Damn Newlyweds
SLADE
Iknow instantly I’ve said the wrong thing.
Lila freezes. Those brown doe eyes going full deer-in-headlights.
“Just an idea,” I say, panicking. “Forget it.”
Fifteen years of playing it cool under pressure and I fold the moment it actually matters.
“Wait.” She takes a breath. “We should talk about this. Just maybe not… here.” She gestures around the storage room.
“Yeah. Right, of course.”
She puts a hand on my chest and offers me a smile. “How’s my lipstick?”
“On my dick.”
I say it without thinking twice. She bursts out laughing and I feel something in my chest relax. No need to panic.
We’re still good.
This marriage is already beyond my wildest dreams, and I’ll enjoy it for as long as it lasts. No attachment, no suffering.
Except I’m already attached and have been for a long time.
And the suffering has already started.
It started with Boone Hutchins’s stupid fucking “I give it a year, maybe less” bullseye and it’s only increased now with her giving me a stricken look and a “let’s talk about it later” after I propose she move with me to Denver.
I may not be the most emotionally aware guy on the planet, but even I know that’s a bad fucking sign.
I try to put it out of my mind as I take her hand and lead her back down the hallway.
After Lila completely obliterated my high brain functions, I’d almost forgotten the shitstorm we’d escaped from.
The blood droplets on the pool table remind me now. So does John Sutton, staring me down with his arms crossed.
“You owe me new felt on that table,” he says.
I take my wallet out and peel off a thousand bucks. He raises an eyebrow but takes it without further argument.
“Sorry for the inconvenience,” I mutter.
The bar has gone back to its normal activity level in our absence. The jukebox is playing. People are doing shots at the bar and laughing and arguing. I stop by the table where my family is sitting, and they go silent as they look at us.
“That was a first for you,” Walker observes, taking a sip of his beer. “Thought you did all your fighting on the ice. Seems your wife brings out your inner guard dog.”
I glower. “That asshole still here?”
“Nah,” Tanner says. “He turned tail real quick. He’s dumb enough to sucker punch an NHL defenseman but ain’t dumb enough to stick around. Lucky for him that your wife talked you off the ledge.”
“Oh, I don’t know how much talking was involved,” Sadie says with a mischievous look, eyes flickering between me and Lila. I glance down and realize my shirt is untucked and the hickeys I left on Lila’s neck are very much visible.
Lila’s face goes red. For some reason she and Josie lock eyes and grin at each other, and then Lila buries her head in my chest, shoulders shuddering with laughter.
“For the record,” Lila says, looking up at me with a smile and pink cheeks, “Slade did most of the talking.”
Walker smirks. “That’s another first for Slade.”
Shaking his head, Tanner slides his empty beer across the table and gestures to the bartender for another round. “Damn newlyweds.”
On the drive back to Rosemont, Lila and I are quiet. My Denver offer sits between us like the elephant in the room.
But there’s no time to address it for a while, because when we walk through the doors of my father’s house, it’s to find him in the mudroom, alongside Cassidy’s mom, Dr. Monroe—the same vet who took care of Lucky when we brought her in that first night.
Both Dad and Dr. Monroe are crouching over Lucky.
Who’s now nursing four tiny puppies.
“Was gonna call you,” my Dad says. “But it was a real quick labor. This lady’s got a flair for the dramatic, let me tell you.”
Lucky looks up at us, clearly tired but seeming pretty happy with herself. Lila makes a soft sound and drops straight to her knees on the mudroom floor beside Lucky.
“Oh my God,” she breathes. “Slade, look at them.”
Four puppies. Tiny and squirming and already nursing, Lucky cleaning them with steady, methodical licks.
“She did beautifully,” Dr. Monroe says. “Textbook labor, all things considered. Four healthy pups, all nursing.” She looks up at me.
“You’ll want to keep them warm. The room should stay around eighty-five degrees for the first week or so.
I can come by tomorrow and do a proper check on mom and babies, make sure everyone’s gaining weight. ”
“Appreciate that,” I say.
Dad smiles at me. “She started getting restless about an hour after you left,” he says. “Doc Monroe happened to still be here, thank God. Appreciate it, Kay. Sorry to work you when you’re supposed to be off-duty.”
“I’ll bill you later, Daryl,” she jokes. “Lucky here will be hungry soon. Nursing takes it out of them. Keep the space quiet for now, minimal handling of the puppies for the first few days.”
“We should leave her here tonight,” I say, looking at Lila.
Lila tears her eyes from the puppies with visible difficulty. “Are you sure? We could set something up at home—”
“She’s already settled,” Dr. Monroe says. “Moving her now would stress her. Best thing is to let her stay put, keep things calm.”
“Okay,” Lila says, clearly reluctant. “But we’re coming back first thing in the morning.”
“Slade, son, bring those breakfast burritos you make,” Dad says. “For us humans.” His eyes narrow as he peers at me. “That a bruise on your jaw?”
“Long story,” I say.
He looks skyward with a sigh. “Sutton’s.” Like that explains everything.
We stay another twenty minutes. Long enough for Lila to name all four puppies in her head, I can tell by the way she’s looking at them.
In the truck she’s quiet, her hands folded in her lap, watching the dark road unspool in the headlights. I put my hand on her knee. Denver sits between us in the silence. Neither of us says anything yet, but she puts her hand over mine, and I take that as something.
The house is quiet when we get home.
Lucky’s dog bed is still in the corner of the living room. Her water bowl. The stuffed hedgehog Lila bought her that she drags around like a security blanket.
I take my wife’s hand and walk her to our bathroom.
The shower runs hot. We strip off the day, the bar smell, the woodsmoke from Rosemont’s fire, the long beautiful mess of Thanksgiving, and step in together without discussion.
I wash her hair.
She lets me, her eyes closed, head tipped back into my hands. I work the shampoo through slowly, fingers against her scalp, and she makes a small sound of contentment.
After she turns around to face me.
Standing on her toes to reach, her fingertips touch carefully around the bruise forming along my jaw.
“Does it hurt?” she asks.
“A little,” I admit.
She presses her lips to the bruise.
We stand under the water for a while after, her cheek against my chest, my arms around her, the shower steaming around us.
My cock stirs as it always does at the feel of her body pressed against mine, but I ignore it.
This moment is about something else. About two people who are closer to each other than anyone else in the world, reaching for comfort in each other after a long day.
There’s nothing fake about this marriage. Not a damn thing.
We dry off and get into bed, her side and my side, except my side has been her side too for weeks now.
Lila says, “Let’s talk about Denver.”
I stare at the ceiling in the dark, dreading the conversation that I already know is not going to go the way I want it.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s talk.”