Chapter 20 Talbot
TALBOT
“If this is how I die, we’re going to go out together.” Misty is groaning on the floor of the small red-and-green-tiled bathroom in the attic the next morning, surrounded by a hoarder-level amount of unlit Christmas-scented candles on the shelves and the vanity.
“This is why you can’t mix cheap wine and hard liquor, Gumdrop.”
She’s soft and pliable under my hands when I reach down to grab her.
“No, don’t take me away,” she groans. “This is my best friend.”
Even though she’s tall, it’s nothing to pick her up and toss her over my shoulder.
“I’m gonna hurl again.”
“No, you’re not. You’re going to eat something. GrandPam cooked breakfast.”
“Barf. She makes dusty biscuits and overcooked ham.”
“I’ll be sure to pass on your compliments.”
“Don’t look at me,” she moans as I set her down in the bathtub and turn on the water.
“The Christmas penguin panties are a nice touch.”
Fascinated, I watch as she’s drenched in the water. The thin T-shirt fabric clings to her chest, outlining her Gumdrops. Her hair is plastered to her head. The Snoopy t-shirt clings to her curves, and the white panties are a sharp relief against the darker shadow of the slit.
It’s because I was supposed to be getting laid in some bored, rich housewife’s mountain lodge right now. I’m sex starved.
“I was told to remind you that you’re getting gang pressed into organizing your sister’s, quote, ‘basic-beige-bitch bachelorette party.’ You can’t plan something exciting? Go to Cabo or, shit, skiing in Switzerland.”
“Brielle’s going to Cabo for her real bachelorette. This is the PR-friendly version,” Misty groans.
“And you’re planning it why?” I hand her the cup of coffee. I even put whipped cream in it.
“Mmm…” The moan seems to course down her whole body. “This is good coffee.” She’s got cream on her nose.
She slurps down another sip then licks the cream off her nose. She misses a spot.
I almost lean in to lick it off. What the hell is wrong with me?
I spray her in the face instead.
“Hey!” she yelps, trying to snatch at the shower wand.
Leaning over the side of the tub, she swipes at me, coffee cup sloshing. Her tits strain against the wet fabric as she leans against the lip of the tub.
Yeah, I really owned myself with that one.
Her hair’s tangled and wet as I push her back down over the side so I don’t have to stare at her chest.
“If you can manage not to drown yourself in the shower, I’ll make you breakfast.”
She makes a face. “I don’t think I can eat.”
I pull out a flask from my jacket and hold it up to her lips. “Sip. Slowly. This is a top secret military hangover cure.”
“Ew, it tastes like cheap vodka.” She coughs.
“Because it is cheap vodka.”
She holds up an arm to cough into her elbow.
That just gives me a full view of the wet-T-shirt contest.
“Gumdrop…”
Misty looks down at her chest and shrieks, clasping her arms around her torso. “Did you get me all wet on purpose?”
“I just have that effect on women.” I tug the chain around her neck. “Please don’t tell me that is what I think it is.”
Misty’s face reddens. She slaps my hand as I pull the engagement ring out from between her boobs. “Don’t judge me.”
“Too late. Judged and sentenced. Your punishment is to be branded as a traitor to your fellow girls. Austen’s engagement ring? Don’t tell me you rescued it from the funeral pyre.”
“I’m not ready to let him go,” Misty whines.
I bite back my frustration. Not your problem.
“You’re lucky I’m not actually dating you.” I lift her up. “Because this isn’t your most attractive moment. Unlike Austen, I’m your fake boyfriend in sickness and in health.”
I set her dripping wet—
No, don’t say that…
—on the vanity counter.
“Welcome to my couch. If I have to get your life story so that I can convince you that your subconscious does, in fact, want your ex spattered all over the sidewalk, I will do that.”
Misty looks like she’s going to hurl.
I give her another swig of vodka.
“Why do you still love him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Misty…”
“He’s… he’s the only guy who ever wanted me. You don’t know what it’s like. You’re really hot, and you don’t care about anything, and you’re not afraid of anyone. Women throw themselves at you.” She sounds bitter.
“You don’t know what it’s like to have my mom as, well, my mom.
Mom is fun, pretty, and somehow looks younger than me.
Or to have my Brielle as my stepsister. Everyone loves her.
She always has friends and boyfriends. With Ryan’s family, her family, she’s the favorite.
Everyone else in my family is better than me—prettier, smarter, better at hockey, more successful.
I’m just… me. Plain. Boring. Austen is a captain of an NHL team.
He’s like, the greatest man ever, and he chose me, and I’m not ready to give up being special. ” She stares down sadly at my boots.
For a second, I want to shake her, tell her that I love her and I think she’s perfect, just to see the smile on her face.
I shake my head and fish the ring from between the wet mounds of her breasts. “This is a fake diamond, you know.”
“I know.” She sounds sad.
I suddenly would do anything, kill anyone, hurt anyone, so that she’s not sad anymore.
“Get dressed,” I order. “You don’t even have to comb that rat’s nest on your head. I think Granny Keagan will give me free pasta for life if the shock of the state of your hair causes GrandPam to keel over dead. I’ll cook you something greasy to soak up all that alcohol.”
I’m trying to doctor up the dry biscuits and frying eggs and fat sausage when Misty staggers downstairs.
I replace her empty coffee cup with a new one. “There’s caramel drizzle on that.”
“You should quit hitmanning and work at the café. We need a new bartender. I think Bert’s stealing sips of rum on the side. He could barely make it home last night, apparently.”
“Sounds like that problem’s going to solve itself pretty soon.”
She looks up apprehensively.
“Don’t worry, we’re alone. Austen is at hockey practice, and unless Rudolph smiles down upon us, he’s going to make it off the ice unscathed.”
“Do I get a refund if an act of god takes him out?” Misty quips then groans. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I just said that. I’m a horrible person. You’re a terrible influence.”
“Embrace your dark side.” I scrape the food onto her plate and pour gravy over the biscuits.
Misty leans over to inhale.
I brush her hair back so it doesn’t get in the food.
“Oh, good.” The back door slams open. “You finally fucked some sense into her, Talbot.”
“He what?” Misty chokes out around a large chunk of gravy-smothered biscuit as Sienna unzips her coat.
“I told my mom this was going to be the last straw, that you had finally evolved to your enlightened-feminist-warrior form and you weren’t going to bend over for Brielle the bitch anymore.”
“Oh my gosh!” Misty jumps up. “I forgot about Brielle’s bachelorette party. I need to go shopping. We need to pick up the alcohol order. I have the cupcakes in the fridge at the café.”
“You”—Sienna grabs a wooden spoon off the counter and brandishes it at me—“are the worst purchase any woman has ever made. Why isn’t Austen six feet under? I want his obituary signed and delivered under my tree by Christmas.”
“You seriously need to learn to play things closer to the vest, Gumdrop.” I sigh.
“Ignore her. I’m the one who cashed out my life savings to pay you.” Misty scarfs down the rest of the food.
“She spent all her savings on this,” Sienna rails. “And she hasn’t gotten shit from you yet.”
“It’s her business what she spends her money on,” I counter.
It’s one thing to take a huge payday from billionaires. Their wallet won’t even feel it. Misty? She didn’t even mean to hire me. I need to talk to Hudson.
“Don’t go anywhere, boyo,” Sienna warns as Misty gulps down her coffee. “A dose of Brielle’s bachelorette party, and she’s going to be begging to get rid of that rat.”
“You better be spraying whipped cream on that dick and licking it off, the way you’re running that man ragged, Misty,” Granny Keagan declares when I follow Misty into Sienna’s parents’ house.
The old woman is taping an oversized cardboard cutout of Austen in his hockey gear to the wall.
Misty exhales sharply when she sees his photo.
Sienna nudges me and mimes shooting a gun.
Granny Keagan’s face lights up, and she pretends to bang the cardboard cutout of Austen on the head with the hammer she’s holding.
“Who the fuck haven’t you told?” I hiss at Misty.
“I haven’t told that many people…” She chews on her lip.
“Can your granny keep her mouth shut?”
GrandPam is staring at us, the corners of her wrinkled mouth turned down. Suspicious.
“Yes. Probably… I think so?”
“Fuck me.”
“Where do you want all these creepy Austen faces?” Lucy dumps a box out on the coffee table.
“In the fire pit,” Sienna tells her.
“We need the plastic Austen signatures for the cupcake toppers,” Misty says, looking through the boxes.
“So, this is an Austen Langley–themed party? Sounds emotionally healthy,” I remark.
“That’s how all WAG bachelorettes are. They’re about becoming Mrs. Whatever Hockey Player.”
“And it’s a privilege and an honor.” Brielle turns up her nose.
“Isn’t that right, Rachel?” Pamela levels her gaze at Misty’s mom.
Misty’s mom looks like she could use a benzo slushie. Her eyes dart to me, then to the army of cardboard Austen heads, then back to Brielle.
“Rachel wouldn’t know.” Misty’s stepsister tosses her hair.
“You should have seen her bachelorette party,” Aunt Kathy sniffs. “She was already pregnant. It’s a mockery of our family’s good name.”
“What good name? You all are upcycled trailer trash.” Granny Keagan hangs up a pin-the-dick-on-the-hockey-player poster.
“Gran, I told you…” Misty rips it down.