Page 32 of Kneeling to Candy

“Thank you,” she whispers through her tears.

“Nothing to thank me for, sweetness.”

We hold each other a while longer before separating to finish bathing. I’m toweling off, trying to find the right words to ask what she recalls from last night.

After some deliberation, I decide to be direct. “Candy, what do you recall from last night?”

She smiles at her reflection in the mirror as she runs a comb through her wet pink hair. “Every hot minute.”

I worry my bottom lip, unsatisfied with her answer.

“Every minute, or just the stuff in the bedroom?”

She tosses her comb on the bathroom counter, placing her hand on her hip as she turns her focus on me. “Is this your way of trying to get a refresher of last night or something? We already agreed there’s no time for sex this morning.”

As much as I’d love to reenact last night’s events, I need to know if she knows we’re married. “Do you remember anything before returning to the room last night?”

Candy shrugs. “Not really.”

My stomach sinks like a submarine.

“Oh!” Her eyes brighten like she recalls something. Her smile broadens.

My hope is restored. She remembers. I’m sure of it. “You remember?”

“Before coming back to our room? No. But I recall this whacked dream I had.”

Again, my stomach drops. This roller coaster of emotions is not something I’m used to. It takes everything in me not to let my disappointment surface.

“Listen to this. We got married—like in one of those chapels on the strip. Just like Chase and Simone did. But it gets better. My ring was a Ring Pop. How weird is that?”

It feels like a gallon of ice water has been dumped over my head. My insides go tense, and I freeze on the spot.

“I mean, who gets married with a Ring Pop?” Candy snickers, shaking her head.

We did.

She thinks our wedding was a dream. I guess I understand it. But how the hell do I tell her it was real?

I’m busy gnawing the inside of my cheek raw when Candy looks at me. Her laughter dies. “Butch, take it easy. It was only a dream.”

No, it wasn’t. It’s real. You’re my wife. Mine!

I force a lump of dread down my throat, fighting to get my tongue working to explain our reality as a married couple. For the life of me, I can’t force myself to speak.

She scans my face, her lips pursing, like she’s growing concerned with my lack of response. “You don’t need to look so horrified. It’s not like we’re actually married.”

But we are. And I’m not frightened of being married to you. I’m panicking about how you’ll react when you realize you’re married to me.

Candy looks away from me, twisting a lock of wet hair in her fingers. “The whole thing is stupid. I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

I open my mouth to tell her none of it is stupid when we’re interrupted by a loud banging on the hotel bedroom door.

“Open up, fuckers,” Punk shouts on the other side of the door. “We need to hit the road, and you guys are holding up the caravan.”

Dammit, Punk. His timing could not suck more.

Candy rolls her eyes, obviously thinking the same thing. Clutching the towel wrapped around her body, she marches to the door. Annoyance oozes from her like a layer of ozone.

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