Epilogue
BEN
“Damn, I can’t wait to get this tie off me,” I mutter as my fingers curl under the collar of my shirt, already damp beneath the suit jacket. I’ll be stripping down to nothing as soon as the pictures are over, if I have my way.
“Stop whining. At least it’s May. She could have picked July,” Jake reminds me, adding quietly as he wipes his brow, “and we’re all suffering with you.”
A quick glance at Rob and Josh confirm a light sheen of sweat on their faces. The four of us are standing in the shade of one of the oldest oaks on the property. Rows of white chairs, filled with family and friends, face us. A makeshift altar—an archway covered in orange blossoms—is situated next to us.
Just inhaling the scent calms me.
“You guys have done a ton of work on the house since Christmas,” Rob muses, his eyes roaming the big old plantation-style home in the background.
“It was a big insurance policy. Enough to cover the critical stuff.” I nod to our oldest brother. “Josh did a lot too.” Josh quit his job shortly after our dad’s death and moved down to be with Mama. The money from the sale of the woodworking equipment is more than enough to cover child support and alimony payments for the near term. He, in turn, has been a huge help around here, converting our dad’s wood shop into a packing facility and getting that up and running, to minimize off-site fees. He just celebrated his first year of sobriety last week and, though Karen doesn’t appear to be ready to reconcile anytime soon, she came down with their two kids this weekend for the wedding.
I’ve gotten to know my big brother better now, as an adult, than I ever knew him as a child. I’ve even come to appreciate his quiet demeanor and I think, by the small smiles and chuckles, he has come to appreciate me for who I am.
“It’s almost time!” Mama gushes, rushing up to us with her three-month-old grandson in her arms. “You want to see Daddy one more time, Jake Junior?”
“Couldn’t be more original, could you,” I mock, looking down at the little baby in his baby tux, the front of it covered in drool. Okay, I’ll admit it—he’s cute. He’d be even cuter if he didn’t cry so much.
“Shut the fuck up,” Jake throws my way in a mutter as he leans down to kiss his son’s forehead.
“Hush now!” Mama scolds, pulling Jake Junior to her chest.
But I’m not done yet. Getting under my brother’s skin is too damn fun. “Did the doctors tell you when he’d grow into that head of his?” I watch the poor kid struggle to lift it. “Or will he always look like a bobble-head?”
I barely get my arm down in time to block the kidney shot Jake delivers to me.
“Are you making fun of the bobble-head again?”
My heart skips a beat with the sound of Reese’s voice. I turn in time to see her floating forward through the grass, her old blue Yamaha guitar slung over her back. I take all of her in, including the plunging neckline of her dress, which gives me a good eyeful of those tits I have my hands on every opportunity I get. The dress is long, reaching all the way down to the ground. That’s kind of annoying. I really like seeing her legs. But, when she turns around and I see the open back, I figure that makes up for it. “I thought you weren’t supposed to wear white to a wedding?”
She shrugs. “You can if the bride makes you wear it.”
“Did Rita also pick the dress out? Because if she did . . .”
Her wide lips—painted red today—curl up into a slow smile. “You like it?”
“Yeah. In fact . . .” I reach down and rope my arm around her body to get a good grip on that ass I love so much as I pull her up against me.
“Benjamin!” Mama’s loose hand swats at my shoulder. “Not in front of the guests.” Heaving a sigh of exasperation, I catch an “honestly” under her breath.
“Yeah, Benjamin. Honestly.” Reese’s caramel eyes twinkle as she spins out of my grip and takes a step back to where the microphone is set up. Based on what she must have just felt, she knows I’m going to be hauling her up to the attic—claimed as our weekend headquarters—the second those pictures are done.
“I love the orange blossoms,” she says to Mama, smiling. “Nice touch.”
“We can do the same for you and Ben.”
I clear my throat roughly, shooting a stern look Mama’s way, but she shifts her focus to her grandson, cooing softly as Reese’s head falls back with that loud, throaty laughter.
“Only if you can cover the roll bars on that dune buggy, too, because I plan on coming down the aisle in style.” She winks at me and I can tell she’s teasing. Thank God. I’m in no rush. I know she’s in no rush either. We’ve got a really good thing going right now.
“How much longer is this going to take?” I mutter under my breath, tucking at my collar as Jack makes his way over with a glass of lemonade in hand.
“Reese, you look beautiful, even with that beat-up old thing slung over your shoulder.” He leans in to add a kiss on her cheek before turning to Mama. “Here you go, Wilma.”
“Thank you, Jack,” she answers with a coy smile.
And . . . wait, what is that? Is Mama blushing?
I feel the deep furrow in my forehead when I look from them to Jake, who’s too busy making googly eyes at his bobble-head kid to see anything else, and back to them. It isn’t until I look at Reese, to see her gaze on her stepfather and Mama, her smile secretive, that I clue in.
“Aw, hell no!” My outburst pulls everyone’s attention to me, Mama’s face suddenly full of worry.
“What’s wrong, dear?”
“What’s wrong is that I have a strict policy against my girlfriend’s stepdad putting the moves on my mama!”
Mama’s face turns the color of eggplant to match her dress. If she didn’t have a baby in her hands, I think I’d be getting a proper beating right now, right on my brother’s wedding altar. Fuck it, I don’t care. Jack and Mama?
Josh lets out a loud snort. Jake and Rob follow closely with chuckles. Even Reese can’t keep it down. And it finally clicks. I throw my arms up in exasperation. “Am I the only one who didn’t know about this?”
“How did you ever pass the bar, man?” Jake ribs.
Mama rolls her eyes and turns around to walk away, but not before I catch her shooting Jack a wink. Shit. I had no idea! Jack and Mason have made some day trips up here to help with harvesting. Then Mama invited them for Christmas. And Easter.
I thought they just liked the grove!
“Well, I guess you’ve been too busy blatantly ignoring my policy to notice,” Jack muses.
“I wouldn’t say ‘blatantly,’ ” I mutter. Fuck. He has me there.
Jack’s bushy gray eyebrows spike at that. “No? Maybe we should ask Mason about that.”
“I warned you—Jiminy talks,” Reese murmurs as she adjusts the microphone stand, her cheeks now taking on a hint of color as well.
“Uh . . . ” I’m not sure how to respond to that. We’ve been really good respecting Jack and keeping our relationship under wraps in the office, Reese working on Natasha’s cases while I take on cases of my own and use two other paralegals. In fact, I’m pretty sure no one has a clue. Then again, maybe everyone knows and we’re fooling ourselves.
And, except for one night a few weeks ago when we were working late and I couldn’t help making her reenact a fantasy I’ve had burning in my head for months now involving Reese and my desk, we’ve kept our hands to ourselves.
What the hell was Mason doing, anyway, coming into the office after midnight?
I’m betting he won’t be doing that again without calling ahead.
“So we’ll call it even, then?” Jack offers with a smirk as he walks toward his seat.
I dip my head as the sheepish grin takes over, just as Reese’s phone beeps with a text from Elsie. “It’s time!” she announces, tossing her phone haphazardly onto the ground a few feet away—she’s going to forget it there and then go ape shit looking for it later, guaranteed—before her fingers strum the first chords. When her mouth opens and the words to the song come tumbling out in that deep, raspy voice of hers, Jake has to elbow me in the ribs again to get me to turn around and face the aisle. I last all of five seconds before my attention’s back on Reese.
I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of hearing her sing. Or talk. Or laugh, or bust my balls, or tell me I’m a jackass. And I don’t see how I could ever get sick of waking up next to her in the morning, or pulling all her clothes off of her at night, because I haven’t yet. It’s the exact opposite, actually. I just want her more. She’s everything I never knew I wanted. She’s everything I never knew I could have.
She just . . . fits with me. So perfectly.
I’m vaguely aware of the processional coming down the aisle. I probably should be paying attention to the bride.
But I’m too busy staring at my Reese.