, aren’t nearly as funny as mine.”
Another pause. His boys laugh. The sound echoes off the dingy white ceiling tiles. The other sixty people in the hall become very, very quiet.
Tyler glances at our guests, his eyebrows pinching together. I know him so well; I can read his face like a book. He doesn’t understand why they aren’t laughing, too. This is hilarious. He’s hilarious.
He shrugs off the mystery and plows on. “Anyway, seriously though, we’ve been together a long time. We have two beautiful girls together, and our family makes my life perfect.”
A few guests murmur their approval, and the tension in the hall eases. This is what vows should sound like. Later, they might cluck disapprovingly about what he said before, but they’ll also smile fondly and shake their heads. So handsome. Such a joker. Can’t even be serious at his own wedding.
I should be relaxing, too, as I scrub the words from my short-term memory before they have the chance to stick. I should be taking the joke, doing whatever mental gymnastics is necessary to smooth it over in my head.
This isn’t bitter disappointment puckering my mouth. This isn’t shame twisting in my guts or humiliation crawling across my skin.
I should be getting over it as it happens. That’s how this relationship works. He steamrolls me. I peel myself off the floor and bounce right back into shape.
“Now you’ve got my last name and my ring, and I promise that you’ve also got my heart, ‘til death do us part—” He stops, his baby blue eyes so clear and gleeful and oblivious to anything except these lines he’s delivering.
I need to ignore what he’s doing right now, in this very moment, but as I look into his bright, shining, eager eyes, my heart sinks. He’s not done.
My body braces.
His smile breaks wide. “—as long as you have dinner on the table on time and keep it tight.” He winks at me. “Of course, if you don’t, I’ll just do what I did when you let yourself go after Tamblyn and Ivy—”
He’s not going to say it. Not here. Not in front of everyone.
“I’ll just shut my eyes, slap that fat ass, and”—he slaps his thigh and pumps his hips—“ride the waves in!”
His groomsmen chant the words along with him—ride the waves in—and then whoop at the top of their lungs.
The words drive into my soft belly like a fist. The humiliation follows in a sharp, blistering blast. I’m speechless and stuck on a rickety riser in front of everyone I know.
He planned this. His boys knew their line. They were waiting for their cue.
No one else is laughing. Duck flips through the two grimy index cards he’s holding like he had the miraculous foresight to write down what he should say to transition from “ride the waves in” to my vows.
Miss Dawn, down in her seat, and Madison, standing at my elbow, are both gaping, matching expressions of horror and disgust on their faces.
Tyler’s mother flattens her lips in disapproval. His dad looks like a raccoon who got caught in the trash, frozen and in denial. His aunt clutches the cross she wears around her neck.
Everyone looks like they want to die from secondhand embarrassment, and at the same time, as if they cannot possibly peel their eyes away. Several folks are recording on their phones, including Tyler’s cousin Aiden. He calls himself a content creator. He’s got a hundred thousand followers just for jumping his four-wheeler over ditches in his parents’ backyard.
Has he gone live? I bet he went live.
Dear God. This is going to be on the internet. People are going to feel sorry for me. Thousands of strangers are going to comment.
How could she marry him after that?
That’s what you call a shut up ring.
She can’t act surprised. Guarantee that she knew what kind of man he was before she got to the altar.
And I did, didn’t I? After eight years, how could I not?
But I didn’t worry about that. I worried about the centerpieces and Tyler’s cummerbund and whether the stupid balloon arch would tip over. I was so freaked out about everything matching—the girls’ hair ribbons and Tyler’s mother’s dress and the groomsmen’s boutonnieres.
I stare around the hall, and damned if everything doesn’t match down to the bows on the sides of the wobbly plastic folding chairs at the end of each cockeyed row. Everything is the exact same shade of powder blue. Perfect.
What have I done?
I wanted a family and a happy-ever-after so badly. Didn’t I drag him down the aisle? Didn’t I hold on and refuse to let go no matter how he fought, or what he said? And in the end, didn’t I wear him down?
I did this to myself.
My stunned gaze settles on my girls. They’re both watching me with wide, worried eyes. Ivy’s head is tilted to the side. Tamblyn’s grubby little fingers keep conveying Goldfish to her mouth, one at a time, in slow motion. She chews and swallows like it’s her duty—if she just keeps acting normal, then this moment will pass and everything will be okay again.
