When Delilah introduced the first band, Alex laughed. So did Parker.

“Josh Gordon and the Chixie Dicks?” Parker sneered. “Is that like Diane Ross and the Supremes? Egomaniac much?”

They listened for a couple of moments and laughed off the song choice. The Dicks had a following, and their crowd brought their rowdiest behavior as the band started.

“Bisset!” Parker roared. “You ready to give an assist right out of the gate?”

Remy jumped up and down. “Fuck, yeah! Grand Funk?” she asked.

Finn laughed at her antics, told her to calm down, and then joined in her enthusiasm. They were going to mop the floors with Josh.

The applause petered out just like the Dicks, and then Delilah announced Thunder’s first number.

“Here to answer the 1973 challenge with ‘An American Band’ by Grand Funk Railroad is the one, the only, the deadly, Desert Thunder!”

When they took the stage with Finn leading the way, all hell broke loose at their end of the tent. He strapped in and did what the Chicks hadn’t. He introduced the band and established a rapport with the crowd.

“Good evening, Bendover!” Finn hollered into his microphone. The crowd responded with chants of, “Booyah!” and chest-thumping grunts.

Alex searched the crowd, pinpointed his bodacious beauty in her Irish emerald green dress, and pointed at her with a stick. She blew him a kiss.

“Give it up for the man with the thunder foot, Alex Marquez!”

He stood and saluted the crowd as they screamed his name and applauded.

“Standing in the shadows is honorary Thunder member, Remington Bisset. Be nice to her. She’s my lady, and I decide the price of beer, so you do the math.”

Remy dashed forward and waved to the screaming crowd before stepping out of the spotlight to shimmy into place at her keyboards.

“This guy,” he drawled while pointing at Berger. “We found him in the parking lot. Hope he can play.”

Berger pretended to struggle with the strap on his bass and ignored the audience.

Parker took over the introductions. “Finn O’Brien is what happens when you mix leprechauns and cowboys. Give it up for the man with the liquor license and one of the best goddamn guitarists this side of the Mississippi.”

Alex laughed as Finn did a five-second Riverdance before stepping back to the microphone.

“And last but first, if you catch my meaning, is the one, the only, the amazing Parker Sullivan. We are Desert Thunder!” Finn shouted.

Alex tapped out a rhythm on the cowbell and opened the song with his drums thundering. It was going to be a great night!

The Chicks tried to bring their A game, but Josh’s hogging of the lead vocals meant at some point in every song he got pitchy or stepped outside the rhythm. In a way, there was no competition, and if anything, Thunder enjoyed the back seat because going second gave them the upper hand.

The superstar challenge went predictably screwy. Josh foolishly tried turning the clock back on Michael Jackson to the early days when dancing was part of the performance. Whoever choreographed their “ABC” rendition was on crack. Their keyboardist sucked, but at least he could sing, so there was that.

As they waited their turn, Remy produced a gigantic hatbox. What she pulled out got Parker laughing his ass off. When it was their turn, they took the stage to perform “Dirty Diana” with Finn wearing a Slash top hat complete with the appropriate wig. The crowd went apeshit. Finn also sang, and holy fuck, the guy was on fire. So was Parker and the two played off each other, raising the song to a musical masterpiece. No substandard Michael Jackson dancing required.

Alex was having the time of his life and was happy to see their family, friends, and fans getting into each performance.

The 80s rock was where they had to focus. Josh knew his shit and didn’t fuck up Bruce Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark.” They broke the rules, though, by pulling a Courtney Cox impersonator out of the audience to dance on stage. Parker cried foul and made Delilah reprimand them. They had their one assist, the keyboardist, so the audience plant was fucked up.

Alex could tell Parker was pissed off because the whole time they rushed through a costume change, he was furiously bitching. When they were all dressed, they looked at each other and cracked up. Even Berger.

A decided benefit of having an experienced pageant coordinator on their team was Stephanie’s resources and her eye for showmanship. They had to pick which numbers to change their wardrobe because too many spoiled the fun.

For their challenge to Bruce, they broke out classic Van Halen. Berger was dressed like Michael Anthony. Parker was sporting Eddie’s iconic yellow and black jacket. Alex chose to wrap a bandana around his head and wear mirrored sunglasses. Remy was on keyboards, but she stayed to the side until her spotlight numbers. It was Finn who went for the gold by channeling Diamond Dave, tight pants and all.

They looked like they just got off the set of a 1980s rock video. When they took the stage, the crowd went bonkers.

Parker’s masterful Van Halen riffs were perfect. Berger mimicked Michael’s distinctive bass playing and moves. Alex threw himself into the thundering drums with gusto, and Finn? He showed everyone who was the man with a spot-on performance of “Jump.” They’d each watched the video a million times and pretty much recreated it for the Bendover audience. Ingrid even got involved by helping Berger, Finn, and Parker master the threesome strut at the end of the song. For at least one of Finn’s acrobatic jumps, Alex held his breath. The guy had hidden talents.

For the icons challenge, the Chicks repeated their King of Pop strategy and went old school for the Elvis Presley King of Rock and Roll’s number. Wearing a gold lamé suit coat, Josh did a medley of early hits—medleys being a second infraction of the rules.

Alex stripped to his briefs and climbed into a costume from the other end of the Elvis vibe. Parker helped him and laughed the whole time. He even helped apply thick black sideburns and mussed Alex’s hair.

Strutting on stage, Alex basked in the applause as the crowd got their first view of him in a reproduction of Elvis’s white jumpsuit. He looked at Meghan and was thrilled to witness her screaming, ecstatic reaction to the costume he wouldn’t let her see.

Thunder’s fans were enthusiastic. He spotted his dad roaring with approval. With the band providing musical backup and harmony, he toyed with the crowd in a passable impersonation that got the ladies swooning and screaming. “Suspicious Minds” was one of those songs that everyone knew but didn’t expect. In other words, Thunder’s whole strategy. Give ’em what they didn’t know they wanted!

Meghan mugged for the crowd when he motioned her forward. People shoved and made way until she was at the lip of the stage, so as Elvis, he could peel off the scarf around his neck, mop some sweat with it, and then hand it off to his vivacious wife. She held it up and waved the white cloth like a victory flag.

She looked fucking magnificent, and he could not have been prouder. Whatever was mind-fucking with her confidence must have taken a back seat. He hoped that they’d seen the last of her acting up, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think it’d be that easy.

Laying down some classic Elvis karate moves and hip thrusts to the screaming delight of the ladies, Alex gave the song everything he had. Parker’s goofy grin was all the validation he needed. A bra flew through the air and landed at his feet. He picked it up and draped it around his neck while the crowd roared with approval. A second later, a pair of ladies undies were flung center stage. Berger kicked them back into the audience. Ten seconds after that, a pair of white men’s briefs sailed upward but landed short of the stage.

With his vocal performance over, Alex took a satisfying victory lap along the edge of the stage, slapping hands and snapping the occasional bending down selfie. His eyes kept moving to Parker’s face. He saw him checking out Josh as best he could, considering the distance between the two stages. His friend’s smug grin said it all. Thunder was doing what they planned—sticking it to that idiot and doing it in front of Bendover.

Berger was getting itchy for his solo. Luckily, the next draw swung the music dial into the 60s. He perked up like a demented meerkat and dashed into the dressing room the second the Chicks opened the musical decade with a loud, proud rendition of The Kinks “You Really Got Me.” The other band didn’t always suck, and Alex gave it to them on this one. They did a really good job, and their fans gleefully ate it up.

Backstage, they raced around like crazy to suit up for Berger’s big number. They went full 60s for their costumes, and Remy was the star of the visual show. She was rocking a tight short-sleeve turtleneck sweater that looked like it came from the wardrobe rack of American Bandstand. Her micro mini skirt and white go-go boots completed the vibe. Alex thought about it a second and concluded that this may very well be the first time he’d actually seen the woman’s legs.

Finn was gaping at Berger, slack-jawed and stunned into silence. Alex felt the same way. The guy not only suited up, but he also went full h.a.m. Hard as a motherfucker.

Applause was required for his god-awful striped bell-bottoms that screamed 1966. A pirate looking puffy shirt and a cheesy vest nailed the look they were going for. And then the weird little dude added a pageboy wig and well … perfection.

Alex tugged on a plain white shirt. He knew his part by heart and was coming with his best stick-twirling routine and thundering drum beat.

Parker even broke out his vintage Les Paul guitar to bring it all together.

They were counting on Berger to do this thing, and he certainly looked the part, but whenever the band rehearsed this song, he didn’t do much more than stand there. The one time he actually participated, what he did looked more like mapping out football plays than singing a damn song. Alex hoped Parker knew what the fuck he was doing. The expression on his friend’s face, though, was excited and amused.

As Thunder’s song was announced, Remy and Finn held hands and walked onto the stage to rapturous applause. They waved, and then Finn got their honorary band mate situated before grabbing some maracas.

Alex bounded out next and sat behind the drums. Meghan was beaming at him. He felt her love arcing through the space between them. He gave her a smirky wink and twirled a stick as he got ready to rumble.

Parker did his usual king of the rock stage swagger. He looked impressive with the beautiful Gibson strapped on.

And then Berger paused. Alex felt Finn’s panic and saw Remy jolt when the little shit didn’t follow them on stage. He glanced at Parker, but the guy was fiddling with the Les Paul and didn’t seem concerned.

Finn gestured to Berger, and snapped, “Come on, man.”

Remy desperately tried to wave him forward like an owner luring a reluctant pet.

“Berger, yo!” Alex growled.

The crowd got restless. Necks craned to catch a glimpse of what caused the delay. At the precise moment that it got to be a problem, Parker put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. The shrill sound brought everyone up short.

“Get out here, or you don’t get dessert!” he hollered.

Carrying a tambourine twice the size of his head, Berger bounded on stage in his hilarious getup, and Remy gave Alex the signal. Without another second’s pause, she gave a count in, and the band exploded in song.

“One, two, three,” she barked into her microphone, and then whoosh! Remy’s astonishing keyboard skills upped the song’s ante with the distinctive sound of an organ as he answered with a rock-steady 60s beat. Parker’s guitar sounded fucking awesome, and Finn’s double-fisted maracas blended smoother than his kid’s butt.

But it was Berger in the spotlight, and the fucker did not disappoint. He moved in a masterful blend of the original Rascals style and David Byrne’s Talking Heads “Same As It Ever Was” dance. The combination was riveting, and not only that but Berger could sing! And not just sing! He pounded the tambourine and rocked the fuck out to “Good Lovin’” with so much enthusiasm that Alex was stunned.

Remy’s organ was absolutely fantastic. She did some adorable go-go dance moves that shadowed the rhythm. Berger’s head dance and stunning vocals stole the show. Parker and Finn shared a mic and added a harmony that complemented a vocal they’d never heard until this moment.

He got his drums thundering with crisp beats and managed to twirl his sticks at appropriate intervals without taking his eye out.

Berger ended his masterful blend by adding a dash of James Brown flair as he sang himself off the stage. When the song ended, the crowd erupted. Parker all but grabbed his crotch and spit in Josh’s face.

Take that!

Backstage, they erupted in glee while Berger stripped to his skivvies and ignored them. Now that his performance was over, he was all business again.

“What’s next?” Finn hollered above the music coming from their challenger.

“Fuck,” Parker growled. “Still the 60s. Looks like you two are up,” he said to Remy and Finn. “You got this?”

Remy was laughing. She smirked like a pro, and drawled, “Does the tin man have a metal cock?”

Finn bawled with laughter and shared a fist bump with her. When they dashed into the bathroom together, he hoped it was to suit up and not for a random quickie.

Parker was quietly snickering. Alex sidled closer and shared his amusement. “Can you believe this guy?” He snorted. “Jim Morrison? Really?”

“Take a peek,” Parker sneered. “It’s worth it, but don’t blame me if you shit your pants laughing.”

Alex shoved him aside and peered through the curtains at the other end of the event tent where the Chixie Dicks performed on the makeshift stage. Josh was at the microphone, of course, and their guest player handled the organ on “Touch Me” by The Doors. It was a risky move, considering Josh’s uninspiring vocal range.

The guy was dressed in Jim Morrison black, and he was trying to make a microphone stand seem like a sexy prop.

“Jesus,” he muttered when he turned back to Parker. “Our two lovebirds are going to kill it!”

And they did. Alex sincerely hoped Cam was filming every moment of their extraordinary performance. Remy’s fringe top and bell-bottoms with Finn’s tight pants and Rolling Stones tongue T-shirt set the mood for something Bendover would talk about for years to come.

“Gimme Shelter” started slowly with Remy’s seductive croon setting a sultry mood. Parker’s guitar filled the place. Nobody did Keith Richards prouder than his friend did. When it was Finn’s moment, he performed a memorable Jagger swagger that astonished Alex with the guy’s nonstop energy.

And then, Finn and Remy brought a vocal performance that was one of a kind. The crowd was clapping along and hollering encouragement. It wasn’t a difficult drum song—all he had to do was keep the beat and watch the show.

Remy’s vocal solo was ah-mazing times a million. The lady threw down in a very big way. She and Finn dirty danced a bit and sang to each other while Parker and Berger stood sentry and played with perfection.

When it was time to give a kiss away in the lyrics, Remy sank to her knees and brought the house down with her mesmerizing vocals while Finn smirked and stood over her.

The ladies up front screamed and applauded the ballsy performance.

Finn’s swaggering Jagger blew her a kiss and then helped her up so they could finish the song. Parker did his thing as Fremy worked both sides of the stage before finally ending together in the middle.

Finn took the lead at the end and gave it all he had while Remy grinned and swayed behind him.

The crowd was theirs, and the Chixie Dicks couldn’t do anything about it.

Their acoustic numbers followed. Alex was pumped from the drumming and had to shake off excess energy before he could continue.

Josh and Randy did an acoustic version of “Hotel California.” He supposed it was okay, but Josh’s tendency to be pitchy didn’t make it stellar.

The crowd reacted after Thunder’s answering song was announced because instead of Finn and Parker doing their guitar thing, they flipped the script and went with a song he and Parker could play together in their sleep.

Perched on stools, they sat side by side for Bon Jovi’s iconic “Wanted Dead or Alive.” They’d played this song together a thousand times. Sometimes drunk. Other times sober. They’d played it during good times and bad. Every note was scratched into their skin and was a testament to the strength of their unbreakable bond.

Their guitars filled the air with vibrant sound. Parker’s vocal was perfect as always. Alex gave it his all. He wanted to remember this moment forever and planned to take it with him in his heart in the days ahead as they faced the threat waiting to destroy all they’d built and become.

A couple of random bullshit songs ticked off one by one. The Dicks were starting to flag while Thunder was just getting started after a ninety-minute warm-up.

Berger chugged a small Gatorade while they waited backstage to hear which of the guitar god songs Josh and the Dicks were going with. On the first note, Parker snidely laughed. He snapped his fingers in Finn’s direction. “Pay up, shithead.”

“Aw, fuck,” Finn grumbled. He turned to Remy. “Babe, ya got a twenty on you?”

She made a face. “What for?”

Finn snarled. “Lost a bet. Parker said they’d go with ‘Stairway,’ but I thought it was too obvious. Guess I was wrong.”

Remy looked at Alex. “I’d have lost that bet too. ‘Stairway to Heaven’ is so … what’s the word? Unoriginal?”

He sniggered in agreement. “It’s great, but it isn’t the only guitar song.”

Parker chuckled. “Everybody does it. Where’s the challenge?”

Berger snorted.

Strapping on the Les Paul, Parker looked at all of them. “I told you I had this, and was I right?”

“Damn straight,” Finn cheered. “Must be a lawyer thing, right? Anticipating what your opponent is going to do and then answering by gripping your balls. I like it.”

To say they swaggered confidently onto their stage was an understatement. Parker’s choice of guitar songs wasn’t risky at all, and even the song’s title let everyone know they were in for a treat.

From the first note to the last of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” Parker demonstrated his amazing talent. The crowd was hushed and hanging on every note as his friend laid down the consummate performance and sealed the deal as far as Alex was concerned.

Finn’s rhythm, Berger’s thundering bass, and Alex’s rock-steady Ringo Starr beats had Parker’s back.

Emotions were off the charts as the song ended. It was time for the whip it out your ass portion of the challenge. The Chixie Dicks tried to strike back with “Reason to Believe,” but a Rod Stewart ballad wasn’t the way to bring things to an end. Once again, the song was okay, but the timing wasn’t.

Practically rule one of cover band etiquette was always leave them with a feel-good rocker.

“Remy. One last time?” Parker quipped.

She answered, “My pleasure,” and smiled broadly.

“Finn,” Parker said. “You take the lead on this, okay? I’m going to spotlight my Steve Perry ass off.”

Alex laughed. “Hey, I don’t know about you all, but I’ve had a fantastic time. Parker, my man, you fucking rock. Thanks for sucking my dick to persuade me to come back and play with the band.”

“Hear, hear.” Finn chortled. “Likewise to the jizz gargling. You were right, you smarmy lawyer fuck. This band rocks, and I’m honored to play with you. Even Berger.”

They all turned in unison to look at their quirky bass player. He was stuffing socks down the front of his pants and giggling.

“80s rock cock.” Parker sniggered.

On stage for the last challenge song, Parker thanked the crowd for putting up with Thunder’s bullshit. He also somewhat graciously—although with a hint of snark—congratulated the Dicks on a good effort. What he left unsaid was the presumption of Desert Thunder’s first place win.

He also smartly remembered to acknowledge the judges and Whiskey Pete’s for sponsoring the rock and roll shindig. The shithead even gave a shout-out to some TV show that was doing a piece on the battle.

“Don’t Stop Believing” was the ultimate 80s closer. Remy’s piano started things off. Berger’s steady backbeat joined in. Then Parker walked to the spotlight at the edge of the stage and started to sing about small-town girls and lonely worlds. He and Finn wrapped a nice ribbon around the classic song. They made every note count and dragged it out to nearly five minutes, thanks in no small part to Parker weaving Bendover into the lyrics. He got a roar of laughter when instead of “some singing the blues,” he changed the words to “some are born to wear bad shoes.” The ladies, of course, went wild.

At the end, the applause equaled Desert Thunder’s thunder. It was a sweet moment as the band plus Remy took an arm-in-arm stage bow.

Finn’s shock when Remy dragged him into a storage room and stuck her tongue in his mouth lasted for all of a second. She was on the same high as he was—fueled by rock and roll energy.

They grappled like horny teenagers and kissed like savages. Great combination—if only they had some privacy and weren’t in a room that anyone could walk in to.

He put some heave-ho effort into prying their mouths apart. It wasn’t easy because neither of them wanted to stop. They remained in a tight clinch even after the kissing ended.

Joy for how far she’d come in so short a time filled him to overflowing. Her confidence in front of everyone as she strutted on stage in a teeny tiny skirt and balls out took back her femininity was simply stunning.

Finn feathered his fingers along her hairline and down her cheek. “My rock and roll goddess,” he murmured softly. “I’m so proud of you, honey.”

“I had fun,” she exclaimed with wonder in her voice and on her face. “Your band rocks. I have to thank them. Properly,” she hastily added.

He saw an opening and took it. “Let’s grill at the casita. We’ll invite Alex and Parker. You can send Berger a box of candy.”

She snorted with laughter and hugged him around the waist. “I want him at our wedding.”

Time stopped on a dime. They stared at each other with shocked faces. He froze. What was the protocol in a situation like this? Were they getting married? Sure. Eventually. And it wasn’t like either of them didn’t know it. But they were following a distinct path and hadn’t gotten to the part yet where he did the asking. First, there was that little matter of living together and sleeping in a sex-free bed.

He went with a smartass suggestion and broke the tension with a laugh. “You could ask him to be a bridesmaid. He cleans up real nice like when he’s cross-dressing.”

Not only did she laugh, but she got a look on her face that screamed, “I have a brilliant idea.”

“Oh my god. We should swap wedding parties! I’ll take the boys as bridesmaids, and you can round up the girls to be your groomsmen. Inspired,” she exclaimed. “Think about it!”

He liked it and nodded. “Wacky. Like us.”

She grabbed his face for an impulsive kiss. “Thank you, Finn. Thank you for never giving up.”

“I told you,” he gravely replied, “I’m never giving up, Remy. You are worth whatever it takes, no matter how long. I love you, and nothing changes that.”

“Leprechauns mate for life,” she whispered.

“That’s right. An Irishman knows where his heart is. And mine is in your capable hands.”

“Your da says you’re one of the best men he’s ever known. When I teased him that he had to say that because you’re his son, he doubled down. Said he admired how you went out of your way to fuck up but then took back your life and remade it into what you wanted instead of what everyone else thought you should want. He said that takes balls.”

Finn shrugged. “I was meant to come here. To find you, sweetheart. First, I had to be one of the tumbleweeds blowing into town, drawn by Justice. The rest is destiny.”

“I guess it’s a good thing then that you fucked up in Boston.”

“We both reached the bottom and then ended up here. At the same time.”

Her sweet smile made him happy. “Fuckups to what? Not lovers yet.”

He heard a taunting challenge in her voice. “Ready whenever you are, baby.”

She grinned and lowered her gaze. He laughed.

“Come on, Frenchy. We’ve got a trophy to collect.”

Parker basked in the adoration of Thunder’s fans while his gorgeous as fuck and very pregnant wife clung to his hand and giggled softly. He gave autographs and mugged for selfies. He’d never been so jacked up after a show and was having a great time.

Barry jogged toward him wearing a big grin. “Looks like the judges have reached a consensus. We have a winner.” He snortled.

“Where are the Dicks?” Parker asked.

“Taking pictures and selling fucking CDs out of the back of Randy’s car. I’m not even shitting,” he drily added when Angie made a disbelieving sound. “Jesus. I didn’t even know people still did shit like that.”

“Where are the others? Alex and Finn? I’m sure Berger has already shapeshifted into a coyote and left the scene.”

“Shapeshifted! Ah-ha-ha-ha!” His laughing hyena of a wife snorted. “That’s a good one!”

“I’m serious,” he growled.

Angie smiled, and cooed, “Don’t I know it!”

Barry regarded them with a smirk.

“So what happens now?” he asked.

“Pavilion stage. Both bands. Delilah will take the microphone, do some shameless promotion, and then announce the winner. After that, I believe the hell starts breaking loose. We’ve got a monster buffet set up inside. The smoker out back has been busy! Make sure you grab some barbecue if you’re planning on cutting out early.” Barry waved to someone in the crowd and started moving in that direction. “I see Finn. Lemme go round up his ass. If you find Alex, point him to the stage.”

Slinging a protective arm around his wife, he led them through the crowd back to the pavilion.

It took a few minutes for everyone to assemble. Cam was suddenly everywhere, snapping candid photos. Parker found someplace for Angie to sit and was relieved when Meghan swept in and took over. Red shooed him away with a stern admonishment to enjoy his moment of glory. Lingering for a kiss with his angel, he stroked her tummy and smiled into her eyes.

First, Barry droned on and hit all the right notes with mentions of sponsorships, charities, and friends of Pete’s who chipped in to make the first of what he promised would be an annual tradition such a smokin’ success.

He thanked the judges and mentioned each member of the two bands. At the last second, Berger strolled out to join Thunder.

Delilah was next. Parker nearly fell asleep when she launched into her bio. When she finally got down to business, the rest was short and sweet.

The judging was close, or so she insisted, but after careful analysis, they decided to award the trophy of power and the rock and roll crown to … wait for it, Desert Thunder.

Josh reluctantly shook Parker’s hand but on an aside reminded him that this was just one part of their personal rivalry of challenges. They still hadn’t met on the baseball field, and the field day the Dicks were sponsoring in the spring would surely turn their fortunes around.

Whatever. Tonight was about rock and roll, and Thunder was victorious. That was all he cared about.

Barry and Delilah wheeled out a hilariously appropriate trophy that was nearly the size of the Stanley Cup. It was a cylinder topped with a big microphone. Thunder’s name would be engraved and added to the base. Finn announced he was building a special display case for Pete’s.

It was all foolish and silly when held against the invisible shitstorm swirling around Justice. At the moment, though, he didn’t give a shit. For longer than he cared to remember, Thunder was his escape. Escape from the feelings of failure and loss during the non-Angie years. When he begged Alex to pick up his sticks and officially join the band, he’d been desperate to numb the pain of losing the only girl he could ever love and thought music would soothe his soul.

And then his angel came back, and everything was different. Now he played for the joy of it, and it showed in every performance. With Angelina Marquez back in his life, at his side, and in his bed, his world was a far happier place. Add a baby on the way and what else was there? He had it all—and knew it.

Spirits were high after the trophy ceremony. A huge crowd squeezed inside Pete’s and destroyed a buffet that was so damn good, Parker had to actually congratulate Finn the Fucker for pulling off the incredible event. Everything had gone smoothly, and what more could anyone ask for than that?

He was on his second plate of barbecue when Barry sidled up to the table and asked if anyone was interested in maybe doing an encore. The crew Duke threw together to play Thunder roadies had all their equipment ready to load into a van. Now was the time to say something if more music was a possibility.

Angie patted his hand. “Got anything left, big guy?”

Her smile was all he’d ever need. Parker glanced at the corner stage where Thunder usually played. The riser was empty except for the piano. His eyes swung to his wife, and he made a quick decision.

“I’ve got one left in me,” he drawled to Barry. “Unplugged, though, so screw the instruments.”

“Want me to announce you or anything?”

“Fuck, no,” he grated. Barry chuckled at Parker’s vehemence. “I’ll wander to the stage when I’m ready.”

Angie winked as Barry lumbered away. “My music man.”

“This one’s for you,” he murmured and kissed her hand softly.

Eventually, when he was damn good and ready, he tossed his napkin atop a platter of destroyed ribs and stood. Slapping his gut, he grinned at his wife and worked up an Olympic-grade belch that came close to making Angie topple off her chair with giggles. All around them, the assembled Justice crew booed at him and waved napkins to clear the air.

“Madam”—he laughingly smirked as he held Angie’s chair and helped her rise—“quick stop at the bar and then music.”

Meghan elbowed Alex when Parker and Angie meandered toward the bar. “He’s got that look,” she told him.

Alex put down his fork and turned in the direction of her gaze. He snorted and made a face. “Fuck. He’s not done yet.”

“Think we should follow?”

His answering sigh had an adorably put-upon sound to it that made her smile. He didn’t fool her or anyone else with that eye-rolling shit because the deep connection between the lifelong friends was a part of who they were. Alex and Parker’s combined energies created so much of what became Family Justice. They would, if need be, take a bullet for the other. Angie marrying Parker only firmed what was already an unbreakable bond.

He stood and reached for her hand. “Let’s stay close and see what he’s up to.”

Scrambling from the unexpected movement to another spot, Meghan grabbed her purse and finished off the glass of wine she’d been lingering over. Alex did what he always did and simply started moving. People automatically got out of his way. She wanted to make a Moses parting the sea joke, but it felt a little sacrilegious, so she zipped her smartass lips.

Squeezing between the tables, they chatted along the way. The remaining crowd was mostly Justice although she noticed a handful of Chixie Dicks fans, made obvious by their band T-shirts.

Alex thumped Finn so hard on his shoulder that her brother almost face-planted in an indecent looking ice-cream sundae he was sharing with Remy. “Parker’s moving toward the stage,” was all he had to say for Finn to react.

At the bar, they found a grinning Parker hassling Grey about his chintzy tequila shot pour. Meghan sniggered at the hilarious pantomime unfolding before her. Parker slammed the half-assed shot and demanded a second—done right. Finn banged his hand on the bar top and demanded to see Parker’s bar tab. Grey looked like he was going to shit himself.

There were some shots—maybe more than a few—but Meghan declined. Hard liquor on top of a greasy meal and several glasses of wine smelled like a disaster in the making. Grey thoughtfully slid her a glass of the yummy Merlot she’d been enjoying.

Spirits were high and the inappropriate jokes flying when Parker took Angie by the hand and led her to the bar stage. He made a production of settling her on a comfy stool.

Some of the crowd started to notice the activity, and before long, a small group of their closest friends and family was gathered in front of the familiar stage.

Alex stood behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. She took comfort in his big, warm, solid presence. Her gaze swept around the bar. Everyone who mattered most was clustered together. Lacey and Cam. Tori and Drae. Jace and Sophie. Heather and Brody. Roman and Kelly were there as were Cris and Ash and Matt and Wendy Sullivan. Finn and Remy stood beside her and Alex.

Parker whispered something to Angie. She blushed, smiled, and rubbed her belly. The love between the two was plain to see. He kissed her hand and then stared at the keyboard for a moment.

It took less than five notes of “Your Song” on the beautiful sounding piano for Meghan to melt.

The Elton John classic made tears well in her eyes. She watched through the tears as joy filled her soul. Parker was a masterful performer. Maybe it was the tequila or maybe it was the ambiance of the night, she didn’t know, but he sang the lyrics of the love song with such heart and conviction that she heard sniffles coming from those watching.

It was a wondrous moment to share with the couple.

When the song ended, Angie leaned in for a tender kiss. Matt and Wendy Sullivan hugged. So did Ash and Cris.

Afterward, Parker was Parker and simply left the stage hand in hand with his wife.

“Now he’s finished,” Alex drawled close to her ear.

“He loves her very much.”

“Yes, he does. And he knows what he has to lose if shit goes south.”

Meghan didn’t necessarily like her husband’s tone or words, but she understood why he put it that way.

She was talking to her in-laws when she noticed Angie and Remy deep in conversation. They were conferring over a phone. It took less than a few seconds to figure out that they were talking music. Technology was a wonderful thing for instant information and sheet music. Meghan’s curiosity was piqued. She tugged on Alex’s belt to get his attention.

“What’s up?”

Pointing at the stage, she muttered, “Wow. I think Angie has something she wants to add.”

Alex’s brows shot up, and he looked where she was pointing. “She likes to have the last word,” he joked.

Meghan knew in her gut whatever Angie was about to cut out with was way more than her getting the last word. As a woman, she recognized the look on her sister-in-law’s face. Angelina Sullivan had a public declaration to make, and she planned to do it with a piano accompaniment.

Remy let out a shrill whistle, and the crowd got quiet. With a grin that made Meghan laugh, the ballsy woman pointed accusingly at the audience, and barked, “Show some goddamn respect for the knocked-up lady.”

A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd.

Angie leaned over the piano and whispered to Remy. One of their phones was propped up where Remy could see it. After a lingering look at Parker, the public statement his wife made shut down every other sound in the bar except her beautiful voice.

Her song of choice? “To Sir with Love.” Remy’s piano was hauntingly beautiful, and Angie’s delivery triggered a waterfall of tears down Meghan’s face.

If you didn’t know the lyrics, the choice probably seemed strange, but for everyone who knew of this couple’s long, complicated history, every word rang an emotional bell. When she asked what she could give in return for his significance in her life and caressed their baby bump, Meghan nearly lost it. It was the sir part at the end that put the cherry on top. For those in the know, it was a very public and very unique declaration of their love and respect. Even Alex was moved.

Neither for the first and certainly not the last, Angie ended a performance by walking into Parker’s waiting arms. He kissed her passionately despite the audience that included both sets of their parents and then scooped her into his arms and walked away.

Parker didn’t know what to do when she started to sing. He recognized the song right away and had to keep a firm hold on himself so he didn’t start bawling like a baby.

“To Sir with Love.” My god. His mind was blown.

Striding from the bar with the love of his life cradled against his chest, he made for the parking lot without so much as a bye. All he could think about was taking her home where they could be alone.

He wove through the vehicles still in the lot heading for their car when a person unexpectedly moved into his path and startled him into halting.

It was one of their security people. The female leading Angie’s detail.

“No can do, Mr. Sullivan. You’ve been drinking.” She gestured for his keys and eyed his wife. “I’ll drive.”

Angie’s head shot up off his shoulder at the sound of the agent’s raspy voice. The tension coming from a body that had just seconds ago been warm and cuddly got his full attention. Conflict seized his brain. The tequila muddle in his thoughts slowed his reaction time.

“Er, uh, Agent, uh, Fuller, right?”

The spike-haired female gave off an aggressive vibe. She smashed her lips together in a grim line and nodded.

Parker firmly said, “I think we’ve got this, thanks.”

He was uncomfortably astonished when the bitch got in his face. “Don’t make me call for a breathalyzer, sir. Either hand over your keys or have a seat in the back of my car. Your choice.”

A third choice of smashing her in the face became a distinct possibility until Duke materialized from the night air.

In his usual gruff, no-nonsense delivery, he took charge and barked orders. “I’ll drive the Sullivan car and follow, Agent Fuller.”

Grateful for Duke’s intervention even though he wasn’t sure why, Parker tossed him the car keys and nodded. “Thanks, Chief.”

Fuller led them to a Chevy Suburban with heavily tinted windows. He sat in the back seat close to Angie who, for her part, was clinging to him without speaking.

The drive to their home was uneventful although he did notice the agent studying them in the rearview mirror.

Angie sat rigidly, her tension increasing with every mile. Several times, she turned around and looked out the back of the car. Was she making sure Duke was still following?

Something wasn’t right, but right now, almost nothing felt normal.

As they exited the Suburban, Parker scowled at the agent who managed to sour Angie’s mood. Duke caught up with them at the door and handed over the car keys. They exchanged random pleasantries while his wife’s attention remained focused on the bodyguard.

He had no idea what was going on, but one thing was certain. His wife did not like her security minder.