Page 85 of All The Things: The Last Thing He Needs Omnibus

Tommy had wanted cheap and quick, so the courthouse had seemed like the best option. Christ knew he’d been there often enough for bad news and bullshit, so maybe going just once for something good would be okay. The fact that Bobby didn’t care one way or another—or at least he claimed he didn’t—helped.

Even Judy was fine with the idea, which had been a surprise. The kids didn’t give a shit, said Tommy and Bobby were already married, so what did it matter anyway? And they were right, right? Getting it all legal and approved by the government was just a formality that didn’t mean fuck all compared to what they did every day of their lives together.

So why, when it came down to it, when it came time to make the appointment, did it bother Tommy? Why did the idea of standing in front of a judge in a dingy little room with bad fluorescent lighting, a quick couple of words, and a piece of paper seem wrong? He didn’t know for sure, but he didn’t like it. Didn’t like the idea of Bobby thinking of it all that way either. That it was a formality. That the wedding part didn’t mean anything.

Because maybe it did.

He shut his laptop and glanced over at Bobby, sitting on the floor with Max and Zoe, playing and laughing with them. Collin and Davey shit-talked as they beat each other up in a video game; Carrie was watching some hair tutorial on her tablet. Colleen was in class, and Mike was off with friends. Judy hovered in the kitchen, across from where Tommy sat at the bar.

“Did you get your appointment set?” she asked, pulling a roast out of the oven.

He was too lost in thought to have a conversation about anything. “Nah,” he said as he stood, pushing the stool in. “Changed my mind.”

Judy glanced at him but didn’t give anything away in her expression. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, running his hand through his hair, tugging on a tangle. He needed a haircut. Colleen usually did it for him, but she’d been too busy for any of that. Judy had taken the kids in to her hair salon the month before, got everyone a trim and a shampoo by a pro for the first time in their lives. Collin and the twins hated it. Carrie adored the girl and chattered at her the entire time. Davey liked it too, but if Tommy had to guess, it probably had something to do with getting tits in his face. At almost fifteen, he was a perv. But most boys were at that age, and he kept his hands to himself and didn’t do anything to make anyone uncomfortable, which was probably the best Tommy could hope for. “I need a haircut,” he said as he grabbed his jacket.

Bobby got up and walked over to Tommy. His face, Tommy could read. Concern. Hurt. Curiosity. “Why’d you change your mind, Tom?”

Tommy shrugged into his beat-up leather. “I don’t know,” he said absentmindedly. “Just doesn’t feel right.” If he hadn’t been thinking about how bad he wanted a cigarette, how bad he wanted to burn off some restless energy, how bad he wanted to find the right thing for them both, put his hands on it, figure it all out, he probably would’ve said it better, or said more, or said anything else at all. Instead, he patted Max and bent down to give Zoe a kiss, then headed for the door. “I’ll be back.”

Bobby

“Don’t start, Mom,” Bobby said, letting out a sigh. He loved her, and he appreciated her, but right then, he didn’t think he could handle any questions or advice or even a well-intended condolence.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she said—lied. Bobby was fairly sure. “I hope you’re hungry.” She plated the roast, put the vegetables around it. “Mike said he might not be home for dinner, and I know Colleen is working after class, so…”

“Smells good,” he said. Halfhearted and distracted, food the furthest thing from his mind. Not even the twins could hold his attention. Fucking Tom. Changed his mind about the courthouse? Changed his mind about getting married? Changed his mind about living together? Who the hell could know? Because Tommy O’Shea still didn’t like to say what was on his mind until it burst out of his head in a fit of rage or a desperate plea or whatever the hell. Bobby let out a deep, frustrated breath, forcing a calm he didn’t feel. Then he laughed. Because, yeah, Tom was a dick, but between them, Bobby was probably a little crazy. What sane person would want to marry such a pain in the ass? “Think he still wants to marry me?”

Judy shrugged.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Say what you were going to say. Please.”

She sighed, but her face was all love and kindness. Because some things don’t change, no matter how old he got or what life threw at him. “I think Tommy’s never gone back on his word in his life,” she said as she covered the roast. She wiped her hands on a dish towel Carrie had made in school, set it aside, and then reached for Bobby. “He wouldn’t have asked you if it hadn’t been on his mind—if it hadn’t been something he wanted.” She cupped his chin, just like she did when he was a little boy when he was worried or hurting, and maybe she saw more in his face than he even wanted to admit to himself. “And there’s no way in the world that’s changed.”

He leaned over the kitchen bar and kissed her on the forehead. “Thanks, Ma,” he whispered against her skin. Maybe he still needed to hear it from Tom and understand what the hell was going on in Tom’s head, but his mother was right. Probably. She usually was. “How long can we hold dinner before it’s gross?”

“Not long,” Judy said, but she grinned and patted his cheek. “You better hurry.”

With a nod, with a quick goodbye to the kids, Bobby took off after him. Where to was another question. He’d said he needed a haircut, but to Bobby’s knowledge, he’d never gone to a barbershop in his life. Down to the pub for a drink? Maybe. Gene’s? Another solid possibility, but they hadn’t been fighting, not exactly, so probably not.

In the end, Bobby just drove around a little, keeping an eye out for Tom—who was on foot because he still hadn’t made up his mind about what kind of car to get or if he should get a loan or use his savings or get a junker or something new. For reasons Bobby couldn’t fathom, Tom couldn’t make up his mind about anything these days.

So, really, maybe changing his mind about the wedding shouldn’t have been much of a surprise.

He found Tom standing outside a candy store, of all places, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets—not smoking, which shocked the hell out of Bobby. He stood and he shivered and he stared. Bobby parked and walked up behind him.

“Planning a heist?” he asked, teasing, nudging Tom on the shoulder.

Tom glanced at Bobby, didn’t even jump, as if he’d been expecting the company. “No heist, copper. Just… thinkin’.”

“Got a headache yet?”

Tom glared at him for that, but he laughed, too, at the same time he flipped Bobby off. “My head was just fine till you turned up.”

Bobby grinned. Tom’s little jabs and cynical remarks had gotten fewer and further between over the last year or two and sometimes Bobby missed them. And how fucked-up was that? He didn’t want to examine it too much, so he put a pin in it. “What’re you thinking about?”

With a shrug, Tom said, “I don’t even know. Just was walkin’ by, and I saw this place with those colors in the window, and it looked real fun or something, so I stopped.”

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