The Ahern Brothers Collection, page 62
We exchange the rings, and then, the officiant says, “I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
I take June in my arms and kiss her tenderly. I pour all my love into her soul. This is a promise between the two of us. I swear that even after this life, I’ll be by her side.
III
June
Traveling with three children is more challenging than I anticipated, but now that Vanessa, Vaughn, and Violet can walk, it’s a little easier. We’re on our way to Seattle. Alex is finally getting married. We thought this day would never come.
“So, they aren’t canceling it?” Sterling asks as he secures Vaughn’s seat and hands him his plushy plane. He can’t fly without it. “It feels like that movie Groundhog Day. I’m pretty sure I was ready for this ‘big day’ six months ago.”
“They only canceled it once,” I remind him. “Also, they postponed it three weeks before the day. It wasn’t last minute. They were mourning.”
I don’t remind him that we ended up going to two funerals instead of a wedding. Six months ago, they were dealing with a loss and so much more.
“Well, I don’t trust their invitation. Who calls and says, ‘We’re marrying next weekend,’” Sterling protests. “No one can organize a wedding in such a short time.”
“We have to be there either way. Tomorrow is Alex’s birthday.” He’s unhappy because his plan to take Alex skiing for his birthday fell through. “Hannah’s mom can organize it, by the way.”
“Auntie Junie!” Caroline yells and runs toward me.
“What did we say about running?”
Caroline is the sassy one of the twins, and I swear she rolls her eyes when she hears her dad. Em says that she got a lot of her sister’s personality and mine. We all feel for Jack, who will end up with gray hairs before she turns six. Marian is more like her mom, quiet and shy. I can’t wait to see how their sons turn out. We just learned a week ago that they are expecting—twin boys.
It seems like the next generation of cousins will be close too. Sterling and I are trying again. If only Alex hurries and knocks up his bride. It’s a wish, though. Those two take their sweet time with everything. Maybe, like Jannette and Teagan, they’ll say, “We’re not having children.”
It’s, of course, a choice we respect. I only wish they told me more about their plans.
“Where are Mom and Dad?” Jackson asks as he helps the girls with their seatbelts.
I frown. “They should be here soon.”
“Jason texted me that they were running late,” Sterling answers. “They stayed with your brother last night. Deacon is teething, and Ari is the one with the magic baby touch who soothes that poor boy.”
Poor Jason and Eileen. They got a demon child after having the calmest, quietest baby in the world—Blake. Mom swears they got a replica of Jason. I can’t wait to see them deal with that terror.
I shouldn’t laugh at them; my kids keep us busy all the time.
Jack, who is obviously losing his mind because the plane can’t take off until everyone is here, starts making some calls. After he’s done, he looks at Sterling and asks, “What about Wes, Abby, and Lance?”
“Abby can’t fly during her last trimester,” he reminds him. “They’re staying.”
“I have the video and present they sent to the bride and groom,” I show them my purse. “If Alex had to schedule the wedding around due dates, I think he’d have to postpone the wedding for another two years.”
“He’s postponing the wedding?” Mom asks as she makes her way inside the plane. She’s holding Deacon.
“Fuck, I’m not going back,” Jason swears. “I’ll personally hitch them.”
I laugh. “No, I was saying that Wes and Abby are staying because she can’t travel. Then…nevermind. The wedding is a go.”
“This plane is awesome,” Jason approves. “Who is it again?”
“The Sinners of Seattle’s plane,” I remind him. “They let us borrow it since we’re a big family.”
“Jan texted me. She and Teagan are already in Seattle,” Mom announces as she takes a seat and hands the baby to Eileen. Jason is setting up the car seat and doing a poor job.
I roll my eyes when Sterling and Jack approach him. This is going to take a long time. I told them we could use one of our old car seats. Did they listen? No, Jason had to bring his state of the art seat.
Em, Eileen, and I watch them. This isn’t the first time it takes them forever to figure out how to set up something. Sometimes I think they just buy things so they can bond over building something new. When Alex is around he joins their fun, even when he’s the crafty one who can figure this out within seconds. I guess it’s their male ritual, which is adorable.
Being part of this big family is the best thing in the world. I have two loving parents that did the best they could with us. My siblings are the best, and their significant others have become a big part of us.
“You okay, Dad?” I ask as he watches his sons with nostalgia.
“Just a couple of years ago, they were kids, running around the backyard. Now look at you,” he answers. “You became parents. I feel old.”
I kiss the top of his head. “Let’s just call you a ‘mature adult.’”
Excerpts
Want to Find our more about the Spearman family?
Keep reading for a sneak peek of Maybe Later, Then He Happened, and Once Upon a Holiday.
Maybe Later
February 21st
Mrs. Jones,
Thank you for your inquiry about our services and for filling out our initial application. It’ll be a pleasure to help you find just the right virtual assistant for your needs. Please, let me make sure we got some details right. On the application, you describe your current boss as impatient, aggressive, micromanaging, and somewhat of a social pariah.
Did I misread it? Is there a possibility that this was a typo?
If you could please correct or expand on your description, I’d appreciate it. Mrs. Darlington explained our mission correctly. We always find the assistant who will best fit your company. Even for social pariah. We have the right person for that.
Best Regards,
E. Lancaster, CEO
Virtual Assistant Everyday Services
Then He Happened
The soft melody of a piano follows me around like a lounge singer. She plays me something jovial to shake the stage fright out of me. The air is as thick as smog caught in a smoker’s exhale, but I can make out the faint outlines of the audience somewhere in front of me.
Hesitantly, I sway to the tune the piano titters out, both of us awkward and stiff from years of neglect.
Someone in the first few rows wolf whistles to encourage me. I put a little more swagger into it—like my drama teacher used to tell us in high school put your soul into your hips and make love to the world. Yeah, in hindsight that was fucked up.
But the audience eats my lame moves up with a silver spoon. A sound comes out of my throat, a lot like the shit I used to sing. It’s like being a different person.
It feels like being alive.
The piano gets to an accelerando, and I run out of shits to give. I belt out my baritone blues of being lovelorn and exhausted, of counting down the days until my life makes sense again… is really truly mine.
I get a standing ovation and almost forget my stage turned into a rundown wedding altar halfway through my set. The cheering fades as the piano’s sweet loving melts into ear-piercing blares—
My cell phone wakes me at ass o’clock in the morning. Cold sweat trickles down my spine as I reach toward the nightstand for my phone to check who is calling me. Great, it’s my attorney.
“Go for Spearman,” I say, the lump in my throat clogging my airway and my fucking hollow chest.
Fuck, it was just a dream. Yet, my heart still pounds hard as if it lived through the agonizing moment when my entire life…
“Finally. I’ve been trying to reach you for the past couple of hours,” my lawyer, Fitz Everhart, says, ignoring that he lives two hours ahead of me.
He should’ve learned to fuck off this early in the morning by now. I sigh, squinting as my eyes adjust to the dim blue light coming from the hallway.
Maybe I should call him before I go to bed. Wake him up at 3 a.m. his time and see how he likes it.
With an enormous effort, I heave myself out of bed. I fish a pair of underwear out of the neglected laundry pile next to my closet before I head to the living room. Maybe I should hire a housekeeper. That’s a subject for another time.
“Well, you got me,” I say finally, rubbing my eyes. “Where’s the fire?”
“I just sent you a new investment proposal. Have you decided about the one from last week?” He asks.
I groan in response. It’s too fucking early for this.
“Look, I don’t have a problem going through the proposals, but you have to give me an answer right away after I send you the details.”
This is one of the reasons why I hired Everhart and his team. They go through all the proposals, contracts, and documents. They save me time by combing through this shit and spotting potential investments.
Since I sold my tech startup five years ago, I went with the only job in the world left for rich, soulless, boring dickbags—venture capitalist. Aside from the terrible networking events and wading through piles of shit ideas, it pays well.
Theoretically, it leaves me plenty of time to live my life. Nowadays, most of the ideas that actually get to me are profitable. They have lots of potential.
“I take it you’re going to say no,” Fitz implies.
“They want more than money,” I argue. “I don’t have time to hold anyone’s hand right now.”
“Makes sense,” he says. “Well, I’m off to disappoint yet another person and add that you’re only looking to invest—at the moment—into your requirements. You don’t babysit or teach. In that way, you’ll only get the proposals that make sense for you.”
“Thanks,” I say before hanging up.
Trudging back to my bedroom, I open the shutters, and the sun illuminates my room. That’s when I see her.
The blonde I hooked up with last night never left. She rolls onto her stomach. She’s still naked, eyeing me like meat, ready for another round.
“Well, it’s been nice…” I pause, was it, Brittany or Lauren. “Umm, Lisa,” I lie politely.
And by the stink eye she gives me I know I fucked her name, but it’s too early in the morning to remember my own name, let alone a piece of ass that should already be gone.
She flashes a fake smile as she says, “It’s Lina.”
Well, close enough, I think.
“You’re kicking me out?” she says incredulously. “What happened to breakfast?”
“Who said anything about breakfast?” I sputter.
And who eats breakfast this early? I look at the time. Well, seven isn’t that early but fuck if I don’t need a cup of coffee.
“We could spend the morning together,” she says suggestively.
Together?
What do people even do this early in the morning?
Turn on “Morning Joe” or some other corny show and talk about what? Gossip? Their opinions and what to cook? Share the same half cold cup of coffee with some lazily thrown together eggs and talk about what they’re doing that day?
Who’d even like that quiet domesticity? You did once, asshole.
I shake my head while gathering her clothes.
“I don’t know if you recall,” I say with the same fake calm voice I used the summer I worked nights at a call center in Tuscaloosa back when I was in college. “But I told you that I had an early morning meeting. Staying over was your call.”
I toss her clothes at her lap... her underwear may accidentally hit her square on the nose. Not that it fucking matters at this point if she blacklists me online or some shit like that. If I hurry, maybe my assistant won’t see her.
I don’t bring people to my apartment, especially hookups. I hear a snort inside my head.
Valid, I only do hookups.
But honestly, I know better than inviting women into my apartment. They think sleeping over is an invite to settle in and never leave.
I can appreciate a good fuck and decent conversation at two a.m. about docks in Amsterdam or “what do you think the Grand Canyon looks like right now?” But no one’s ever interested in enjoying the moment.
They size me up while I’m flirting and decide I have something to give them. No one cares about who I am beyond their Sex and the City fantasy. I’d be insulted if I weren’t so fucking tired.
“We had a good time,” she says.
“It was fun,” I admit.
It would’ve been more fun if you used your mouth as much as I used mine.
“Why don’t we go one more round?” she asks with a pout.
I usually fuck once, and I leave—or in this case, she leaves. That’s how it’s supposed to work. This is what I get for asking her if she wanted to come over instead of sucking it up and going across town to her place.
We met at my downstairs neighbors’ party so that also made wanting to go to a random apartment in Thornton impossible.
“You know what they say about too much of a good thing,” I offer politely.
She scowls, moving the covers to offer glimpses of her body. When that doesn’t entice me, she makes sure to offer her bare breasts, and open her legs wide, exposing her bare pussy.
Classy. I wonder where she picked up that party trick.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” she says like a mind reader. “I’ve heard of you in my circles. Jason Spearman, famous playboy and cold-hearted fucker.”
“The one and only,” I say, smirking. “Now do me a huge solid and get the fuck out of my room.”
“I’m taking a shower,” she mutters while heading toward the bathroom.
She stops right in front of me, pressing her breasts into my side.
“Unless you want me to stay for one last round,” she whispers.
She’s really on my last nerve. I have things to do. And my assistant will kill me if she finds a naked woman in my house.
“Out,” I repeat.
“What’s wrong with you?” she screams this time. “I was hot enough last night and now I’m nothing to you?”
“Good morning, boss,” Josslyn, my assistant walks into my bedroom, handing me coffee. “Great, we picked up a souvenir from last night’s rendezvous.”
“Jossie,” I groan.
“You’re an arrogant son of a bitch,” Lyn? Liza? says storming almost naked out of my apartment.
Josslyn follows her with those bright amber eyes of hers and glares at me.
“Pretend you didn’t see anything.” I shut my eyes and try to concentrate on the sweet nothings the caffeine in this coffee is whispering.
After a couple of sips, I open my eyes to see her giving me a lopsided smile and a pat on the shoulder. “If I find you half-naked with a guest one more time, I’m quitting. Get ready. We have a lot of work to do.”
Almost Perfect
Let’s talk about firsts for just a minute.
There’s a first time for everything. Not all first-time experiences are as life-changing as people assume. You’ve heard it all, right? You can’t forget your first kiss. Your first love is unique. Losing your virginity is special and sometimes magical.
For the most part, first kisses are sloppy. There’s nothing swoony about them. Your first time with a new partner or hookup is awkward. Losing your virginity...that’s debatable. If you’re with an experienced partner, it can be great. If not…well.
The first time I went out with a guy, I was a mess. I remember pacing around the foyer, waiting for him to pick me up. At seventeen, it was a big deal. I had been living in a cocoon for years. Lots of theory and zero practice. The tightness in my chest and the butterflies fluttering in my body were suffocating me.
Needless to say, one of my best friends gave me my first kiss, so I’d stop freaking out. It was like kissing my brother.
Listen, first experiences might be great for many, but they can also suck.
It’s not like I hate firsts; they’re just not my favorite. But I’m going to let you in on a secret. Those are nothing compared to the first day of school.
It’s the worst, am I right?
Before anyone focuses on those pre-school, elementary school years, let me stop you and send you forward, all the way to high school and college. Being fourteen and sent to a big place where the basic rule is ‘eat or be eaten’ sucks.
College is just as bad, if not worse. You’re far away from home and your parents dropped you off in some dorm room that’s smaller than a closet with a strange kid who is now your roommate for the next nine months. And who knows ahead of time how hard or strange that’ll be?
Poor kids, they have it rough.
I feel for them, but I feel sorrier for the teachers.
Trying to control a bunch of spooked, freshmen is...heinous.
But it’s not as bad as, seniors. They think they know everything. They should’ve graduated a year before because they’re that good and they’re ready to show the adult world how things are done. From their perspective, teachers are a waste of space to them. It takes time to round the students back into reality.
Imagine living your first-time experience over and over again. Well, at least twice a year. As a college professor, I have to deal with it every single semester. Forgive my lazy Forrest Gump analogy, but first days of school are like a box of chocolates stored in your grandma’s closet since last century: you never know what you’re going to get, but you’re going to regret eating it.
Needless to say, the first day back to school is declared a national day of observance. All my friends and family call to check on me because they know how much I loathe it.
