Page 11 of Entwined

“How about this, we—”

“Nope.” She cuts me off and shakes her head. “We are not sneaking off for a quickie.” My baby knows me so well — exactly what I was gonna say. “People are waiting, and no way in hell am I tainting the magic that is my one wedding night ever with a quickie, Dane Kendrick!”

Our first dance is to “This Year's Love” by David Gray — another song with special meaning and memory for us — I played it for Laney at one of her birthday parties; the first one I ever celebrated with her. I bury my face in her sweet, soft neck and slowly twirl my amazing wife around the floor.

“God, Laney, I sometimes can't believe just how much I love you.”

“I love you too, babe, more.”

All too soon, the song ends and Whitley starts “directing” again. We sit for dinner and it isn’t long before Tate clinks a fork against his glass, standing with mic in hand. “I know I'm supposed to give my toast first, but I think it's only fitting that I pass the torch to the bodacious Bennett, she's with me fellas, since Dane and Laney met because of her. For it was Bennett who forcefully dragged Laney to the “Hall Crawl” where the two of them collided, all those years ago.”

“Thank you, Taterbear,” Ben coos and rises from her seat, giving a toast that has us all laughing, reminiscing… and every woman in the room crying by the end.

And then… Armageddon unfolds, too quickly for anyone to stop it.

Yes, Sawyer Beckett grabs the microphone.

“Since all their boring asses put the kibosh on a decent bachelor party and stuck me with a night of poker and beer, too much fuckin’ fun I tell ya, seriously, we didn’t even use cards with naked chicks on ‘em, I'm giving a toast too.”

“Who thinks this is a really bad idea? Raise your hand,” Whitley pleads with the entire room… every single person in it raising their hand. Except Jeff Walker, who's already ushering a worn-out, fragile, does not need to hear this, Trish toward the exit, to put her to bed no doubt.

“Put your damn hands down, rude,” Sawyer booms into the mic. “And Whit, I can hear you when you talk out loud. I have feelings too. Emmy, those feelings include a strong inkling that we should—”

“Beckett!” I scream to stop him. “Tread easy, bud. No ruining my wife's special day or I will sedate you.”

“What did I just say about having feelings, fucker? Geez. Anyway, for those of you who don't know me, well, you probably shouldn't even be here. But they already let you in, so, I'm Sawyer Beckett. I'm the proud husband of the hot brunette holding my wonderfully-behaved baby girl, and the best friend of Daney and Gidget. That’s them,” he feels the need to point us out, “Dane and Laney, which again, you shouldn’t be here if you didn’t know that. Dane and I go way back and kind of saved each other from ourselves. Look at us now, man, two of the luckiest bastards in the world. Thank you, for getting here with me, bringing me along. I love and owe you, pretty boy. And Gidget,” he chuckles and flashes her an adoring smile. “Oh, my Gidget. This blonde busts on the scene, threatening to beat people with her bat, wearing the most unsexy pajamas I've ever seen, asking bullshit, PG-rated trivia questions, whippin' everyone's ass in beer pong and every other game we play and always trying to tell me how to raise my kid. Needless to say, I was instantly in love with my new friend for life, a total badass. So, I would have to say, I can't think of another person I'd have chosen for either of you to be with forever. You're a damn perfect match. Love you both, cheers.”

It takes us all a second to comprehend that he's finished, with no one harmed or mentally scarred for life in the process, and slowly raise our glasses with him.

“Da,” baby Presley sweetly babbles, reaching for him.

“See? My kid knows a good speech when she hears one. Everyone else, quit looking shocked and eat. Dane's ready to cart Laney off and get to the good shit.”

There we go. Now he's done with his speech.

The rest of the reception takes longer than I'd like, but Laney’s having a great time, talking and dancing… so I drudge up patience from where, I have no idea.

Finally, when the girls have done every group dance ever invented, my wife finds me… and my ear. “You can take me to start our wedding night now, Caveman.”

We're out the door before she's even done talking, taking the stairs two at a time because the elevator's slow as fuck.

I carry her over the threshold of the suite and gently lay her on the bed then go back to hang the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door before shutting and locking it. I turn, my baby splayed out in a big, puffy cloud of white and take my first, full deep breath of the day.

“You're my wife.” I confirm with a propriety that corrupts the air around us, putting it out into the universe so there’s never any doubt.

“I am,” she purrs and holds out her arms. “And I want my husband to come love me, soft and slow.”

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