The Good Boys Club (Mythical Mishaps #2)

44. Tying the Knot

Tying the Knot

Eleven Months Later

Sixteen Years After Meeting at Remy University

Cian

“Okay, okay, okay, I got one,” Mash said, bursting into the room I’d slept in last night. The one that used to belong to his sisters and was now a guest bedroom. Not that it would stay that way for long; we had other plans for the space—big plans.

“What are you doing? Shut your eyes. We’re not supposed to see each other before the mating ceremony,” I called back, slamming one hand over my face and the other held out to ward Mash off.

“I can’t shut my eyes, I’m eight months pregnant. Don’t you know how dangerous that is to baby? I could bump into something and knock the kiddo right out of my bum.”

I sighed, but still didn’t look. We’d spent the night in separate rooms because I liked the idea of keeping everything mysterious until our ceremony. Mash and his gang of werewolves had so many traditions; I wanted to add at least one of my own.

Not that we’d had any customs in my family growing up. We tended to follow the human way of doing things, and in human weddings, grooms would see each other at the aisle for the first time that day.

In hindsight, with my hand over my face, my jacket half on, and the smell of Mash invading my nostrils, it seemed like the stupidest tradition ever.

“I can’t see you in your mating suit. It’s bad luck.” Or whatever.

“Lucky for you, I’m not in my mating suit. No, I’m still in my birthday suit, and I have the best baby-name idea,” Mash said.

“You’re naked? The ceremony is in forty-five minutes.” Gingerly, I removed my fingers from my eyes in case he was lying. He was. Sort of. He had underpants and sliders on and nothing else. His phone was in his hand. Now that we had decent Wi-Fi at Howling Pines, he took it everywhere with him.

“Good morning, songbird of my soul,” he said, when he could finally make eye contact.

“It’s the afternoon,” I corrected. And he still wasn’t dressed. Not that it was easy for him to dress himself with his baby bump, but he was supposed to be getting help. “Where’s Clem?”

“She’s gone to get me some food. It’s very taxing keeping this thing satisfied. Baby is hungry all the time.” He wrapped his hands around the bottom of his belly.

His enormous belly. It stuck out precariously in front of him and bumped into everything. He’d said the reason it was so big was “just a werewolf thing,” though in reality it was because the man didn’t stop eating. Which suited me fine because cooking for him and our unborn child was my love language.

“Okay, what’s this best baby name you’ve concocted? It better not be a repeat of last time.”

“What?” he whinged in faux indignation. “Gravy is a great name. Bangers and Mash and Gravy. The perfect trio.”

“There is no way in hell we’re naming our baby Gravy.”

Mash snort-laughed. “You said baby gravy.”

“See!” Vindicated. “Can you imagine growing up with that?”

He sat on the edge of the mattress, his belly hanging over. “Fine, you may have won the battle, Cian Michael James Barker—soon to be Cassidy—but I’m about to win the war.”

I leant against the back of the chair—didn’t want to sit in case I creased my trousers and shirt—and held out my hand inviting him to continue, though I remained thoroughly sceptical.

So far Mash had suggested the following names . . .

Gravy . . .

Gibbous . . . after the moon phase.

Lucy Stirling . . . the whole name, “we can hyphenate if we need to.”

Seahorses . . . plural, as if one wasn’t bad enough on its own.

Custard . . . “I just really really love custard.”

Lasagna . . . “because duh.”

Persimmon . . . “sounds fancy as fuck.”

Theophilus . . . see also Persimmon.

Cerulean . . . I’d given up listening to his reasoning by this point.

And Duck.

Unsurprisingly, Duck was winning by a landslide.

The baby had been inside Mash for eight months now and I only ever referred to it as Baby. Mash started calling it Bean, because it looked like a kidney bean in the ultrasound scan. But Bean quickly turned into Jelly Bean, which was shortened to Jelly, and then lengthened again to Jelly-Belly, and then utterly bastardised with Jellifer-Bellifer.

Like Jennifer but . . . urgh, it hurt to even think about it.

I massaged my temples, keen to move away from Jellifer.

“You ready?” he asked.

I took a deep breath, reinforced my barricades. “Yup. Hit me.”

“For a girl . . . Wren.”

“What the fu—” I started to say, stopped, backtracked. “Oh . . . it’s . . . nice. Wren. I like it.”

Mash beamed. He drew an invisible line in the air with his finger. “Mash one, Bangers fuck all.”

I raised a brow at him.

“And for a boy . . .” he continued. “Or a girl, actually. I really like it for a girl too . . .”

Ah, okay, here we go.

Mash’s smile was all dog with a bone. “Oaklen.”

I bounced the word around in my head.

“Yes,” I replied. “Yes. It’s perfect. I love it. Oaklen Cassidy.”

“It has an alpha’s aura,” he said. I nodded in agreement. “Come here.”

I moved over to him, let him brush the tear from my cheek—didn’t even realise I was crying—and let him pull me down into a blisteringly tender kiss.

Abruptly, he pulled away. “Anyway, I’m glad you like it, because I already bought baby Oaklen a present.”

“You did?”

He unlocked his phone and angled it towards me, showing me an online receipt for a newborn’s mustard beanie hat. On the brim it had a mock-up design of an embroidered Oaklen.

A sharp lump formed in my throat.

“I ordered two. One with ear holes and one with no ear holes because we don’t know if baby will be more shifter or more werewolf yet. Or maybe somewhere between those two.”

“You’re incredible.” I was unable to resist his magnetism any longer, and I leaned down to steal another kiss.

“Oaklen Jellifer-Bellifer Cassidy,” he said when we broke apart. His tail thudded against the duvet.

“Get your fucking ass in that bedroom and get your suit on!” I scolded.

Mash smothered his grin with his palm. “Fine. Help me up then.” He held his arms out and put literally zero effort into standing as I dragged his massive pregnant butt to his feet.

Mash’s suit was bottle green, and custom made from a gorgeous cashmere wool. He wore a matching tie and waistcoat, which very nearly didn’t do up over his gargantuan baby bump. He had shiny brown leather brogues on, and his sandy-blonde hair was as wayward as ever.

I’d never seen him more beautiful.

“You look handsome,” he said to me after we’d walked down the aisle together and stopped below the floral arch, even though he’d already spied me in my suit when he barged into my room this morning.

We both wore boutonnieres made with eucalyptus and jewel-toned acer leaves—for Mash’s love of trees—and sage and rosemary for my love of cooking. Mash designed all the flower arrangements. This time, Felix and his new best friend Jacob had tied the flowers to the metal structure. I’d given them strict instructions to fix the two bald sunflowers to the centre, which is where they proudly sat. They caught Mash’s eye the moment we came to a stop. His brow furrowed, and a tear rolled down his cheek, but he smiled.

His entire pack had pitched in to help the day go off without a hitch. Zach and Kai took charge of the stationery and invites, Kimmy made mini wooden love spoons as favours for our guests, I baked and decorated the cake, Juno was the sassiest flower girl to have ever graced the planet, and Clem organised all the food.

We would have bangers and mash later—because what else would we eat?—and cider from the local orchards, and Sean’s friends’ band was going to play acoustic “hipster-drivel” covers of all Mash’s favourite songs.

Neither of us wrote our own vows. Mash couldn’t think of anything more eloquent to say than “I really fucking love you,” and I couldn’t condense everything I wanted to tell him into two paragraphs.

We kissed under the arch and were pronounced as “mated,” and everybody cheered and showered us in petals. Only then could I tear my eyes away from my husband and take in the splendour of the well-wishers. His entire pack, plus most of the wolves from the Harvest Fest celebration, his old colleague Sonny and Sonny’s fiancé Claude. Dee-Dee and Riley were there. Riley had turned twenty-five, and the pair had already made their mateship official. Both sported healed bite scars.

Even Giddy was there, looking adorable in his blood-coloured suit. He’d brought a plus one. Some guy who I would’ve assumed to be human if not for his blue skin.

But my eyes fell upon two people standing at the end of the aisle away from the crowds. My smile dropped in an instant.

“Mum, Dad . . . I thought you couldn’t make it?” I said, as I accepted an awkward as fuck air kiss from Mum and a stare down from Dad. “You RSVPed no.”

“We couldn’t miss our only son’s wedding now, could we?” Mum said.

“It’s not a wedding, it’s a mating ceremony,” I replied.

“Of course,” Mum said. She gave a tittering laugh.

I couldn’t work out if she meant it to be condescending, or if I’d just become accustomed to the way Mash and his pack loved. It made my parents “love” feel forced . . . too fake.

“Congratulations,” she said, her mouth still tight.

“So, you did it then. You married the werewolf?” Dad said. A question and yet not a question.

“Mated, not married, and yes.”

“Alright Mr and Mrs Barker?” Mash muscled between us, using his belly as a battering ram. “How’s it going?”

I knew that Mash had heard the conversation and sensed the awkwardness between us. He was doing what he knew best, using charm and humour to diffuse the tension.

Why had my parents even come? We’d only invited them out of obligation. Perhaps some part of me thought maybe they’d see Mash and me together and understand there had never been anything more genuine than our love, and finally accept me for me. After thirty-six years, I should have known better.

“And he’s pregnant,” Dad said in the same clipped tone.

“Oh, Cian, darling,” Mum cried. She wrapped her arms around my neck. “It’s never too late, honey.”

I pushed her off me. “Too late for what? What are you trying to insinuate?”

I’d thought things might be different. Thought time and space would have softened their opinions, but I’d been blinded. Nothing ever changed with them. My blood was heating, jaw grinding.

Mash enveloped my hand in his. He took a bite out of a meatball sandwich. Where the fuck did he get a sandwich from? Had that been in his possession the entire time?

I pursed my lips together to stop my smile. Only Mash being Mash could reverse such an awful, awkward moment.

Dad spoke to Mash, “If you’re looking for child support payments, Liv and I will take care of it. Cian needn’t—”

“It? You didn’t just call our child it, did you?” Mash said. He wasn’t annoyed, but to outsiders like my parents, you could have mistaken his tone for defensive. “The baby has a name. It’s Oaklen.” He paused, possibly for dramatic effect. “Oaklen Jellifer-Bellifer Cassidy.” Then he took another, more aggressive bite from his sub.

I turned my head so I wouldn’t crack and burst out laughing. I failed. Snorted like a pig. Mash winked at me.

“That’s right,” I tried to say. “That’s . . . our . . . baby’s name.”

My parents just looked at each other.

“Carl?” Mum said.

Dad looked at me. “Cian, this is out of hand now. You’re really proposing to bring up a half-were child in the middle of nowhere on a head chef’s salary with a partner . . . named Mash?”

“Sous chef,” I corrected. “I don’t make anywhere near head-chef money, or have the responsibilities it comes with.”

Dad opened his mouth to speak. No sound came out.

“Also, technically, I’m unemployed,” Mash added. “I have no active income, and probably won’t ever.” He followed the crushing statement with a hard glare.

I didn’t stop the smile from splitting my features. “But in answer to your question, yes, I am. Because I love him, and I love it here, and unlike yours, Mash’s love is unconditional. It’s not dependent on me pretending to be someone I’m not.” I took a step closer to them because I didn’t want anyone else overhearing this. “Are you even happy? Because I think you might be searching for happiness in the wrong things.”

“ Ooooh ,” said Mash. “Sick burn.” He low-fived me. “Well, Mr and Mrs Barker, you’re free to stay and enjoy the party. We’re having sausages and mash and peas and gravy for tea. Not the spenny sausages because I don’t like those. We’re having the cheap ones from the local butchers. They’re all eyeballs and assholes, but they taste so good. And if you don’t fancy that, I’ll find someone to escort you from my land. My mate and I will be just over there, should you want to apologise to him.” He turned, made to leave, then faced them again. “Also . . . it’s Dr Mash to you guys.”

And then, before my parents could even formulate a response, he grabbed my hand and marched me to the other side of the dais.

“Giddy!” Mash called out. I didn’t spare a look over my shoulder for my folks. “My favourite little goth-moth dude! How are you?”

Gideon almost shat his pants. He squeaked. “Uh . . . congratulations.”

“Hi Giddy. How’s it going? I love your suit, by the way.”

“Thank you,” he squeaked again.

“So, who’s your big blue boyfriend?” Mash boomed.

“Oh, that’s Jim,” Gideon replied.

I almost choked on thin air. I expected the mothman to ignore Mash’s question, or at the very least deny their dynamic.

“Wait, so, Jim is your boyfriend?” I asked.

At this, the big blue guy came over. He also held a half-munched meatball sandwich. Where the heck was everyone getting these from?

Jim was a little bit shorter than me, had long black hair tied into a topknot, wore a glittering navy suit, and had bright, cerulean skin.

“Hey,” Jim said, extending his non-sandwich hand for me to shake. “Thanks for letting me come, and huge congrats and all that.”

“Giddy . . .” I began.

Gideon bounced his weight between his feet.

“I need details please.”

“Okay, fine,” he said, releasing a breath. “Well, it all started with that lamp. You know the one Mash and I bought from eFae? So it arrived, but it wasn’t the one I’d ordered. It was this weird, gross, dusty oil lamp—”

“Oh, did you just call my lamp gross?” Jim said.

Mash’s jaw fell open. He gaped at me as we both slotted the puzzle pieces together. Lamp, blue-skinned guy, Giddy suddenly having a friend.

“Do you want to tell this story?” Giddy said to Jim.

“Gladly,” Jim said. He took in a deep breath. “So . . .”