Restored (The Walsh Series Book 5) (9 page)

D
ecember

I
blinked at Tiel
, my arms crossed and my jaw tight enough to trigger a muscle spasm. Blinking was all I could do to prevent myself from darting off this treadmill, throwing her over my shoulder, and marching up to the bedroom, but we'd long since agreed that real issues were talked out, not fucked out.

And this was a real issue. I'd been meaning to discuss paying off her loans because I didn't want it shaking out like this. Unfortunately, there wasn't much in the way of conversational time between us right now. I was knee-deep with my restoration in Brookline and supporting Riley through bumps with the Turlan project, and Tiel was trying to put a lid on this semester while burning off the open-handed slap of her family's dismissal.

Plus planning a surprise wedding and honeymoon, which wasn't especially easy on fewer than four weeks of prep time.

We stared at each other for several moments before I conceded. Only part of this was about paying her loans. The rest was tangled up in her struggle to believe that anyone would ever be good to her.

Nodding, I said, "I get that you don't want someone taking care of you because all the people who were supposed to do that turned out to be huge douche-waffles, but I didn't do it to have something to lord over you. I did it because I wanted you to have one less thing to worry about right now, and you're going to be my wife. I don't want
my wife
worrying about things I can solve for her."

"Oh, my God," she cried, her fingers knotting around the dark strands of her hair. "You don't even understand why that's infuriating! I was the one who worked for those degrees, and I was the one paying for them. No one else."

Because you learned a long, long time ago that no one else will take care of you, look after you, treasure you.

"I'm sorry that I've made you upset or uncomfortable, or whatever you're feeling right now. I should have said something before I did it."

"Yes," she said, still hopped up on her indignance. She was fired all the way up, but as she stood there, hipshot and hands fisted, it occurred to me that this issue was suitably talked out. The next stage was fair game. "You should have."

"Right. That way we could have argued on the front end, and eliminated the element of surprise," I said, scratching my jaw as I stepped off the treadmill.

My fingers curled around Tiel's elbow, and I led her across the room to the antique pool table Riley brought home last month.

"But that would have reduced the likelihood of you accusing me of 'wifeing' you. I've come to appreciate your assault on the language," I said, smirking as I gathered the skirt of her dress and pressed her chest to the table.

Tiel jerked up and glared at me over her shoulder. "You can't whip out your dick and make this better. I'm upset right now."

"Oh, sweetheart, I know you're upset," I said, pushing her back down. "You've expressed your aggravation. I've articulated my rationale and apologized. Since there's nothing more for either of us to say, I'm going to lick you until you've calmed down, and
then
I'll whip my dick out. Now shush."

With her red skirt bunched in one hand, I drew her panties down and placed them beside her on the pool table. It was a warning: be good or be gagged. She rolled her eyes at that, but there was no doubt in my mind that she'd enjoy nothing more than some aggressive sex and balled-up panties in her mouth.

I dropped to my knees and flipped her skirt over her waist. "So pretty," I murmured, running my knuckle between her legs. She shivered, and her feet edged further apart, but she remained stiff, as if she thought she could carry on this dispute while I ate her out.

That wasn't within the range of possibilities.

My fingertips ran from the sweet, round globes of her ass down to her ankles, and back up again. Leaning closer, I brought my lips to the soft skin of her inner thighs, kissing and nipping until she sighed, and I could almost hear her body surrendering to me.

"You're delicious," I murmured while I licked across her leg. My teeth closed around the curve of her ass, and I smiled as she squealed.

"You're saying that to soften me up," she said.

"I'm saying that because it's true. I don't know how to function without tasting you every day," I said. My fingers passed over her folds and found her clit, and her sighs stuttered into moans. I stayed there, circling her most sensitive spot and biting her legs, until she was rocking back in search of more.

"Sam," Tiel whispered.

My hand dropped to the hollow of her knee, and I inched her leg up. "So beautiful," I sighed as I kissed her pussy. I was taking my time, savoring and scraping my teeth over her skin, and drowning in each of her pleas and hums.

"Sam," she repeated, this time more urgent, more frantic.

I slipped a finger inside her, then another. "Who takes care of you?" I asked.

I heard balls knocking against each other on the table and clattering into the pockets, and Tiel drawing in a breath. "You do," she said.

My tongue traced her slit until it circled that eager little pearl and she drew in a ragged breath. I sucked—
hard
—until her hips were rolling against the pool table and her fingers were clawing at the green felt, and her arousal painted my face and her walls pulsed around my fingers, and I couldn't think of anything but getting her there, giving her this.

"
Sam
," she cried. "Please."

"Are you sure? You didn't want anything to do with me a few minutes ago," I said. "Tell me you forgive me, Sunshine."

"Yes." Tiel groaned, and I felt the vibration of her words all the way down to her legs. "I can be upset, accept your apology, and want your cock all at once," she said.

I was teasing her now, my tongue only ghosting over her clit, and she was shaking and panting with need.

"You're going to be my wife, and I have to care for and protect my wife. Are you going to let me do that?" I asked. "Please, baby. Stop fighting me. Let me do that for you, Tiel."

"Yes," she cried. "But that doesn't mean I won't freak out about it sometimes. And is this really a conversation we need to have right this minute? Holy hell, Sam, we can talk about this later because I need you to fuck me
now
."

I kept my fingers moving inside her while I attempted to shove down my track pants and boxers with one hand. I was drunk on the taste of her, the promise of sinking into her, the desire to claim her, and couldn't comprehend the noise coming from the stairs.

"There's plenty of room down here for the beer, wine, and barware. I'll show you where to deliver everything. Let's not leave any major prep work for the day of the wedding because I also have catering and floral coming that day. I don't need a traffic jam outside. We're keeping this event clusterfuck-free, boys."

With my pants mid-thigh, my cock in hand, and my tongue on Tiel's clit, I froze.

"That corner over there is good for—Hey Tiel. What's up?"

"Hey, Riley," she said loudly. She shoved her skirt down, blanketing me in her dress. "You're home early. Very early. This isn't a normal time for you to be here, and oh—hi, hello."

"These guys are going to handle the bar," he said. "Since we're getting a couple hundred cases of beer and wine delivered, we need a place to hide it. What's, uh, what's goin' on over there?"

Tiel's foot connected with my side, and I sent a silent apology to my cock before tucking it back into my pants.

"Hey, Riley," I said as I stood and straightened Tiel's dress.

"Hey," he said slowly.

His eyes landed on the panties forgotten on the pool table, and his wide-eyed gaze snapped to mine at the exact moment I ran my hand over my glistening mouth.

Riley turned to the two burly guys beside him—one of them was choking back laughter and the other was staring at the ground, blushing—and told them, "Give me a minute with the bride and groom, would you? I'll meet you upstairs, in the kitchen."

The men lumbered up the stairs, and Riley stared at the floor while he stroked his beard.

"I cannot wait until your damn honeymoon," he said. "And when you get back, we're revisiting the rules in this house. I shouldn't be the only one who has to wear pants at all times."

"Put it on the calendar," Tiel said. "Family meeting to discuss pants."

"Done and done," I added.

"You're both too fucking chipper for me today," Riley said, shaking his head. He pointed to the ceiling. "I'm going to handle the preparations for your wedding, assuming George and Geoff aren't too traumatized."

Tiel chuckled. "I think they'll be fine."

"So if you're going upstairs," I said, "does that mean we have the room for a bit?"

Riley glowered at me. "Go right ahead," he said. "But you should know I've had sex on that table, too."

Tiel and I stared at the table while Riley's feet thundered against the stairs.

"So…” I gestured to the green felt and then shook my head. "We'll continue this conversation upstairs."

"Absolutely."

D
ecember

T
he sun wasn't yet peeking
over the horizon, and as I walked through darkness, frost-covered grass crunched beneath my boots. The early morning chill bit at my face, and I had to force away the uncomfortable knowledge that nothing was safe from the cold here.

Life was easier when I wasn't confronted with death.

My arms were loaded with miniature evergreen trees and gardening supplies, but instead of stopping to set these materials on the ground, I gulped down a knot of emotion as I stared at the tombstone.

The notion that grief faded with time? It was inaccurate. No, grief and loss never faded. Absence never quite abated. It lingered, and sometimes it flared, but it never faded. That was the price we paid for the memories that lived on.

"Hi, Mom," I said.

There were leaves to rake and a rosebush in need of pruning, and those tasks kept me busy while I gathered the rest of my words.

"I'm getting married tonight, Mom," I said while I mounded mulch around the rosebush. "Although it doesn't look much like a wedding. I guess that's the best part: no one knows it's a wedding."

I set the trees on either side of the tombstone, and then rearranged them three times. There was nothing left to do, but the words I wanted to say were stuck.

Nothing about this day was traditional, and it was possible that we'd unintentionally veered hard into anti-wedding territory. Every time there was a discussion of wedding details, "fuck tradition" was the battle cry and chorus, and that prevailed through it all.

Save for one small exception: I hadn't seen Tiel since last night.

We'd gone to Sligo's, where Ellie's band put on a last-minute performance. All it took was one Instagram post hinting at their location, and the venue was packed beyond capacity. I'd known that her band was thriving, but the turnout was overwhelming. Ellie's girlfriend, Alexandra, only chuckled at my shock and explained their European shows were selling out
arenas
.

The music continued late into the evening, and when the venue finally kicked us out, we made our way to the South Street Diner where Ellie and Tiel took turns sharing wedding performance horror stories.

And Tiel said my sense of humor was dark.

It started with Tiel describing a wedding where she and Ellie performed in a string quartet, but the groom came down with a case of cold feet—Ellie, Alexandra, and the six band dudes all turned pointed glares in my direction at that—and they were forced to play for two hours while the not-so-happy couple argued in the rear of the chapel.

And the stories only got worse—can't-look-away worse—from there. The hung-over best man who puked on the groom's back. The couple that wanted "Pour Some Sugar On Me" as their recessional song, and all the others who requested the
Star Wars
theme song. The springer spaniel ring bearer who plowed down the beachside aisle, took out the minister, and went chasing after a flock of seagulls. The groom's ex-girlfriend who crashed the ceremony to object, and was promptly heckled by the groom's family. The bride who said yes, then no, then yes again.

It was almost cathartic, dredging up the best of the worst from their "two broke band geeks" period, and laughing them away because it alleviated the pressure of this day. As non-traditional as we wanted this wedding to be, it was still a
wedding
, and one fraught with stressors. Cobbling together an event with less than four weeks of prep time. The element of surprise. Tiel's family—or lack thereof. Turning our home into a youth hostel.

When we returned to the firehouse, pancake-drunk and exhausted, Ellie was quick to yank Tiel away from me.

"I'm minding your purity tonight," Ellie said to Tiel.

Tiel wrapped Ellie in a tight embrace, their cheeks pressed together and their eyes squeezed shut. "There's not much left to mind," Tiel said. "The prepster's taken it
all
."

"Get your freckled ass over here, prepster." Ellie reached for me, and then we had Tiel giggling and sandwiched between us. "This should be wrong on every level, but somehow it isn't."

"Hey!" Riley called from the stairs. He bounded down the steps in nothing more than his loose Batman pajama pants and tackled us. "I want the snuggles, too."

"Okay,
now
it's wrong," Ellie murmured from somewhere under Riley's arm. "Dude. I'm in your armpit. That's not okay."

"What are you talking about?" Riley asked, tightening his hold on us. "I'm delightful."

"It's still an armpit," Ellie cried as she wiggled free. She pointed to his pajamas, and the dick peeking out of the front opening. "I knew I felt something on my leg. Put that thing away."

"Jesus, Riley," I said. "Can you keep it in your pants for a bit?"

He shuffled his bottoms back into order, and jerked his shoulder. "He's friendly. Can't blame him for wanting to say hi."

Ellie then pulled Tiel into the recently constructed rooms we'd assigned her and promised to look after the bride-to-be until the ceremony.

I'd forgotten how to sleep alone. I couldn't make sense of the bed without Tiel nestled beside me, and it felt too big, too empty. Nothing was right, and I must have resembled an anxious old dog, circling and circling in search of comfort until surrendering to inadequate fits of restlessness and dreamless sleep.

The last time I'd awoken, bolting up with a strangled grunt and blinking at our room until I remembered Tiel was in Ellie's care, I gave up on the endeavor altogether. That was when I decided to go to the cemetery.

The evergreens didn't look right, and I adjusted them again. "I've been thinking about this a lot," I started, "and I hate that you're not here, and you won't watch me marry the most amazing woman tonight. I hate that you don't know Tiel. I hate that I'm standing here, talking to grass and stone and forcing myself to believe you can hear me because I
need
you to hear me today. I hate that you left before I was ready for you to go."

My gaze cut to the side, in the direction I worked damned hard to avoid every time I was here. It was a game that my mind played: if I didn't see it, I didn't have to think about it.

About
him
.

Angus.

My father.

No amount of wilderness therapy could erase the mark he'd made on my life, but staring at his grave didn't send my anger into overdrive anymore. His was a basic tombstone, adorned with nothing more than his name and the years of his life, and it simply
was
. It didn't stand as a monument to my misery.

I turned back to my mother. "The last thing you said to me was that I'd be all right." I swallowed the tension swelling in my chest. "And I didn't believe that until now. Not really. I didn't understand how that could be possible, but I think I've figured it out now. I think I know that I am. That I'm all right."

"
T
he catering is here
and set up, and
delicious
," Riley said around the Sharpie cap between his teeth. "I've had a bite of everything, and I approve. Okay, yes, I ate an entire tray of corndogs but they said they brought extra."

He was checking items off his list while I paced in the hall. The house was filling with our friends and family, and the band was playing a song that I recognized from Tiel's incessant humming but could never name.

"What's the story with that cake again?"

"It's not a cake," I said. "It's a watermelon carved to look like a pink layer cake with meringue frosting, with twelve tiers of French macaroons on top of it."

"Right. I'll let you explain that to people," he murmured. "My guy from Newport has the two bars prepped, and three bartenders at each. Even for this crowd, that should be enough. And Gigi's almost done with the little alpine and manzanita trees, and—"

I stopped short and whirled around. "Magnolia Gigi? Tell me Magnolia Gigi is
not
here."

He glanced up, and if his impatient glare wasn't enough, his arched eyebrow and hipshot stance told me how much he appreciated my question.

"She's not staying," he snapped. "I told her she should, but she said she didn't want to upset you or Tiel."

"Oh, thank God," I said, scrubbing a hand over my face.

"You need to make that shit right," he said. "She didn't do anything wrong. You're the asshole in this situation."

"Great. Of course. I'll deal with that when it's not my wedding day, okay?" Riley offered a flippant shrug in response. "Would you care to explain to my wife-to-be that instead of talking her off whichever ledge she's climbed out on today, I'm going to smooth things over with Roof Garden Girl?
Really
? I'll sort this out with Magnolia after my honeymoon, but right now? No. No, Tiel is the only woman I'm worrying about today."

"It's fine," Riley murmured. "I told her to charge you double anyway."

"Perfect," I said. "Are there any other women who I've wronged or crises to address, or can I get back to convincing Tiel to go through with this?"

He glared at me again. "Like I was saying, the little trees are almost done and all the lights are strung. I checked in with Ellie when she and the band were setting up, and she said everything is fine on that front. I asked her if they'd play some Kendrick Lamar, or some of Drake's sexy stuff, but she said no."

"I'm sure it will be great. They're pretty good at what they do," I said, turning on my heel to resume pacing. "Is the officiant here?"

Riley paged through his notebook, nodding. "Tiel's friend? Yeah, he's unique. He's wearing a feather boa. What are the odds he's a pimp?"

I shook out my cuffs and glanced back at him. "He's a drum major. There's a difference."

"I'm gonna have to trust you on that, boss," Riley said. He flipped through the pages and looked up, gesturing to his list as I returned from the far end of the hall. "I think we're good. We have food and drink, some flowers and trees, a drum major pimp, a plaid-shirts-and-beards band, and the people. We're good."

I patted my chest, confirming—again—that I had the rings. "Is Erin here yet?"

"Oh, yeah, Rogue's on her way. She's been texting me since she landed three hours ago. Matt and Miss Honey are delivering that package, which reminds me," he said, and then scribbled a note. "She needs supervision. Maybe the bar boys can handle her. All six of them."

Bringing my fingers to my forehead, I groaned. Erin usually went by the nickname Little Mermaid—which she loathed—though Riley stayed strong with Rogue. In this situation, he was probably right. I'd begged her to show up, but I also knew the odds of her getting wild were high.

"Jesus, fuck. Please don't let her start anything. No fiascos. No throw-downs. Nothing," I said. "Didn't she hang out with Nick last summer? At Matt's wedding? He's good when we give him tasks. Let's put him in charge of Erin."

"Nick's my boy, but…" Riley scowled around the pen cap. "I wouldn't trust him with a ham sandwich."

"I don't know what the hell that means, Riley."

"Nothing. Stop worrying. Worst case scenario, I'll lock her in Tiel's studio for the night. She's like ninety pounds. I can take her," he said. He pulled a white square of fabric from his back pocket and handed it to me. "I borrowed it from Matt. It's the one he had when he got married. I know this whole thing is unique, but we should have
some
tradition."

I turned the delicate handkerchief over, my thumb brushing the wrinkled edges and embroidery.

"It's Mom's," Riley added. "I thought you might want it. It's okay if you don't."

"Yes— Right— Yeah— I know," I said. "Thank you. I…Of course I want it." Emotion balled in my throat, and I swallowed against it. "Thank you for doing that."

"No sweat." He reached for my bowtie, no doubt skewing the perfect symmetry I'd achieved, but I didn't mind. "Got the rings?" he asked.

"In my pocket," I said.

Riley nodded, and tugged my lapels. "Good. I'll wrangle the natives. You get the bride. We'll have a wedding."

He stepped around me and started down the stairs. "Ri," I called. "Thank you for all of this."

"Not a problem," he said.

"And Riley?" I called. "What the fuck are you wearing? And when was the last time you had a haircut? Or shaved?"

He glanced down at the kilt and shrugged. "I lost a bet," he said, leaning toward me with a smirk. "But I think I actually won, because this thing is awesome. My balls are ecstatic. I would legit wear it every day, and chicks dig beards. Man-buns, too."

I shook my head with a sigh. He had the Jason Momoa-Brock O'Hurn man-bun going, which was significantly better than the stubby ones I'd seen on many a pretentious asshole in recent history. And his junk wasn't falling out of his trousers, and that was worth celebrating.

"I don't even know how to respond to that." Eyeing the crowd again, I said, "Shannon just walked in with SEAL Team Six. Go distract her."

She was going to wring my fucking neck when she realized this was my wedding, and she'd been enlisted as neither consultant nor coordinator.

"Roger that," he said. "And please note, we're calling him Captain America."

"Fantastic," I muttered. "I need a goddamn flowchart to keep up with this shit."

I knocked on the heavy barn door that separated our bedroom from the surrounding area, listening for any sounds of protest. I didn't know how far she wanted to take this whole 'not seeing the bride' thing.

Tiel hadn't taken the traditional route when it came to anything wedding-related, but it wasn't going to shock me if she pulled out some last-minute request or superstition. She'd been oscillating between hearty bouts of self-confidence and hysterical dips into emotional quicksand since our trip to Jersey, and part of me expected
something
unexpected in order to get married tonight.

If that was even happening.

It wasn't a thought that owned much credence, but there were split-seconds where I read Tiel's anxiety as doubt. But when I pulled back and examined it all with a skeptical eye, I knew it was the toll this month had taken on her. She'd been through a lot with her family, was still contending with a not-so-great fit in academia, and made a point of choking down some foul tea each morning at the off-chance it helped us get pregnant.