Sam offered an impatient smile and eased back. “I didn’t exactly plan it out. I didn’t intentionally exclude you. And yesterday, well.” Sam laughed. “We got a little carried away.”
He was stingy with the details these days, and intensely protective of his relationship with Tiel. It was either respect the boundary lines or find myself locked out entirely. “I’m happy for you and Tiel. Really. Now when can we get together to celebrate? I’ll bring the champagne.”
“Soon, but…” he started, sighing, “I love you. You know that. But that doesn’t mean you can adopt our wedding as your new pet project. You hijacked Matt and Lauren’s wedding, but they were too busy to care. We want to do this our own way. Tiel will reach out to you, I can guarantee that, but she’ll do it on her time. She adores you, and I really appreciate how you’ve given her as much time as she needed to warm up to you, and everyone else. But that doesn’t mean you can smother her now.”
“I wasn’t trying to hijack anything. It’s your day, and I just wanted to help with—”
“Give Tiel some space. If she wants your opinion on these things, she’ll ask. Until then, I need you to take an enormous step back.”
Clasping my hands together to prevent my nails from sinking into my palms, I nodded. “Of course, Sam. Whatever you need. If there’s anything at all that I can do for either of you, just let me know.”
Part Two:
NOW
“The course of true love never did run smooth.”
—William Shakespeare,A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Chapter Nineteen
WILL
There were rulesto every engagement, and each theater served up its own set of variables. Finding myself face-to-face with Shannon’s new man—if you could call this shitsnack that—was no different.
I was staring down the Lord of the House of Douche, and if I didn’t know Shannon would give me a lifetime worth of shit for it, I would have killed him by now. He introduced himself as Gerard after she stared at me in open-mouthed shock for two minutes, and the longer I watched him, the more convinced I was that she’d gone in search of the biggest prick in town.
He’d fucked her, that was plain as day, and he was sitting there, his legs crossed and his hands folded over his pinstriped fucking trousers, as if he owned the joint.
As if he ownedher.
If there was one thing I knew with certainty it was that no one owned Shannon. She owned herself and anyone who suggested otherwise was usually invited to go fuck himself. If there was anyone who could lay claim to Shannon it was me, and even that stood on shaky ground at this point. I knew showing up at her apartment was a dicey move after all this time and everything that had happened, but this tactic never failed me, and…I needed her.
The Lord of the Douches shifted in his seat, then scratched his ear, looked around, and scratched his ear again. It was a glowing invitation to interrogate this bitch while Shannon took her sweet ass time hiding in the kitchen.
“Gerard,” I said, “you a Red Sox fan?”
He offered an indifferent shrug that told me he intended to blow off every question I asked. He didn’t give a shit who I was or what I was doing here, and he probably sensed I wanted to get rid of him. “Yankees. New Yorker.”
“Everyone has a cross to bear,” I said. “Riley hasn’t blacklisted you? Impressive. He must be going soft in his old age.”
Lord of the Douches squinted, confused. “Riley?”
He tugged at his ear again, and this guy needed to get his tells under control. Who the fuck was he? Any man who earned a spot in Shannon’s life was forced to share it with Patrick, Sam, Riley, and Matt. Not to mention Nick and Tom. You got the slice she served up, and you were fucking thankful for the offering. It wasn’t a lesson I came by easily, but it was one I knew as clear as my name and rank.
“The youngest one,” I said, and he continued squinting. “Shannon’s brother? Goes to every home game. The kid wants to get married on home plate, name his first born Big Papi, and have his ashes spread over the outfield when he dies.”
I didn’t know any of this to be true, but I wasn’t burdening Gerard with those details. The only thing he needed to know was that his time with Shannon was over.
“I hadn’t heard that,” he said, leaning forward and clasping his hands between his knees. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name.”
“Captain Will Halsted, United States Naval Special Warfare Command,” I said.
I didn’t pull the SEAL Team card often, but it was a small pleasure to watch Gerard’s reaction wash over him. How was it possible that this uptight sack of shit was in Shannon’s apartment? Unless he was here appraising the place, there was no way I could believe she’d willingly spend time with him. Sure, on the surface he was her type but there was far more than met the eye when it came to her.
He pressed a hand to his hip and retrieved a shiny iPhone from his pocket. “Apologies,” he said. “Call from the office.” He pointed to the den. “I’ll just…”
Lord of the Douches quick-stepped down the hallway, and I knew his “call from the office” would keep him busy.
