Chapter 24
GAGE
I’ve got too much energy in my body and no way to get it out. It’s been building for forty- five long days—the weeks I’ve had to wait for my marriage to be public—and now that we’re down to the last few hours before the wedding, it’s beginning to feel like pressure. Caged and coiled.
I’m a fucking hostage to these hours because this isn’t the day I get a wife. It’s the day I can finally stop pretending she’s not already mine, and that’s all I’ve wanted since the actual day I made her my wife.
Luna and Sarah are with Amelia now. I spent the morning with them.
We played board games with their uncles, and I answered approximately one thousand questions about dresses and rings and weddings and honeymoons and whether Luna will get to hold a real microphone during the reception.
Now that I’m alone, the silence in this cottage is pressing in.
I change into gray joggers and a black T-shirt before sitting on the edge of the bed and lacing up my sneakers. A run will help get me through the afternoon.
I’m almost finished tying the second lace when the door swings open without a knock. Callan and Ethan walk in like they own the damn place.
Ethan scans my outfit and smirks. “Holy shit. Never thought I’d see the day.”
I eye him. “What day?”
He jerks his chin at me. “The one where you get pre-wedding jitters.”
Callan laughs. “You’re suited up in running gear hours before you’re supposed to say ‘I do.’ This is either cold feet or a really elaborate escape plan.” He cocks his head. “Are we talking runaway groom here?”
“It’s called having energy to burn,” I mutter, finishing the knot on my lace.
“Right,” Ethan says, exchanging a look with Callan. “Because you’ve always been the high-strung, nervous type.”
“I’d wager a bet he’s been googling ‘is it normal to panic before your wedding,’” Callan says, his smirk matching Ethan’s.
“What kind of bet are we talking here?” Ethan says. “A grand? Ten? Your lake house? That vintage—”
“I’m not panicking.” I stand.
“Yeah,” Ethan says. “You’re just going for a casual jog. In the middle of the day. Hours before you get married. Totally normal behavior for a man who’s definitely not panicking.”
I glance between them. “You two done?”
“Not even close,” Callan says. “Come on, Gage. It’s okay to admit this is a big deal. You’re allowed to be nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
Ethan studies me. “You know what? I believe you. You’re not nervous about marrying Amelia.” He pauses, and his grin spreads wider. “You’re nervous about everyone watching you have feelings in public.”
“I’m going for a run,” I say flatly. “Not having a fucking therapy session with you two.”
“See, this is what happens when you don’t drink enough at your bachelor party,” Callan drawls.
“I don’t know,” Ethan says. “I saw him put away a fuckload of Macallan while Bradford gave that speech comparing marriage to mountain climbing.”
“He talked for twenty fucking minutes about base camps and emotional altitude and being roped together with trust,” I mutter. “That scotch was required.”
Ethan chuckles. “Don’t forget the part where he said communication is oxygen and you’ll both die without it.”
“Or when he compared therapy to hiring a Sherpa,” Callan says.
None of us hear Bradford join us. It’s not until he says, “Don’t forget I said that love is choosing to climb the same mountain even when the weather’s shit.”
The three of us turn to him. Ethan and Callan lose it, their laughter filling the room, and I can’t help a grin.
Callan shakes his head. “Okay, that one wasn’t terrible.”
Bradford’s mouth quirks. “It was the crampon metaphor that really lost you, wasn’t it?”
“That’s the one where you said date nights keep you from slipping off the mountain?” Callan asks.
“That’s the one.”
Ethan’s still grinning. “Brother, I love you, but that might have been the worst speech you’ve ever given.”
“It was,” Bradford agrees without hesitation. “Hands down. No contest.”
I arch a brow at him. “You give speeches for a living. How the hell did you land on mountain climbing metaphors?”
Bradford crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t know. I sat down to write something meaningful and it just . . . went there. By the time I realized I’d compared marital conflict to avalanches, I was too committed to stop.”
Ethan snorts. “You could have just winged it.”
“Next time, get your speech writer to handle it,” Callan suggests.
Bradford’s expression shifts. The amusement fades, replaced by something quieter. More serious. His eyes find mine, and when he speaks, there’s a weight to it.
“I didn’t want to outsource it,” he says. “This was too personal for that. I wanted to say something that meant something.” He shakes his head, almost laughing at himself. “In hindsight, I should’ve just spoken from the heart instead of trying to craft some perfectly worded fucking TED talk.”
The teasing drops from Ethan’s expression. “For what it’s worth, we got what you meant.”
“Even through the crampons,” Callan jokes, but there’s warmth behind it, not roasting.
Bradford’s eyes stay on me. “Seeing you this happy . . . it’s everything I wanted for you.”
Before I can respond to that, we’re interrupted by Mom.
She appears behind Bradford who steps aside to let her into the cottage.
Immediately, we’re all aware that something’s off.
And not just because she’s barefoot, but because her hair’s a mess and she’s wearing what looks like a crown of wildflowers that a three-year-old made.
“My boys,” she says, dreamy and delighted. “Hasn’t the air been delicious today? I think the trees are happier than I’ve ever known them to be.”
Callan tilts his head, frowning. “Mom?”
Ethan’s lips pull up at the ends, amused as hell. “I was thinking the exact same thing about the air. So delicious.”
She turns in a slow circle, arms out like she’s absorbing the energy of the room. “What a truly lovely day for you and Amelia to get married, Gage. I even heard the angels singing a moment ago.”
Callan leans closer to me. “Is she high?”
I don’t take my eyes off her. “She’s high.”
Ethan’s grinning, clearly loving this. “High as fuck.”
Bradford moves further into the cottage. “Jesus. How?” He eyes Ethan. “Did you give it to her?”
Ethan laughs. “Nope. I had no clue she was into weed.”
I give him a look. “She’s not.”
“Mmmm.” Mom is still spinning and now humming too.
There’s a knock at the door and then Dad calls out, “Gage? You in there?”
“Yeah,” Ethan says. Then he looks at us, too fucking happy about what’s happening. “This is going to be fun.”
Dad steps in.
Stops.
Stares.
There’s one long pause as he takes it all in.
Then, “Good God.”
When Mom hears Dad’s voice, she stops spinning and glides over to him. Hooking her hands around his neck, she begins swaying side to side as if she’s dancing with him. “Don’t you think it’s a lovely day for our son to get married?”
His hands go to her hips, probably to steady her, which is exactly what I’d do if Amelia showed up stoned. “Yes, darling. Very lovely.” A beat passes. “Have you been drinking?”
Mom keeps swaying. “No.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She leans into him and gives him a quick kiss before saying, “Have you seen Marin? I want to try her special jam.” She lets go of Dad and twirls. “I think it might be as healing as the cookies.”
“Fuck me,” Ethan says. “She ate the weed.”
“Did Marin bring cookies?” Callan asks.
Dad’s jaw tightens. He looks at us. “Where’s Marin?”
“Probably in the garden communing with the universe,” Callan offers, unhelpful as fuck.
“Or doing a tarot reading for the wedding flowers.” Ethan grins again.
Bradford’s still staring at Mom as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “How many cookies did you eat, Mom?”
She waves a hand dreamily. “Oh, I don’t remember. One? Two? Five? They were so good. Just what I needed to go with the flow.” She giggles. Actually fucking giggles. And then looks at Dad. “I am very much going with the flow now, darling.”
“Jesus Christ,” Dad mutters. He looks at me. “I’m going to find Marin and have a conversation.”
“Take your time,” Ethan says, not even bothering to contain his amusement. “This is the best pre-wedding entertainment we could’ve asked for.”
Mom looks around at all of us, her features soft, her eyes filled with love. “My beautiful boys.” Her eyes start to water. “I love you all so much it hurts. Like, physically hurts. Is that normal?”
“When you’re high?” Callan says. “Yeah, that’s pretty standard.”
Dad sighs deeply. The kind of sigh that says he’s been married to this woman for decades and has seen some shit, but this might be a new level. “Ingrid. Sweetheart. Let’s get you back to our cottage so you can lie down.”
“But I want to stay with my boys,” she protests, reaching for Bradford’s hand. “Don’t you want me here?”
Bradford’s fighting a smile now. “Of course we do, Mom. But Dad’s right. You should rest before the wedding.”
“Will there be more cookies there?” she asks hopefully.
“Absolutely not,” Dad says firmly.
The cottage door opens again and Hayden walks in. He comes to a halt when he sees Mom, but there’s no surprise on his face. He simply nods and says, “Good.” Then he looks at me. “Saves me the trouble of explaining.”
“You knew?” I ask.
He nods again. “Yeah. She ate one of Tim’s cookies.”
Every muscle in my body goes tight. “Tim gave her the cookie?”
Mom turns to look at me. “No, Amelia gave it to me.”
My brain stalls. “Amelia?”
“Yes.” Mom’s smiling, blissfully unaware of the shift in the room.
“We had a lovely chat in the kitchen. About you men. Then she told me she loves me so much.” Her eyes well up with tears again.
“I’m so happy you found her, Gage. I was worried you weren’t ever going to look for love again.
Amelia is so much more than I could ever have hoped for.
I know that’s why the angels are singing today. They’re happy for you too.”
I look at Hayden. “Why the fuck would Amelia give her an edible?” And where the fuck did she get it?
“She didn’t know it was an edible,” Hayden says. “That’s the other part of this. Amelia’s stoned too.”
The room goes silent.
My entire body fills with something cold. Controlled. Lethal.
“Where’s Tim?”
Ethan’s grin disappears. “Gage—”
“Where. Is. Tim.”
Hayden steps forward, his hand coming up like he’s prepared to physically stop me. “He’s with the girls in the house. But you need to calm down first.”
“I’m calm.”
“You’re about to commit a crime.”
I clench my jaw. “Move out of my way.”
He doesn’t. “You’re getting married in a few hours. This is not the time to murder your brother-in-law.”
“Future brother-in-law,” Callan says. “Unless, of course, you murder him.”
Hayden shoots him a glare. “Not fucking helpful, Callan.”
Bradford steps in. “Hayden’s right. Leave Tim until after the wedding when you’ve calmed down. You need to go check on Amelia.”
That stops me.
Amelia.
Fuck.
My wife is stoned on our wedding day. Not something she’d ever want in a million fucking years.
“How bad is she?” I ask Hayden.
“Let’s just say she thinks the plants are judging her, that she’s in a committed relationship with the chair she’s sitting on, and that you’re going to be mad when you discover that Ryan Gosling’s soul has taken over her body.”
Jesus Christ.
“I will fucking kill him.”
“Yeah,” Hayden says, “and I’ll help. But after the wedding.”
I roll my neck and force myself to breathe. Then I nod. Not for Tim. Not for me. For her. Amelia doesn’t need vengeance right now. She needs me.