Tyler
I TRIED TO put it out of my mind.
The nagging feeling that whenever my father was involved, there was trouble.
I’d spent the early morning surfing the net for details on London Fairchild’s auto accident.
I found none.
It was too long ago to have hit the electronic age.
After I helped Paris pack up a few things, I told her I had to run out. I went over to the Public Library and pulled microfiche film from the St. Helena’s paper.
There was one article and it simply stated, “Young girl dies in car accident.”
That was fucking it.
The entire article just mentioned her accomplishments and the future she would never know.
By the time I got back to the Fairchild Estate, everyone had arrived to move Paris over to California Jane’s.
I tried to act like I was okay.
Like nothing was wrong.
Didn’t flinch when I saw the boxes labeled, “London’s room,” although I knew the diary had to be in there.
I even swallowed down whatever bitterness was trying to crawl its way up my throat all fucking day long. But everyone knew I was on edge. I nearly ran over Julian in the hallway when I was bringing one of the boxes up the stairs.
“Ty, you got a second?” he called when I didn’t stop.
“Not now,” I ground out. “Got shit to get done. Later, okay?”
“Ty?”
I stopped, impatience burning as I turned to look at him.
His brows had drawn together in concentration. “What’s going on with you?”
I shook my head. “Like I said, later, okay?”
“Yeah, fine.”
No way was I throwing that shit about London and old man out there in middle of this.
Just as I reached the bedroom door, Julian called out. “Darcy and Lane are bringing dinner. You cool with that or should I tell them to cancel?”
I paused and smiled. “No, don’t cancel. I’m fucking famished, man.”
“You sure?”
He was fishing again, but I ignored his ass and strode into the bedroom.
“Oh, good,” Tabitha said when she spotted me, “we need your help.”
“Oh good. I can hardly wait,” I retorted, setting the box down and rubbing my hands together.
Tabitha punched me in the arm. “Come on, this is supposed to be fun.”
I wiped my brow. “Fun. What are you talking about? Can’t you tell, I’m having a fucking blast?”
The room had been painted some kind of berry color and all new furniture had been delivered today, compliments of Wilhel-fucking-mina. Our wedding gift or some shit.
I told the old lady to save her money.
Tabitha came at me with a hammer. I almost jumped back, but then grabbed it when she said, “Here, be a man and pound a nail into the wall over the bed. You can do that, can’t you?”
I glanced at Paris with her smooth ponytail hair and sexy-as-fuck jeans and gave her a wink. “Yeah, I’m really good at pounding.”
Tabitha shook her head. “All you men are the same. Sex. Sex. Sex. Did you know sex is on a man’s brain every seven seconds?”
“That’s a little extreme,” I rolled my eyes.
“It’s true.”
Paris giggled and I eyed her. “Watch it or you’ll be sleeping alone in this big, new bed tonight.”
“Why is your wife sleeping alone?” Grayson asked as he brought the last of the boxes in and tossed them to the ground.
“Hey,” Paris protested in jest. “That could be fragile.”
“It’s labeled purses,” he came back at her.
Tabitha marched over to the toolbox to pick up a nail and then glanced up at her husband. “Ty doesn’t believe me that men think about sex almost eight thousand times a day.”
Grayson rolled his eyes. “Dude, haven’t you learned yet, you never go head-to-head with Tabitha because you can never win.”
Grabbing the metal rod from her outstretched hand, I strode past Paris and let my fingertips trail across her ass as I headed toward the bed. “I forgot that the Wit and Wisdom Blog she follows religiously is jam-packed with important facts like that.”
That earned me the middle finger.
I went about my manly duties and hammered the nail into the wall where she’d marked an X and waited for her to hand me a picture to hang on it. “Better not be a pic of Gray’s dick,” I mused as she unwrapped the brown paper.
“Dude, that would be awesome,” he shouted, fist pumping. Then he lowered his voice and glanced at his wife. “It’s not, right?”
She shook her head. “See, not even seven seconds and it’s sex, sex, sex.”
Okay, so maybe she had a point.
Paris continued pulling clothes from those suitcases that had been laying on her floor unpacked almost two weeks ago and walked into the closet. I took that as a good sign. She had been quiet all day, but I knew she was thinking about the same thing I was—Corky and London.
I took the picture without looking at it, hung it, and then turned to hop off the bed.
“Hold on,” Tabitha called.
“What?” I asked.
She flicked a painted fingernail against her teeth. “It’s crooked. A little to the left.”
I tilted it.
She crossed one arm and rested the other on it. “Too much. Back the other way.”
I moved it back.
She still didn’t look pleased.
“Let me see,” I said and jumped off the bed near where the empty suitcases now laid.
I looked at the picture and felt all the wind get knocked from my lungs.
Tabitha looked satisfied with my reaction.
Paris came back out of the closet that very moment and I grabbed her by the waist, covering her eyes and whisking her around. “What are you doing?” she laughed, a little breathless.
I took my hand from her face and pointed. As soon as she saw it, she gasped in delight.
The picture was of the two of us on our wedding day walking down the stairs at the courthouse, her beautiful red hair blowing in the breeze as she smiled. And fuck, if I wasn’t grinning like a motherfucker.
Tabitha clapped her hands together. “Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” Paris said, leaning her hot little body against mine.
I gave Tabitha a nod and mouthed, “Thank you.”
“A dick pic would have been better,” Grayson mused, and we all laughed at that.
Just then a horn honked from outside.
“Oh, Darcy and Lane are finally here.” Tabitha was practically drooling as she spoke.
“What? Did they bring the Chippendales or something?” I asked.
That earned me another bird.
“I’m the only Chippendale she needs,” Grayson retorted, chest puffed, arms crossed.
She grabbed her husband by his man bun and yanked him to the door. “Emerson is staying with my parents tonight, so do you think you could wear a bowtie?” she whispered, but it was still loud enough for us to hear.
Paris and I stood looking at the photo. “That’s proof right there you really did want to marry me,” I said, pointing.
She turned on her heels and waltzed into the bathroom, closing the door on my face as I followed. “Keep dreaming, party boy, I was just glad to be leaving.”
I had to laugh.
She definitely gave as good as she got.