Make a Right (30 page)

Maybe he was even right about that one.

* * *

Sometimes, just sometimes, the contrast between the two halves of his life struck Tuck as utterly ludicrous. Or maybe they were a blessing. Could just all be a matter of how you looked at it. What did he know?

“There’s no one else who could do this, seriously?” Tuck held back, warily clutching a palmful of pins. “I know nothing about hair. I’ll buy a dress, but I have limits.”

Suzie-Q, sitting at Hannah’s feet with her muzzle on her paws and an expression of great interest in the way she watched them, barked at him.

“Loyalty, girl. Learn about it,” Tuck told her.

She ignored him.

“It’s just a veil,” Hannah chided. “Help me pin it on. My hands are shaking. Please?”

She’d almost tamed that mess of curls of hers for once, sleeking it down to something close to smooth except for little ringlets escaping here and there. Five feet ten and lean as a lathe or not, she almost looked like one of those fancy dolls he’d seen in old Christmas movies. “Megan can’t help you with this?”

Hannah smiled wryly at him. She wore makeup too, something soft and pretty. “Megan can in no way help me with this. She wears those chopsticks because then she doesn’t have to worry about anything more complicated than a brush.”

“She really is the butch one, isn’t she?”

“I like to let her think so.”

“Whatever gets you through the night.” Tuck winced. “Which is near the top of the list of things I don’t like to think about. Shush.” He eyed the pile of what looked to him like mist on a winter’s morning back at St. Pius, topped with a string of pearls that—hell, that matched the earrings he’d bought her, the ones she wore right now.

“I can already see how it’s going to look. Not bad at all.” Hannah patted the veil into place, all ready for the pins. “What do you think?” She looked at him, waiting, hoping. Doll, moll, woman, child. His kid sister.

She did need him.

Tuck steadied his nerves and approached from the right. The mound of white fluff settled into a waist-length sheet of see-through lace, and the pearls fit the top of her head as if they’d been made to go there. “If I fuck up your hundred-dollar hairdo, don’t come crying to me.”

She reached back to take his hand before he landed pin one. “Everything I am, I owe to you and to Cade. I thought you should know that.”

Tuck mumbled under his breath and coughed deep in his throat. “Sit still or I really will screw this up. You’ll walk down the aisle looking like a dandelion.”

“Megan would love me anyway.” Hannah sat still and let him do his thing.

Thank God.

She even let him make it halfway through to the end before she spoke up again. “Tuck?”

Tuck slid a pin in careful as he could. They looked sharp for bobby-whatevers. “Hmph,” he grunted. “Almost done.”

“I know.” He saw her bite her lip in the mirror, smudging that careful lipstick.

“Stop chewing on yourself,” he said, nudging her shoulder. “You’re gonna have to fix that now. At least that one wasn’t my fault.”

“It’s okay. It can be fixed.”

Ah crap
. He knew where she was headed with this. “Don’t,” he said gruffly. “You worry about getting married. Let me take care of myself.”

She almost shook her head but caught herself at the last second. The pin still went in crooked; Tuck swore and tried again. “It was you
and
Cade,” she said. “I was so mad at you when you told me what you’d done, coming here.”

“Yeah, well. Can’t say we didn’t deserve it.”

Hannah hummed softly. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think he would have come if he hadn’t wanted to make things work. And I’m not just talking about for me and Megan.”

“Kinda got that point.” Damn it; he’d dropped that stupid pin. He crouched to sweep the floor for the thing.

“Do you?” She stopped him with one hand on his cheek. “About last night—”

“Don’t make me yell at a bride. That’s gotta be bad luck.”

Minx. She grinned at him, the one she’d learned from Cade. “And about this morning.”

“Oh God.” Tuck searched harder for that hairpin. Anything to keep her from seeing his face tomato red. Women! They loved to see a guy squirm.

And they loved nothing better than to be right, he grumbled to himself. Fuck of it was, they usually were. He sighed and settled back onto his heels. “Might as well make it two for two. Say what you want to say and get it done with.”

“You can fix it.” She pushed his hair back, neatening
him
up. “It can be fixed.”

Tuck looked up at her from his place kneeling at her feet. Now he was the one who felt like a kid again, searching faces high above him for signs of truth or lies. “Why’s it got to be me?”

She smoothed down his hair. “Because that’s who you are,” she said. “That’s who you’ve always been, and you know it.”

“Hannah…”

“Shut up.” She put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. She smelled of jasmine and tea roses. The silk of her gown whispered soft and low when he put his arms around her and they helped each other to their feet.

“What do I do?” he asked, hiding his face against her for once, when she couldn’t see. Even if she was fully aware of it. “Hannah, answer me this time. What am I supposed to do?”

“Don’t ask questions when you already know the answers.” She cradled his head like she was the mother now and he the son. “There’s something I bet you forgot you told me a long, long time ago, when I was fifteen and you were trying to teach me how to drive.”

“What?”

“I remember it like it was yesterday. You looked at me with the devil in your eye, even after the life you’d—we’d all—had, and you told me, ‘don’t worry if you go the wrong way until you learn the roads, girlie. Two wrongs can make a right.’”

Strains of music drifted in from below.

“Oh God. Showtime.” Hannah squeezed his hand too hard, nervous for the first time.

“Stop that,” he scolded, taking her arm. “Now go be happy.”

“Only if you are too.” Her veil whispered around her shoulders. “Try, Tuck. That’s all anyone can ask. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. But I think it will.”

“And you’re that sure because?”

“Because I know you. Dummy. You love for life. Don’t throw that away now.” She shook it off. “Now march. I’ve got a date, and I’m not going to be late.”

What else to do but obey her?

What else, yeah. That was the question, wasn’t it?

* * *

They met at the foot of the servants’ stairs, he and Cade. Tuck had forgotten that’d happen until he saw them both, waiting for him and Hannah.

Tuck knew he should have had eyes only for Megan. She’d tied her hair up just like when she was studying, only…more so, and fancy, down to the combs anchoring the artfully messy twist of her hair. Be damned if she wasn’t dressed to the nines in white tux and tails. She looked ten years old; she looked like a cake topper; she looked like k.d. lang, and she looked like a woman grown. He got a lump in his throat when he took her in, but so help him and
forgive me, Megs
, but one glance at Cade and everything else…

Stopped.

Cade wore the same suit as Tuck, simple gunmetal gray cut to fit without anything fancy about it. Good and plain. He made it look a hell of a lot better than Tuck did.

But that was always the truth. Cade, he took Tuck’s breath away on a daily basis. In bed. Out of it. On his knees in a shower, miles of him stretched out in a bed of rumpled sheets with the smell of sex hanging heavy and rich in the air they shared from mouth to mouth.

He’d loved Cade since he’d met the guy. True facts. One sneak peek down a Catholic home hallway and he’d fallen hard enough he’d never gotten back up.

No matter how the saying went, could a man go home again?

“Babe.” Megan made the first move to reach for her fiancée, but it was Hannah who took charge and did the kissing. Now they were sharing the lipstick, but it didn’t smear. Better than new, because now they matched. Slim girlish arms went around bodies, heedless of silk and satin, and they held each other as if they were the only other people in the world.

Over their heads, Cade met Tuck’s gaze and held them both there. Cade wasn’t without fear. He swallowed, the ripple of his throat visible, but be damned if he didn’t straighten up and stand tall and hold tight.

A glint of bronze showed against Cade’s chest. The key. He’d worn that stupid necklace key instead of a tie. He lifted it to show Tuck, as if Tuck could have missed it.

I miss you
, he said without speaking a word; they hadn’t been parted by more than a few rooms in an old house, but it felt like years and miles, with him left on the other side trying to see the road back.

Yeah
, Tuck said, in the same way.
Tell me what to do?

Cade shook his head.
I would if I could, but I don’t know either
. He steadied himself one more time, and when he mouthed the words this time, Tuck knew—knew—he meant them.
But I do know you love me.

It really was on him now. The last choice. And only minutes now left to make up his mind before the wedding was over. The doors were opening to let the sunlight in, Hannah wound her arm in his to hold him steady, and together they let Cade and Megan go first, arm in arm.

New days. New lives.

No more time now. Hannah tugged at his arm to get him to move out into the bright light of day, down the aisle, to the end—and to the beginning—of everything he’d ever known.

Now or never, Tuck boy. Now or never again. Choose.

You know what you want. Do you have the balls to take it?

Chapter Twenty-five

Tuck took his place at the periphery of the crowd. Didn’t mean to. Just happened that way, a natural drift that took him to the edge. And it wasn’t bad. He could see everything from there.

They were something else, his girls.
Look at them, holding court like a couple of princesses
. Megan in her white tux, the tie stuffed in her pocket with one end trailing loose and her collar open. Hannah’s hair had mostly sprung loose; Megan rolling her eyes and twitching out a single pin that let the rest burst free. Laughter from the crowd milling in languid figure eights around the lawn and the pavilion, wandering where they would but always coming back.

Was it a perfect wedding? Hell no. It was makeshift and cockeyed, Mason and Dixon, borrowed and sixpenced. Offbeat without apologies, refusing to bow its head to tradition, and driving forward with all the strength two tough ladies could muster. Which, if you asked Tuck, was more than a hell of a lot.

Something else, all right, those two. Tuck waved to them above the guests, shaking his head and lifting his glass when they beckoned him closer. Not yet.

They’d earned this hour. Let ’em shine.

Tuck gave one of the posts an experimental shake. Didn’t budge. As good as if they’d planted it in concrete, he’d say, even if Cade would look at him crosswise as if he’d lost his mind. Then he’d remind Cade he never had cared for that parable about sowing seed on bad ground. Grass could shove its way up through poured cement, right? Didn’t matter where you were planted. It only mattered how you grew.

He snorted quietly and sipped at his champagne. Next thing you knew, he’d jump up on the caterer’s table and break out with a speech.

Still. He couldn’t say he disliked his thoughts.

An older guy, maybe in his early sixties, bumped Tuck’s elbow. He saved his champagne but bumped the pavilion post. The man had been headed past, but he stopped short and steadied Tuck. “Are you all right, son?”

“No sweat.” Tuck lifted his glass. “I got what matters, right?”

The man chuckled. “I suppose you do, at that.”

Tuck would have let it pass. No harm no foul. Only…there was something about this guy that made him look twice. Some thread of memory, like he’d met this man before, a long time ago. “You ever been to New York?”

“The city? Once or twice, but not since the 1990s, I’m afraid. Long before our time.”

“Say again?”

The man tapped his temple, above the salt and among the pepper. “It’ll come to you later, son. Don’t worry.”

Wait. That
. Tuck damn near dropped his champagne. “Father Michael?”

“Once,” he said. “Just Michael now.”

“You left St. Pius. I remember they told me.”
Holy hell
. Tuck tried to latch on to the old man’s arm. “Where did you go? Neither Hannah nor Megan could find you. Megan said something about it being easier to track Jason Bourne.”

Michael chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You do that,” Tuck said. Even nearing sixty, Michael looked younger than Tuck remembered him back at the home. Eyes brighter, fewer wrinkles. He fiddled at his side, reaching for where a rosary would have hung off his belt. “You’re not telling, huh?”

“No more than I need to. Oh, I’m not trying to be mysterious, but I like my privacy. I did get an invitation, but I didn’t know until now I’d accept it. More fool me, I suppose.”

Yeah. That, Tuck recalled plenty good enough. “It’s—good to see you,” he said, knowing it was lame, but be damned if he could come up with anything better. He couldn’t take it in. “Why did you come?”

“Mmm.” Michael held a drink he’d barely touched. He swirled the goblet, watching champagne bubbles go around and around. “To see you. The four of you.”

“But—”

“To see how you’d grown up. Whether or not I was right”—Michael hesitated—“about many things.”

Oh. Be damned. Or not. Oh, who knows
? Tuck thought he understood now, maybe, why Michael had left the church.

Michael paid no attention to any internal musings. Never had had time for any bullshit, him. “I’m glad to see I was right after all. It makes…many things…worthy, even for what they cost.”

Tuck swallowed around the knot of his tie choking him. “No lies?”

“None. Peace be unto you, my son.”

“And to you.” The words fell easily from Tuck’s lips as if he’d never lost the habit. Michael nodded once and was gone, melting into the crowd. Tuck caught a glimpse or three of him threading his way through before he lost the man entirely.