Page 64

64

CONNOR

I ’m going to kill Ford.

Choke.

Strangle.

Bury.

I can’t believe that fucker had the audacity to inflict Gram on us.

My fingers fly over my phone, rage-texting my so-called best friend.

You fucking sent Gram to Key West?

She was worried about the two of you.

This is about revenge, isn’t it?

I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Bullshit. Paybacks are a bitch, motherfucker.

I guarantee that motherfucker is irritated at all the shit in Vegas. He broods too much and never lets things go.

I shove my phone into my pocket, my jaw tight. I’m not about to let Ford’s bullshit ruin my honeymoon with Allie.

But I’m plotting my revenge.

A long game.

Something that’ll haunt him for years.

Maybe I’ll switch all the team playlist songs to Disney soundtracks.

Or tell Gram he’s ready to have kids but doesn’t know how to tell Harper.

Either way, he’ll pay.

Oh, he’ll pay.

* * *

Gram is currently rooting through the mini fridge like she owns the damn place.

“This pineapple juice expired two months ago,” she mutters, sniffing it. “I’ll drink it anyway.”

Allie, back in her sundress, lifts her coffee mug and gives me a look over the rim. I know that look. It’s the I told you she was feral look.

“I don’t understand how she got past the front desk,” Allie whispers.

“She probably bribed them with weed gummies and a promise not to flash them,” I mutter.

Gram perks up. “Ooh, that reminds me. I packed my edibles in my bra. Let me know if anyone wants to try snorkeling today.”

I close my eyes. “We’re not getting arrested for drugs in Key West.”

Allie snorts into her coffee.

I open them and level Gram with a look. “Why do you have weed anyway? Weed brownies, weed cookies, weed gummies… that’s not normal. You’re seventy-two.”

She shrugs a shoulder. “They’re medicinal. And age is just a number.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Medicin?—”

A voice inside my head tells me it’s not worth trying to understand her.

“Anyway,” I say, trying to salvage the morning. I eye my gorgeous wife and rub my hands together. “I have a plan for today.”

Allie narrows her eyes. “This better not be like the time your plan involved a paddle boat and three wild chickens. Ford told me all about it.”

“That was a fluke,” I lie. “And never listen to Ford. He’s broody, boring, and dead to me.”

Gram snickers. “That sounds like fun.”

I ignore her. “Today’s plan is wholesome and calming. A bonding activity for us.”

Gram cackles. “You’re taking her parasailing, aren’t you?”

I stare at her. “How do you?—”

“I read your notes,” she says, patting her giant purse.

I nearly choke. “You read my honeymoon itinerary?”

“It was printed and left in the glove box of the rental car.”

“How… You were in the car?”

She shrugs. “I had to do something while you two were doing the horizontal tango. I could hear you outside.”

Allie covers her face, but not before I see how red it is.

She exhales and looks up. “Connor. What are we doing today?”

I push Gram’s chaos aside and grin at her. “Jet skis, paddleboarding, and a sunset booze cruise.”

She stares. “So… nothing calming?”

“Bonding happens through adrenaline,” I tell her. “And potential near-death experiences.”

Gram slings a pineapple towel over her shoulder. “Let’s ride, bitches.”

I groan. Gram tagging along is not exactly what I had in mind.

Somewhere in Boston, Ford is laughing his smug ass off.

I hope he chokes on a protein bar.

Allie is clinging to me on the jet ski, screaming something about “this being grounds for divorce,” while Gram speeds past us on her own rental, throwing back shots of coconut rum from a flask labeled Gram’s Go-Go Juice.

“You know what I said about divorce, wife. Not happening. Ever.”

Her hands are wrapped around me in a death grip. “Please don’t kill me on our honeymoon.”

I chuckle, patting her hand. “Never, baby.”

Gram shouts, “Eat my wake, suckers!” before doing a donut and spraying a group of tourists who were just trying to paddleboard in peace.

“She’s going to kill someone!” Allie yells in my ear.

“She’s seventy-two!” I shout back. “She’s got immunity!”

* * *

Back at the bungalow, Allie flops onto the bed face-first.

“I hate you,” she groans into the sheets.

I crawl in beside her, grinning. “You love me.”

“You’re lucky I’m too sore to smother you with a pillow.”

I nuzzle her shoulder. “You wouldn’t smother me. You like my dick too much.”

She snorts and lifts her head, about to say something, but Gram bursts in, dripping seawater and grinning like the crypt keeper on spring break.

“Guess who just got us invited to a local nudist drum circle?”

I don’t even flinch. “Was it the flashing?”

“Technically,” she says, “it was my see-through wetsuit. The captain said I’ve got ‘that siren energy.’”

Allie makes a sound that’s somewhere between a whimper and a laugh.

I grab my phone off the nightstand and fire off another text, cursing Ford beneath my breath.

Just so you know, I’m naming my firstborn after Gram out of spite.

You brought this on yourself.

I snort

This motherfucker’s gonna pay.