Chapter 1
“No thanks needed, Tucker. I didn’t ask you to be part of the wedding party because I didn’t think you’d fit into a 5X tux on top with your XL waist. You’re an action figure, Tuck. Besides, you drool.”
Tucker growled as he turned his back on the groom, Brawley Hanks. The dressing room full of handsome penguins grunted and politely guffawed, since they were all dressed up and on good behavior.
“And there’s, no room for even a Barbie on his arm. Damn those church aisles,” barked Riley Branson.
Another former Teammate, T.J. Talbot, grabbed Tucker’s arm and drew him out of the Room of Doom, as the single SEALs called it. “Pay no attention to them. They’re assholes. Also, who wants to walk down the aisle with a Barbie Doll?” He winked at Tucker.
He felt at ease immediately. Tucker’s huge hands and fingers knotted themselves to oblivion, having no place to hide and looking like a bushel of antlers he was carrying. “Thanks, T.J. I hate these things,” he said, pulling on his lapel. “But I’ve been out of commission so long, thought it would be nice to see some of the guys.”
“And now you’ve seen that nothing has changed.” T.J. was nearly as tall as Tucker, perhaps an inch shorter. He bumped foreheads. “But the girls will be younger because of Dorie, and that’s probably a good thing,” T.J. whispered.
“You having regrets, you old married fart?” Tucker murmured back.
Brawley’s dad appeared in the church hallway before T.J. could answer and slapped both the former Teammates on the back simultaneously. “Glorious day, isn’t it?”
Tucker knew old man Hanks was relieved his son had finally settled down and picked somebody. Brawley had more breakups than a pre-teen homeroom class.
“Yessir. Just took the right woman.” T.J.’s face was shriveled up, like his last comment had soured his tongue. Tucker knew he was lying through his teeth. Privately, he thought, it took more alcohol than could fill a battleship to convince Brawley it was time to man-up.
“Dorie’s a real nice gal,” Tucker offered up. “You’re gonna be a lucky father-in-law. She should fit in well with the rest of the family,” he added, trying to keep a straight face. He knew it would be painful for T.J.
Both gentlemen looked back at him, T.J. not showing an ounce of expression. Mrs. Hanks was raised in the local Mennonite community. She was as plain as a saltine cracker, without any makeup or hair curling or adornments. Her two daughters were younger, even paler copies of her. Whereas Dorie looked like she could handle a Las Vegas pole and entertain a whole room of men. Those were going to be some interesting family dinners during the holidays, Tucker figured.
When he had the courage to look back into Mr. Hanks’ eyes, he realized old man Hanks married her probably because little Brawley was on his way, and for no other reason. He felt the man’s pain.
“You believe in miracles, son?” Hanks said, his eyes folded into thin slits.
“Yes, sir, I do. I surely do. That and redemption, too.”
T.J. cleared his throat. “Well, congrats, sir. Must be a load off to have Brawley settled. I think those two will be happy together.”
The far away look Mr. Hanks gave them back was difficult to read. Tucker had been feeling a little lonesome and sorry for himself until he encountered Hanks Sr. today. Now he was damned pleased he’d never hooked up with anyone.
Sure, they’re pretty, but they’re dangerous. Unpredictable. Who needs them? Certainly not me!
At last, Hanks pushed through the two younger men, heading for greener pastures, having exhausted any thought process he was following. He turned his head back to them and whispered, “Happiness’ got nothing to do with it. All a state of mind, gentlemen.” His fingers pointed to his temple, oddly positioned to look like a gun. “All a state of mind.” He sauntered off, straightening his jacket and making room for his crotch as he walked, swinging his feet at the ankles to shake off wrinkles.
“Close your mouth, Tucker. You’re gawking,” T.J. reminded him.
“That’s a complicated man right there,” murmured Tucker. “I can see how he gutted out twenty years on the Teams. Thank God Brawley made it. Would hate to be a son of his and not make a Team.”
“You know the family better, but I’m guessing being on the Teams was summer camp compared to growing up in the Hanks household.”
Tucker knew T.J. was right. They’d grown up together in Oregon, and the two boys got acquainted by competing for spots in high school sports teams. They joined their BUD/S class together, but Tucker disengaged after ten years. Brawley re-upped for a short tour and was going to leave as well. Then he met Dorie, so he extended and used the bonus to buy a house. Dorie had a lot to do with that decision.
The rest of the wedding party began to spill out onto the walkway leading to the sanctuary. Blossoming orange trees gave off a gentle and pleasant aroma. Tucker punched Brawley hard in the bicep, nearly knocking him over before he gave the groom and his groomsmen a fat-fingered wave. He was going to find a seat toward the front, but not too close, give himself enough room to spread out in case he fell asleep during the wedding. His goal was to keep his big mouth shut and his eyes glazed over so he could just swim a little with his former Teammates without getting into trouble. That meant he’d keep his hands to himself and wouldn’t ask anyone to dance. He’d also pretend not to look for cleavage or evidence of a proud bony mound or ample ass beneath layers of swirling chiffon and taffeta.
Piece of cake, he thought as he entered the sanctuary. Organ music played, accompanied by a violin and flute combination.
Hospital music.
The two Hanks sisters were dressed in identical maroon dresses with white lace collars, revealing their beanpole stature. Both girls had their long brown hair parted in the middle, tied in a bun at the back of their neck. No curls, ribbons, or sparkles to adorn them. Each had a deep pink lily wrist corsage on their right hands, folded identically next to each other.
The moms were ushered in next. Mrs. Hanks wore a darker shade of maroon, but her brownish grey hair was pulled back similar to her daughters’. Mr. Hanks looked around the room, catching eyes of friends and landing briefly on Tucker’s face. He sat down hard, making the pew squeak.
Dorie’s mom was lead in by Riley Branson. The lady was the same kind of bombshell for the older crowd, and Brawley had told Tucker stories of her younger years growing up in San Diego. Though she was close to sixty, her hair was as blonde as her daughter’s gorgeous locks. She wore a tailored light pink suit with a flared waist jacket covered in glistening crystals that flashed all over the interior of the narthex and the aisle going down. The skirt below her tiny waist didn’t leave much to the imagination. She wasn’t as tall as her daughter, so the high heels were giving her some trouble on the cushy rug.
Dorie’s mother sat next to her already seated boyfriend, an obvious sign that he might not be a permanent fixture in the family, but he gave her a peck on the cheek anyway.
The organ music crescendo rose, and a majestic non-wedding style march was on, signaling that the audience should rise for the bride and her father. Everyone came to their feet, Tucker one of the last to stand. He turned to the narthex and saw beautiful Dorie all decked out in bright white. Ahead of her were several bridesmaids, all Barbies, except for one, who was a big girl with about the largest chest Tucker had ever seen. He found himself praying for a clothing malfunction as she paraded down the aisle with Riley. Her tight bustier looked like it was going to explode any second, which might even knock Riley off his feet. He found himself chuckling under his breath at the image in his head until someone in the row ahead of him turned around with a frown.
But Tucker’s daydream was shattered by the presence of Dorie, looking every bit the virginal angel. She was probably the prettiest bride he’d ever seen. Her veil was loaded with little crystals, like her mother’s suit. By candlelight at the evening service, it created the effect of a thousand little faeries dancing down the aisle all around her. Mr. Carlson looked tanned and about as proud as a father could be, since his daughter was marrying a war hero.
Brawley was gaping and looked pale as the creamy skin on his bride’s beautiful face. His best man whispered something to him, which caused a quick glance to his crotch, followed by an annoyed sigh as he realized his best man was messing with him. He presented his elbow to Dorie as her father kissed her good-bye. Dorie grabbed Brawley’s hand instead.
Tucker prepped himself so that he wouldn’t fall asleep, but found he needed very little help. The girls were ten point fives, even the heavy one. He told himself to stop it several times, but he was used to ranking women in front of him. Dorie would be number one, of course. Then there was that red-head, but the dark-haired heavy one kept catching his eye. He matched them all up to her, and, to his surprise, his dick preferred her.
The Hanks sisters began a duet that was about as bloodless as the middle-aged female lab tech at the VA who actually sported a five o’clock shadow. It was about as pleasant, too. The slightly off-key rendition of a country song he couldn’t remember had people in the audience coughing to clear the pain in their ears. Tucker was going to burst out laughing if he wasn’t careful. He opened a package of gum, made too much noise, and found people frowning at him.
Who cares? He chomped his gum silently and appeared not to notice.
With that out of the way, he tried to concentrate on the words of the reverend’s message to the audience, and that’s when he fell asleep. He startled from a very pleasant dream to find several in the crowd reminding him they still didn’t approve. An older bony fist leaned over his shoulder to hand him a tissue because he had drooled on himself.
Can I help it? Sermons put me to sleep.
Then he noticed the dark-haired plus sized girl staring right at him with daggers. Okay, so he messed that one up. But he wasn’t there to take home a date anyhow, so he shrugged, stopped looking at the girls, and started staring back at the people in the audience who had caught the snoring or grunting or drooling—maybe all three.
I need some spiked punch.
He knew that someone was going to do it. Mrs. Hanks had forbidden alcohol, but she was about to learn a lesson. It was no SEAL wedding if there wasn’t a heavy dose of alcohol.
Come on. Come on. Let’s get the party going.
The rings were exchanged. The kiss was pornographic, as a good SEAL should behave, and included a gentle squeeze of the bride’s ass, which made her giggle when they both got tangled up in her veil. Tucker noticed the big girl didn’t like that, either.
Mercifully, the wedding was over. Brawley and his young nymph floated down the aisle, followed by the bevy of lovelies, Tucker was suddenly jealous that T.J. had accompanied the brunette. The shit-eating grin he gave Tucker in exchange meant he knew full well what he was doing as his elbow leaned a little deeper into the lady’s chest, which extended her left boob and created about eight inches of mouth-watering cleavage.
I got assholes for friends.
But since T.J. was happily married to the lovely Shannon, Tucker didn’t have to worry about anything.
Except to keep from drooling, get drunk with dignity, and pretend this was a good idea.
Because it wasn’t. He knew he’d made one of the biggest mistakes of his life.