Page 49

Colt

Prosperity, Oklahoma, Three Years Later

‘ I hope you know that tomorrow will be an even longer, more hellish day.’

‘I’m sadly well aware.’ I stifle a yawn, lying back in the slightly overgrown grass beside May. Her curled hair still holds, half of it pinned up by red roses that are now more or less flattened. She rolls over to her side, resting her head on her right hand, her left on my chest. Her fingers trace the knot in my matching crimson tie. ‘Planning all this shit was a lot easier than doing it,’ I add.

‘Wasn’t it just.’ May cracks a mischievous grin. Oh, no. She scans my backyard, checking the somewhat faded white lines drawn across the grass, and nods with satisfaction when she confirms it’s still up to her standards. ‘What do you say?’

‘May, I think I’m about to fall asleep right now.’

She drops a kiss on my cheek before she lugs herself to her feet, dusting off the grass clinging to her black salwar-kameez outfit. She tosses the white stole embroidered with red roses and green vines matching those on her mariachi-inspired pantsuit over her shoulder. Big gold hoop earrings inlaid with diamonds sway back and forth as she rushes over to the backyard gardening bin. On her feet – she has on a pair of close-toed slippers, matching black velvet with roses. There’s no way at all she can be doing this in those damn shoes of hers.

‘Got it!’ She emerges victorious with two practice lacrosse sticks, one in each hand. Her long braid whips around when she turns, so the chunky gold tassels at the end almost whack her in the face.

For a moment, I just stand there and stare at the woman in disbelief. But when you’re getting married to May Velasco, you kind of have to suspend that disbelief for the rest of your life.

‘Well. We already escaped our own pre-wedding event.’ I smirk, slinging my suit jacket over my shoulder and standing up. ‘Why not push it?’

‘That’s the spirit, New Haven.’ May tosses a stick to me, and just like every other time we’ve done this, I catch it, checking the stringing of the head. Perfect.

She grabs a ball, throws and grabs it out of the air a few times. The thick white and red bangles on her wrists shake so hard with every movement that they create a deafening cacophony. ‘Let’s take a draw?’

My eyes travel back to her shoes.

She just raises an expectant eyebrow, her false-lashed eyes fluttering.

‘Why don’t we at this point?’

May is getting a kick out of my sarcasm. She sets us up at the half-size face-off circle in my backyard, ball between both of us, and we get our sticks parallel to the ground, crouching down in front of one another. I think my dress slacks might rip. I’ve played lacrosse in a lot of situations, but never in a button-down and silk tie. Oxford wingtips? That, I’ve unfortunately done once before.

A lock of hair falls into my face, out of its mandated gel-back, and I blow it aside. May’s eyes fall on mine like a predator on prey, the corners creasing with a sure smile.

‘I got you this time, Bradley.’

‘Don’t be so sure.’ I wink. ‘Bradley.’

‘We aren’t married yet, cowboy.’ She clicks her tongue. ‘You gotta prove yourself first. If you lose the draw, I might have to leave you at the altar. You’ll have to take that dance to “Lady May” solo. And May-less.’

‘And if I win it?’ Fat chance. The smell of May’s perfume, peony and sandalwood, drifts my way. The fitted top to her outfit highlights her curves a little too well for any of this to be considered a fair game. Under the light of the moon, the highlighted planes of her face take on a regal glow.

‘Whatever. You. Want,’ she mouths, drawing my eyes to her full, maroon-stained lips. Damn it. Distraction and motivation are warring right now, as they tend to with May.

Gazes locked, she says, ‘On three.’

‘One.’ I grin. ‘Three.’

The ball shoots up into the air almost immediately, and I’m not sure on whose account, but motivation wins out. I run after that thing like my life depends on it, May not far behind, swinging her stick out ahead of mine, her extra couple pounds of jewellery clinking loudly.

Somehow, even in those ridiculously tight shoes, she manages to reach her stick out and snag the ball. I try to block her, but she darts around me, nearly taking my eye out with her braid, and slaps one straight into the net.

‘Aw, best of three! Come on, May!’ I beg, throwing my stick to the side and my hands in the air. She shakes her head, chin high with pride. This is what I get for marrying a professional lacrosse player.

She sets her stick down with mine, crosses her arms with a sly smile. ‘That puts you at the altar all on your own, CJ Bradley. Don’t perceive my presence tomorrow. Any last attempts to win your wife back?’

‘Maybe just the one.’

I walk right up to May, reach around her, and sweep her into my arms, one supporting her back and the other under her knees. She lets out a little squeal, but she doesn’t fight me (a relief, given her history with starting battles on the lacrosse field), just laces her fingers behind my neck, eyes wide.

‘Don’t you dare let me go,’ she scolds me, a bashful smile sneaking out as she bites her bottom lip before tucking her head in the crook of my neck and shoulder.

I carry her towards the sliding patio door as she rests her head against my shoulder with an expression of contented bliss on her face. I’ve waited years to see that look from her, that look where there’s nothing to be upset about, nothing to worry about, and now that it’s finally there, I know I’ve done my job right.

‘I won’t ever, Mrs Bradley.’