Chapter 10 All A Moot Point
ALL A MOOT POINT
RYDER
I’ve gotten myself into a lot of trouble in my life, so one might think that this sinking, nauseous feeling whirring around in my gut might be a tad dramatic. Or familiar at the very least.
I mean, I spent my fair share of time in the principal’s office in school.
Mom has given me an endless number of verbal smackdowns that ended in month-long groundings as a teen.
I’ve even had to sit in front of The International Games Committee and explain my role in an ill-thought-out condom bonfire in Sochi to a bunch of washed up, bitter, stuffed shirt ex-athletes who frankly didn’t care if I lived or died, let alone ever snowboarded professionally again.
The worst of it was after Mabel’s birthday in Cancun, when I allowed myself to be photographed nude in the aftermath of what I’m sure was a very fun beach sex party.
After that night, I had to face down the IGC, Trina, my parents, Mabel’s parents, and of course, Mabel herself.
It’s a miracle I made it out of that one alive.
But the difference is that the Cancun incident that landed me sitting in front of the Council of Elders was calculated. Planned. Controlled. A small piece of a much larger puzzle. I had one singular goal in mind.
Keep Mabel out of the line of fire.
And now, because of my stupid ideas and a whole lot of tequila, she’s laying here on the ground next to me, riddled with bullets all the same.
My head is reeling and my stomach is threatening to spill its contents all over the maroon carpet of this hotel suite as Trina paces back and forth in front of us where we sit on the edge of the bed.
Mabel’s knees are shaking so violently, it feels like the earth is quaking beneath us.
I place my hand on her knee, only half covered by the terrycloth robe I helped her put on in the bathroom.
She doesn’t swat me away, and on any other occasion, I’d consider that the win of a lifetime.
But this scared, amenable version of Mabel sitting next to me is almost unbearable.
Teasing her to get her attention is one thing, but knowing I caused the turmoil she’s suffering through is making my heart ache painfully in my chest.
Mabel sniffles, and I turn to see her wiping her nose with the sleeve of her robe. And there, nestled on her left ring finger and catching the light of the obnoxious overhead chandelier is a simple gold band. A quick glance shows its twin on my ring finger, and a puff of breath escapes my lips.
Mabel and I got married last night. We exchanged vows; we exchanged rings.
The coordinator at the Little White Chapel tried to give her a bouquet of red roses, but I’d insisted on white lilies because I know they’re her favorite.
The real Elvis crooned the tune Can’t Help Falling In Love through static-y old speakers while a not-at-all-convincing impersonator stood between us at the altar.
Mabel Quinn is my wife.
My wife.
It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of, and possibly the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
“I just cannot believe you two. Your parents taught you better than this. I taught you better than this. Hell, I taught your parents better than this. Everything I’ve done for you two.
Your careers, the sponsorships, the shit I’ve swept under the rug, Ryder.
All of that, and then the two of you decide to drink an elephant’s bodyweight in tequila and get fucking married? What did I do to deserve this?”
The ice in Trina’s voice is scathing, and if I didn’t already know that this was a fuck-up unlike anything I’ve pulled in the past, I do now.
“Trina, we—”
“I don’t want to hear it.” Trina cuts Mabel off with a hand in the air, her razor-sharp claws painted red just adding to the menacing air of it all.
“No excuses, no bullshit. We’re moving on to the fix-it phase.
I have very little time to spin this, so the two of you need to hush up and do as I say. ”
“There’s no need for a spin, Trina. We made a mistake, but we’re going to take care of it.
We’re going to get dressed, put our wigs back on and head down to the courthouse.
We’ll get this thing annulled, we’ll show up fashionably late to cheer the dads on at the golf course, and then we’ll all be on our way to Milan. No harm, no foul.”
I squeeze Mabel’s knee, and even though my brain is still swimming in hangover molasses, there is no missing the way she leans just half a millimeter closer at this moment.
She smells like apples—well, she actually smells like stale liquor, but the apple scent is there, too—and I want to press my nose to her hair.
But Mom is pressing two fingers to her temples and rubbing small circles, so it probably isn’t the time to start sniffing my wife.
“You’re going to get an annulment? Just like that?” Mom says in that low, hissing tone she used to instill fear in me as a child.
“I mean, yeah?” I say, though it sounds more like a question.
“We haven’t had time to look into the logistics, what with all the banging down the door and puking nonsense, but I’ve seen plenty of accidentally married in Vegas movies.
I’m pretty sure they let you get a marriage annulled if you can prove that one or both parties were too drunk to consent.
And trust me, we were both too drunk. I can’t speak for Mabel, but I probably still couldn’t pass a breathalyzer test. And we were wearing wigs and giving everyone fake names last night.
Who’s to say we even signed the certificate with our real names? This is probably all a moot point.”
The room goes eerily silent as Mom, Melanie, and Trina all stare at me with blank expressions.
“Ryder,” Trina says cooly. “How do you think the three of us knew to find you and Mabel naked in bed this morning, hungover and married?”
I comb through my brain, searching for the right answer.
“A woman’s intuition?” I guess, and Trina rolls her eyes so far back in her head, I’m sure she could see out the window behind her if her skull and the curtains weren’t in the way.
She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she pulls a phone out of the pocket of her wide-leg trousers, and after a second of swiping, she holds the screen up for Mabel and me to see.
The video is shaky, loud, and completely unsteady, but it only takes a second for everything to come into focus.
Me and Mabel are on the tiny screen, the violet contacts she purchased earlier in the evening missing and her brilliant browns glazed over from the liquor and a little bloodshot.
I’ve got one arm slung over Mabel’s shoulder, our two wigs bunched up like forgotten trash in my fist, and my other arm is extended to hold the camera.
Mabel has two arms wrapped around my waist as she plants sloppy kisses to my neck.
I’m a little ashamed to say that my dick perks up at the sight, but he quickly deflates when on-screen Ryder opens his mouth.
“Can you believe this shit? We got married! Mabel Quinn is my wife. I finally locked down the girl of my dreams. The hottest woman in the mother fucking world is my mother fucking wife! Can you believe that? We’re fucking married, Marshmallow! Married!”
Screen Mabel grabs Screen Ryder’s chin and pulls his lips to hers, and as Screen Ryder drops the phone in favor of taking Screen Mabel in his arms, Real Life Ryder’s stomach drops out of his ass.
Mabel and I kissed. We kissed a lot, if the flashes of memories flickering in my mind serve me right. Mabel Scout Quinn kissed me, enthusiastically and on purpose, and I fucking missed it.
Oh god, I think it’s my turn to be sick.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” Mabel grumbles into her hands.
“Oh fuck is right. Not only did you two get shit-your-pants drunk, you got married and you livestreamed the goddamn afterparty!”
Trina slams a manicured hand down on the table, and Mabel and I both wince, the sound rattling my skull.
“This is all my fault,” I mutter to no one.
I just had to loop Mabel in on my poker plans.
I had to fall for her beautiful, sad eyes when she was moping about being photographed.
I had to let her keep drinking well after we’d both reached our limit, and even though I can’t remember it, if I had to venture a guess, I’d say walking down the aisle was my brilliant idea, too.
“Okay. Okay. Okay. This is fine. It’s fine. It’s all good. It’s all gravy, baby,” Mabel babbles. “Coffee. We need coffee. Let’s make some coffee, and then we can fix this. Quickly, discreetly, and hopefully while maintaining what’s left of my dignity. We can fix this right Mom?”
I watch as Melanie and my mom exchange words without speaking, conveying something I can’t decipher to each other before turning their attention back to Mabel and me. Trina crosses her arms over her chest.
“Yes, Mabel. We can fix this. But there won’t be anything quick or discreet about it.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my confidence betrayed by the rasp in my voice.
“I mean, say hello to your wife, Ryder. You and Mabel are going to stay married. I’ve already drafted a press release stating that the two of you have been secretly dating for a year, and with the excitement of the impending Games and the seduction of Vegas, you decided to elope.
You will attend today’s golf tournament and support your fathers as husband and wife.
Ryder, you’re moving into Mabel’s place.
I’ve got my guys packing your sad bachelor pad up as we speak.
You’ll attend all public outings I arrange, and you’ll smile like you love each other.
And when we all fly to Milan, we’ll be presenting a united front.
The Finchs, the Quinns, and their darling children.
American athletic royalty now joined by marriage.
The great prophecy of Melanie’s daughter and Ramona’s son is fulfilled at last.”
“No…”
“Yes, Mabel. The International Games Committee does not take scandals lightly, and I’m not risking either of you losing your place on Team USA Ryder has been on thin ice since the damn Sochi fire in 2014 and Mabel, you know as well as I do that the unfortunate circumstances of you being a successful woman means that the powers that be are foaming at the mouth for a reason to tear you down. We are not going to give them one.”
If not for the increasing sound of Mabel’s heavy breathing beside me, I might be able to hear a pin drop in the room.
“I have to stay married to him?”
“You have to stay married to him.”
“Him? I have to stay married to him?” Mabel points at me, as if there could be any confusion as to the ‘him’ being referred to.
“Is there an echo in here?” Trina throws her arms up in exasperation.
“But…but…why the hell does he have to move in with me? My apartment isn’t boy-friendly. It’s a girl’s apartment. It’s pretty and pink, and it’s not meant to house a boy. It’s not a suitable home for a penis!”
Of all the things to be blindsided by, a penis in her pink apartment is not the hill I would have thought Mabel capable of dying on.
“Because we’ve only got very little time until we fly to Milan, and I’m not taking any chances with either of you being photographed outside of separate homes. Or with other people. Living together will ensure that you both keep it in your pants.”
Trina gives me a pointed, accusatory look. Which, like, fair? But ouch.
“You want us to fake a marriage? Mom, you can’t make me do this.”
Melanie only tilts her head in response.
“Mom!” Mabel cries out. “You can’t do this. You can’t make me live with Ryder. You can’t make me stay married to him. We don’t even like each other. This is so fucking unfair.”
Woof. Talk about pouring salt in the wound.
I guess whatever headway we made in our weird little relationship last night was flushed down the toilet with those final tequila shots before walking down the aisle.
I haven’t heard Mabel’s voice sound so whiny and bratty since we were teenagers on a family trip to Europe and our parents made us pose for pictures in front of all the iconic landmarks.
God, she’s always been so adorably annoying.
Trina starts tapping her phone, not bothering to look up at Mabel as she delivers her final blow.
“You should have thought about that before you drank all the liquor in Las Vegas and asked an aging Elvis impersonator to legally bind you to him in the middle of the night. There, the press release is sent. I’ll give you and your husband time to get ready.”
With that, Trina and the moms retreat from the room, and I have just enough time to grab a fistful of Mabel’s knotty hair to hold it out of her face as she turns and pukes yet again, this time on the carpet.