Page 29 of The Marquis and the Magician's Assistant (The Rebel Royals 4)
“Dash asked me to be the best man at his wedding.”
“You can’t?—”
“I said yes. Of course, I said yes. I’d do anything for him. But I can’t be here when he gets home. I need time to digest this.”
And without hockey to distract him, it’s probably all that’s on his mind.
“Let me come with you. Please. I’m gonna be so fucking worried about you.”
“The big guy in the corner will look after you.”
Sutter grunts his confirmation.
“Not what I said. I’m not worried about me.” For once, I feel like I’ve landed on my feet.
“I promise I’ll call. Do you mind if I take the car?”
“That’s fine.” We have Sutter’s car and his apocalypse vehicle. I could probably just buy a new car if I ended up needing one.
“I just wanna drive, y’know? Drive and think. Get my head on straight.”
Mend his broken heart. Fuck. None of this is right. Not a single damn thing. When Dash sails through that door I’m gonna?—
“I know that look. Don’t do anything to Dash. Promise me.” Stacey’s face is solid granite.
I don’t want to do this to my brother, but I’m worried about what he’ll do. I have to make sure he’s coming back. “Text me often or I’m doing what I have to do.”
Stacey pauses and nods. “I just need a little time. I’ll be back.”
We embrace in a hug where I crush the fuck outta him, tears falling onto his shoulder. I close my eyes, there’s shifting and the scent of Sutter’s smokey aftershave. The front door opens and closes.
“Is he gone?”
“Just me, kitten.”
I don’t wanna open my eyes yet, and I don’t need to. I’m safe from everything in Sutter’s arms.
“Just us, you mean.”
“Just us.”
Epilogue
Sutter
I’ve been waiting in the hot sun outside the Meyers’ garage. Even though I trust Logan with my bike—I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t—I can’t find it in me to leave it alone here. I’m dressed for the sun rather than riding, in a tank, board shorts, and sandals. We were finally hit with a heatwave hot enough to sear my skin just the way I like it, bringing out the olive tone in my complexion.
There’s the crunch of tires over gravel as Jack’s truck climbs the long, sloped driveway, and I flip my sunglasses back to sit them above my bandana. Casey hops out of the passenger side and meanders toward the deck while Jack retrieves Stanley from the back seat. I tried to tell them that I could look after a toddler for a few measly hours, but Jack wanted to bring him to the tattoo place. A toddler in a tattoo place just seemed like a bad idea, but it’s not my baby.
“It went well?” I assume. He’s beaming.
“Yeah, check it out.”
He opens his neck for me. Across his shiver spot, where I like to gnaw and suck, is a permanent hickey tattoo in the shape of my last artistic masterpiece. That, I expected. But there’s something else inked just under his collarbone.
“What’s this?”
Property of Top Dog