55. Cody
Cody
The following day
I t’d be easy to think that Pigeon Creek was quiet and boring, especially after serving overseas, but life on the Seven Cs is rarely dull.
The passage of time registers, what with Callan conscripting Tee into planning a wedding.
The kid is too exacting for his own good, and this wedding coordinating business—I want to feed Cole a knuckle sandwich for even suggesting it.
If Callan doesn’t have a peptic ulcer by now, I’ll toss my DSLR into the lake.
Last night, Tee couldn’t even watch a game with me because the florist caught a bug and canceled on us last minute and they had to fix the arbor.
For all that Callan’s living on a diet of Tums, he’s done a great job. There’s shit I’d never have noticed if Tee hadn’t complained about having to do it—small favor bags that have silver charms of both figure and hockey skates dangling from them to a post-ceremony dessert bar that’s overflowing with American and Canadian treats beloved by the couple.
The table decor he designed personally and had some local glassblower create vases for the flowers they put in them—each one spells out a message Tee told me he refuses to share with her.
He designed a custom monogram for them, had Zee bake sugar cookies shaped like pucks with their wedding date in frosting, and even created these weird cocktail napkins with printed fun facts about the bride and groom.
Tee said that’s nothing to the crazy display he’s planned for afterward.
Obviously, there are a bunch of hockey players in attendance. The most amazing part is that my hockey-mad girlfriend mostly has her eyes on me.
The wedding’s sweet and all that, but my focus is on her. She’s seated beside the arbor that caused her and Callan such a headache.
She told me that playing the cello is her way of not falling asleep during the whole thing because she can play this music with her eyes closed and mid-dream.
I love watching her play. She’s so confident, and all that energy is contained but it seeps into her music, making each note magical.
I don’t think she even knows it’s happening, but I do.
When the ceremony begins in earnest, her wandering eye finds mine.
But her expression shifts.
The blank face of boredom turns into a frown.
She doesn’t look away from me. If anything, it’s like she can’t break the link.
The emotions it triggers in me have my heart rate soaring.
I want to run to her side, toss the cello into the water, then carry her off to our lake and make love to her on the shore.
That is how intimate the look she’s sending me is. But her microexpressions fill me with unease.
The only reason I know my brother’s married is because she plays “Summertime,” a request she’d complained about to me, proving that she’s giving the whole thing more attention than I am.
As Etta James drifts into a Christy MacFarlane original, I don’t think anyone notices, but I do. When people cheer the bride and groom, they don’t know they’re hearing something unique.
I shoot her a smile, one filled with pride for her talent and love—always love.
When Callan pops up out of nowhere and hisses something in her ear, she jumps in surprise and that shatters our sustained eye contact.
Damn cockblocker.
Whatever he says, she ignores because she carries on with her composition.
Even adds a flourish to the tune that’s a silent ‘fuck you.’
It’s received, too, because Callan grunts something at her then stomps off, adjusting his earpiece and mic that are hooked up to a ‘control room’ in the house where the servers are waiting on his orders.
Yes, he’s made this wedding mission impossible.
We’re just missing Tom Cruise on the guest list.
I amble over to the shore when I see Cole and Mia jump into the damn lake. Laughing with the rest of the crowd, I tip my head back at the sound of drones and enjoy Callan’s pièce de resistance in the air.
A gazillion drones form into myriad shapes as guests woot and clap at a display which contributed even more to the deterioration of his stomach lining.
“Well done, Cal,” I congratulate when he approaches me. “How many Tums have you had today?”
“Too many,” he grumbles, but he’s beaming with delight as I drag him into a hug. “The buses have started taking people home if you’re ready to leave.”
“It’s time for pictures now, right?”
“Yup, but they’re only doing a couple different shots.”
“Huh. Weird.”
“Not really. Mia doesn’t exactly have much family,” he points out, “and Cole has too many. Still, it’s their choice.”
“True.”
I turn back to find Tee watching me and my unease returns.
She’s not outright scowling, but she seems worried.
Jesus, did this wedding make her nervous or something?
Did it make her think…
Damn, is she thinking she wouldn’t want any of this with me?
My mind wouldn’t have gone there, but the last time I saw that look, she was hijacking my truck!
“How long until Tee leaves?” I mutter hoarsely.
“She’s supposed to stick around until the last of the guests have gone. Why?”
“No reason.”
Accepting that I won’t be able to talk to her yet, I jump on the bus and land in the middle of that awkward part of the day where it’s too soon for food but there are hors d’oeuvres and desserts. I grab a cookie and linger around the driveway, waiting for her to show up.
When she finally does, I swoop in front of her and snag the cello case from her hands. “Penny for ‘em?”
I tried to keep my tone light, but it sinks.
“My thoughts?” She huffs out a laugh. “Not sure they’re worth that much.”
“Not like you to sell yourself short,” I tease.
She appears to be on the brink of saying something. Then she bites it back. And her eyes catch mine. And I’m falling. Into them. Into her.
The love I feel for her settles inside me like this massive weight I don’t know how I lived without.
But that fucking expression makes an appearance, and I can’t stop myself from cupping her cheek. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I’m scared.”
She’s fucking scared?
Of what?!
“You’re scared?” I repeat, head whipping to the left and the right. Hell, it goes up and down too. “Why? What have you seen?” I don’t notice anything amiss. Everything appears normal. As normal as anything can be on the ranch.
“No, Cody.” She tugs on my hand. “I-I’m scared. Of this.”
“This?” My eyes bug. “Us, you mean?”
“No, but I?—”
My brow puckers. “I scare you?”
“No. I’m scared of things I’ve never been scared of before. I have so many feelings inside me that I want to express but I can’t. They’re taking up all my air. I can’t—it’s so much. Too much. I’m?—”
“You know I feel the same way,” I attempt to reassure her, but my shoulders sag with relief.
That I might have scared her makes me feel sick.
She presses a hand to her stomach, which has my eyes bugging for the second time in as many minutes.
Is she pregnant? And nervous to tell me? Oh, fuck. Is that all this is? God, I?—
“This is so big, Cody. It’s taking over me and I...”
“It’s bound to, sweetheart?—”
“Tee! Can you come and play for us?” The urge to choke my brother overtakes me, but he doesn’t even notice he broke into our conversation. “The stupid band that I stupidly hired to fill in this stupid moment of time between the stupid pictures and the stupid meal is late.”
“Sure.” When I frown at her and make to snag ahold of her hand, she steps back and avoids my touch. “We can talk later.”
“Are you feeling okay?” I demand, not about to let her leave as I point to her stomach.
“Of course.” Her confusion is clear.
So, wait, she isn’t pregnant?
She snatches the cello case from my hold, and I study that goddamn expression until the reality hits.
She is scared to tell me something.
If she isn’t pregnant then…
I grab her wrist with my hand, but all I can get out is: “This isn’t goodbye, Tee.”
“What?!”
Callan grumbles, “Goodbye? She lives under the same damn roof, Cody. You two can bitch at one another later. Now, come on, Tee. People are bored, and if they get bored, I’ll have to talk to them. You know I hate it when there’s an awkward silence?—”
I ignore him when Tee overrides the conversation with: “Cody, I’ve never said goodbye to you.”