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CONNOR

I ’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life.

Cheap shots on the ice. Saying no to dessert. That one time I let Jake cook.

But letting Gram be in charge of our honeymoon ride is by far the worst decision of my life.

I’m standing in the hotel parking lot, staring at a pink Cadillac convertible that looks like it drove straight out of a Bruce Springsteen song and directly into my nightmares.

The top’s down. The leather seats are blinding. I swear it smells like cotton candy and regret.

My wife is laughing her ass off as she grabs my hand and skips toward the damn thing like it’s her dream car. Her eyes sparkle with pure mischief.

“Well, husband? Are you driving, or am I?”

I rub a hand down my face, already dying inside.

“Where the hell did this come from?”

“Gram, of course,” she beams.

I sigh. “I know that. I mean, what fucking decade did this thing roll out of?”

Allie laughs. “Probably the 80s, judging by the looks of it.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Why the fuck is the universe punishing me like this? First the bug?—”

“Petal,” Allie corrects.

I ignore her.

“Then the goddamn station wagon?—”

“Wanda. And she’s not a goddamn station wagon.” She stands on her tiptoes, pressing her lips against my cheek. “She’s special. She brought us together.”

I soften, my eyes meeting my wife’s. “Can’t argue with that.” I catch a glimpse of the pink Cadillac out of the corner of my eye. Fucking thing is gonna haunt my dreams.

The gang surrounds us like they’ve paid for front-row seats to my humiliation.

Ford’s already got his phone out, filming what’s clearly about to become the next viral TikTok.

Jake’s wheezing so hard he might need CPR.

Cole is doubled over, leaning against the wall like his lungs gave out.

And Daltyn is full-on losing it. “Bro,” he chokes out, tears in his eyes. “You cannot drive that.”

I glare at him so hard I hope it physically hurts.

Allie just squeezes my hand tighter. “Of course you have to drive it,” she says sweetly. “It’s our honeymoon, after all.”

Harper’s wiping away tears of laughter. “You look great in pink, Byrns.”

Allie flashes me a grin that says she knows she’s already won everything. “Aren’t you going to open the door for me, husband?”

Goddamn it.

With a sigh from the deepest pit of my soul, I grab the handle and open the door like I’m helping royalty into a hot pink hearse.

I just know Gram is somewhere nearby, laughing her bedazzled ass off.

Allie climbs in like it’s a chariot and not the vehicular equivalent of a glitter bomb.

Once she’s settled, she looks at me with that sparkle in her eye and says the words that end my entire existence. “Let’s roll, Daddy.”

I still, shock rolling through me.

Then she taps the dash. “Meet Priscilla, Queen of the Honeymoon.”

I blink. “You named this one too?”

She grins, smug as hell. “Of course I did. Wanda would’ve wanted her legacy to live on.”

Jesus Christ.

The gang implodes .

Daltyn collapses. Actually falls to the pavement.

Jake’s making dolphin noises.

Ford shakes his head like I’ve just let the entire male population down, but even that broody bastard is grinning.

Meanwhile, my dignity’s gone.

Not only is the car blasting “Pink Cadillac” at full volume, but my dick is as hard as a rock because my wife just called me “Daddy” in public.

This is my life now.

Sighing, I slide into the pink nightmare beside her.

The seat is too low. The steering wheel’s too big. The color offends my entire soul.

Allie’s smug as ever, sipping the iced coffee Harper handed her like she’s not single-handedly destroying me with every blink of her eyes.

Her foot taps to the beat. She hums along. She vibrates with evil.

Then she looks over, bites her lip, and murmurs, “You look good in pink, baby.”

I turn my head slowly.

“If you call me Ken, I swear to God?—”

She takes another sip, shrugs, and then smirks.

“Okay, Daddy.”

I. Am. Deceased.