Walking Disaster

Abby lightly touched the box with one finger, and then grasped the golden seal with both hands, slowly pulling the lid open. Her eyes widened, and then she slammed the lid shut.

“Travis!” she wailed.

“I knew you’d freak out!” I said, sitting up and cupping my hands over hers.

“Are you insane?”

“I know. I know what you’re thinking, but I had to. It was The One. And I was right! I haven’t seen one since that was as perfect as this one!” I inwardly cringed, hoping she didn’t pick up on the fact that I’d just admitted how often I actually looked at rings.

Her eyes popped open, and then she slowly peeled her hands from the case. Trying again, she pulled open the lid, and then plucked the ring from the slit that held it in place.

“It’s . . . my God, it’s amazing,” she whispered as I took her left hand in mine.

“Can I put it on your finger?” I asked, peering up at her. When she nodded, I pressed my lips together, and then slid the silver band over her knuckle, holding it in place for just a second or two before letting go. “Now it’s amazing.”

We both stared at her hand for a moment. It was finally where it belonged.

“You could have put a down payment on a car for this,” she said quietly, as if she had to whisper in the ring’s presence.

I touched her ring finger to my lips, kissing the skin just ahead of her knuckle. “I’ve imagined what this would look like on your hand a million times. Now that it’s there . . .”

“What?” She smiled, hoping for me to finish.

“I thought I was going to have to sweat five years before I’d feel like this.”

“I wanted it as much as you did. I’ve just got a hell of a poker face,” she said, pressing her lips against mine.

As much as I wanted to undress her until the only thing she had on was my ring, I nestled back against the pillow, and let her rest her body against mine. If there was a way to focus on something other than the horror of that night, we’d managed it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Mr. and Mrs.

ABBY STOOD ON THE CURB, HER HAND HOLDING THE only two fingers I had free. The rest were gripping bags or trying to flag down America.

We had driven the Honda to the airport two days prior, so Shepley had to drop his girlfriend off at her car. America insisted on being the one to pick us up, and everyone knew why. When she pulled up to the curb, she looked straight ahead. She didn’t even get out to help with the bags.

Abby hobbled to the passenger seat and got in, babying the side she’d just inked with my last name.

I tossed the bags in the hatchback, and then pulled on the handle of the backseat. “Uh . . . ,” I said, pulling on it again. “Open the door, Mare.”

“I don’t think I will,” she said, whipping her head around to glare at me.

She pulled forward a bit, and Abby tensed. “Mare, stop.”

America slammed on the brakes, and raised an eyebrow. “You nearly get my best friend killed at one of your stupid fights, then you bring her to Vegas and marry her when I’m out of town, so not only can I not be the maid of honor, but I can’t even witness it?”

I pulled on the handle again. “C’mon, Mare. I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I’m married to the love of my life.”

“The love of your life is a Harley!” America seethed. She pulled forward again.

“Not anymore!” I begged.

“America Mason . . . ,” Abby began. She tried to sound intimidating, but America shot a glare in her direction so severe, it left Abby cowering against the door.

The cars behind us honked, but America was too enraged to pay attention.

“Okay!” I said, holding up one hand. “Okay. What if we uh . . . what if we have another wedding this summer? The dress, the invites, the flowers, everything. You can help her plan it. You can stand next to her, throw her a bachelorette party, whatever you want.”

“It’s not the same!” America growled, but then the tension in her face relaxed a bit. “But it’s a start.” She reached behind her and pulled up the lock.

I yanked on the handle and slid into the seat, careful not to speak again until we reached the apartment.

Shepley was wiping down his Charger when we pulled into the apartment parking lot. “Hey!” He smiled and hugged me first, and then Abby. “Congratulations, you two.”

“Thanks,” Abby said, still feeling uneasy from America’s temper tantrum.

“I guess it’s a good thing America and I were already discussing getting our own place.”

“Oh, you were,” Abby said, cocking her head at her friend. “Looks like we weren’t the only ones making decisions on our own.”

“We were going to talk about it with you,” America said defensively.

“No hurry,” I said. “But I would like some help today getting the rest of Abby’s stuff moved over.”

“Yeah, sure. Brazil just got home. I’ll tell him we need his truck.”

Abby’s eyes darted between the three of us. “Are we going to tell him?”

America couldn’t contain her smug smile. “It’ll be hard to deny with that big-ass rock on your finger.”

I frowned. “You don’t want anyone to know?”

“Well, no, it’s not that. But, we eloped, baby. People are going to freak out.”

“You’re Mrs. Travis Maddox, now. Fuck ’em,” I said without hesitation.

Abby smiled at me, and then looked down at her ring. “That I am. Guess I better represent the family appropriately.”

“Oh, shit,” I said. “We gotta tell Dad.”

Abby’s face turned white. “We do?”

America laughed. “You sure are expecting a lot from her already. Baby steps, Trav, Jesus.”

I sneered at her, still irritated that she wouldn’t let me in the car at the airport.

Abby waited for an answer.

I shrugged. “We don’t have to do it today, but pretty soon, okay? I don’t want him hearing it from anyone else.”

She nodded. “I understand. Let’s just take the weekend and enjoy our first few days as newlyweds without inviting everyone into our marriage just yet.”

I smiled, pulling our luggage from the hatchback of the Honda. “Deal. Except one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Can we spend the first few days looking for a car? I’m pretty sure I promised you a car.”

“Really?” She smiled.

“Pick a color, baby.”

Abby jumped on me again, wrapping her legs and arms around me and covering my face with kisses.

“Oh, stop it, you two,” America said.

Abby dropped to her feet, and America pulled on her wrist. “Let’s go in. I wanna see your tat!”

The girls rushed up the stairs, leaving me and Shepley to the luggage. I helped him with America’s numerous, heavy bags, grabbing mine and Abby’s as well.

We heaved the luggage up the stairs and were grateful that the door had been left open.

Abby was lying on the couch, her jeans unbuttoned and folded over, looking down as America inspected the delicate, black curves along Abby’s skin.

America looked up at Shepley, who was red-faced and sweating. “I’m so glad we’re not crazy, baby.”

“Me, too,” Shepley said. “I hope you wanted these in here, because I’m not taking them back out to the car.”