Rule 9: Trust your wife. Like she trusts you.
Rule 10: Your wife (and kids) will for sure exercise you.
These are definitely rules I can follow, forever.
The door flings open and Logan bursts in, his face as pale as the white flower pinned on his jacket and he runs into the bathroom. He makes a few dry gags, spitting into the toilet, before splashing his face with water. Right now I’m supposed to be the one puking my nerves out, getting drunk or cold feet, or whatever it is guys on the brink of getting shackled usually do. But it seems that Logan is more nervous than I am. Actually, I’m not nervous at all – I know Mel is ‘the one’ and I want to marry her.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He looks up confused as if my words startled him.
“I have and it gets worse, I’m fudging fucked.” He takes the open bottle from the table and gulps down a big sip before holding it out to me, quickly retracting his hand to knock back some more alcohol.
Who pissed in his pants, I wonder? It’s not like Logan to react like this. Well, maybe it is … he is the emotional brother after all.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He truly looks lost and I have no idea what it’s about. But after the year or two we had, nothing shocks me anymore. At least the Brown family has gone to hell, Chloe’s days are numbered, and The Circle can wait. I don’t want to think about them right now.
Life is going to be good. No … GREAT.
But, I have a hunch none of our previous problems have anything to do with Logan’s mood.
The last time he looked like this was a few weeks back – he didn’t want to talk much about it … but I know he ran away from a one-night stand, whose name he doesn’t even know, cause she conned him. She was a paparazzi undercover. Poor guy has been on the edge ever since. If you ask me, the girl got under his skin.
“I’m whipped, I’m fudging … fulk … ug, fucking whipped, dude!” At least he tried not to swear. Eh, yeah, we’re all struggling with that these days, but the ladies are strict as hell on this subject. Even got the kids to carry swear jars around – and I’m sure Jackson will be sponsoring each of their college funds with his loose tongue.
Logan holds up the bottle and drinks some more. Somebody got hold of his balls, and I know how scary that feeling is. Mel still has her hands solidly on mine, and I believe she always will.
Shi … p, my best man is going to be drunk and nervous, while I’m cool and collected.
“Are you ready little brother?” Alejandro strolls in, followed by the rest of the gang and I glance at the clock. Just a few more minutes and then this shit … poop is going down, for real. I grab the bottle from Logan and down some of the liquid courage – not that I need it, just because it’s some good stuff. Okay, maybe I’m a little nervous.
“Slow the fuc … er heck down you little mongrel!” my father shouts from somewhere, trying to remember not to use curse words, but clearly failing.
“John, cover the stairs!” he shouts, “Alex you manage the right! Garcia go left!” The four oldies got stuck on baby duty, poor things.
Mom is busy helping her new daughter get ready. It’s no secret that Mel’s my mom’s favorite, above all 3 of her boys, but even she comes second to the wild little shit dad is trying to lay his hands on.
But then again, he’s wiggled everybody around his chubby little pinky – and I’m the biggest fucking softie when it comes to him – balls down. I hear a faint giggling sound when Dad yells “Gotcha!” His footsteps go downstairs again and we all smile at his one-sided pleading conversation with his grandson.
“Look pal, your mom is busy making herself pretty for that lame-ass of a daddy of yours because they’re getting married since your stupid father didn’t know how to use a bloody condom … and here you are … stuck with your four grandpapas, get it? So please, just for today, can you keep your little ass out of trouble. Do it for granny, okay? And no shi-er pooing in your pants, I’m not going to change your diaper little man.” The little guy shouts joyfully and Dad curses some more, probably trying to keep his hands on that wiggling little busy-body.
“I’m getting too old for this shit,” he moans. I guess desperate times call for desperate measures, and my father is clearly desperate.
I must admit, the little boy is a handful. My appreciation for my parents grew by the multitudes since I got a kid who acts just like I do … eh … did. Not that I can remember me ever being such a wild as fuck, over-energetic, tireless, hand-full, arrogant, little shit – and that’s putting it nicely.
But Mom assures me that he inherited it all straight from me.
“That kid is going to kill Dad, he’s not fit enough to run after him the whole time,” Alejandro giggles and winks at me.
“No shit Sherlock, that’s why all his wonderful uncles are going to help my parents after we said our vows.” I look at them with a big satisfied smirk on my face. “For the next two weeks, he’s your problem while I get to make love to my wife as much as I want to.” The disgusted looks on all their faces are hilarious.
“Flip, I get tired just looking at the little dimwit,” Enrique complains walking into the room with Leyla, River, and Lili. The little beauties are dressed up in violet dresses, Leyla’s newly grown red hair in soft curls around her delicate little face. (You get to meet Leyla, Lili, and River in Book 2)
Since he got married – on my son’s birth date – he’s a whole new man. (Read book 2 – The Actor’s Contract for his story)
“Shit, I still don’t know what my sister sees in you,” Jackson teases. Yeah, miracles happen … like him falling head-over-heels for a girl. “But she looks like a fucking princess. You’re a lucky bastard, Grimm.”
“Swear-jar!” the three little girls shout out simultaneously, holding out their hands towards Jackson. He sighs deeply and rolls his eyes, but pulls some dollars from his pocket and hands one to each girl. Then he glares at me as if I’m responsible for his money loss.
“You better treat her right, else we’ll cut off that over-performance … ” Enrique coughs lightly to alert his twin and Jackson rectifies his mistake immediately, “… eh dibble-dong of yours.” The girls giggle softly, holding their hands in front of their mouths.
As I said, we’re all trying to limit the swear words around the kids, but it’s not always an easy accomplishment. My head shoots up to find the San Francisco boys glaring at me with mocking eyes, except for Logan. It’s as if he’s on another planet, he finished the first bottle and already opened the next one.
“It’s fu- … eh … unbiased that you lot get to see my wife before I can,” I gasp sulking and suddenly I feel like I seriously need a drink when the picture of her perfect tattooed behind flashes into my mind. I grab the bottle from my BFF, take a big sip, and hand it back to him.
“She’s such a beautiful bride … ” Mom interrupts, standing at the door with a composed proud smile and I know she’s more than happy about the choice I made. She points to her watch and taps lightly on the glass. “You guys better hurry up, it’s time and the girls are ready.”
Logan chokes on his drink and spits some of the expensive liquor over the rug and almost onto his brother. Mom takes the laughing girls by the hand and they walk down the stairs gossiping about how stupid boys are.
Yeah, boys are only stupid because girls redirect their blood flow – and there’s no way a man has enough blood in his veins to support both a brain and a hardon.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Enrique hisses, taking the bottle away from my best friend.
“You guys know that Jane Doe girl?” Logan asks seriously.
“The one-night-stand paparazzi girl that pussy-whipped you?” Ilkay teases. “Yes, we know about her. Is she another false pregnancy situation? Or is she actually knocked-up this time?”
“Maybe she placed a picture of his crooked dick on the net,” Jackson beams.
“Ug … never mind!” he shouts and then storms out of the room. “I don’t know why I’m even talking to you! Fucking assholes!”
His brothers look at each other and then just shrug their shoulders, used to the littlest Blackburn being melodramatic sometimes, or maybe it’s true what they say that weddings are soppy.
Alejandro pushes me out the door, his arm almost protectively around my shoulders and I take in our surroundings. My mom, together with all the bridesmaids, changed my childhood home and the beach into a blissful romantic fantasy world with lots of flickering lanterns and flowers, leading up to the waterfall.
We drive our black bikes slowly down the beach.
Not to be cynical about my future wife’s choice of venue, but I almost fell to my death right at the spot where I now have to say my vows. Maybe she’s trying to make a point, I’m not sure.
With Mel I never am.