It’s also the place where we had sex on the beach, under the waterfall, in the pool, in the ocean, on the rocks … let’s just say that we’ve claimed this spot more than once if you get my drift. Anyway, it looks beautiful and romantic, almost heavenly.
We park the bikes and stand in a semi-row next to the podium where the pastor will perform the wedding. Suddenly I’m tired of this being patient shit, my eyes moving over the guests seated on wooden stumps on the beach. I prob my fists into my pockets and wiggle my toes in the sand, feeling fretful cause all I want right now is to see the girl I love, to drown in her lapis-lazuli eyes, to sink into that heavenly place only she can take me to.
Yep, I’m all geared up to say all the la-di-da’s and I-do’s so I can take the new Mrs. Grimm to bed and fuck her silly. I kick up the sand that covers my right foot with a grunt – okay, I’ll admit I’m titillated – but I’m blaming the lack of intercourse this past month.
“Amps down little bro, it’s normal to be nervous. Fuck, I’m anxious as shit and it’s not even my wedding.” I smile at my big brother and I can’t imagine what my life was like without him. Not to mention that he’s the one that knocked some sense into my stubborn head – literally – and if it wasn’t for him I probably wouldn’t be here saying my pussy-ass vows.
“He’s not nervous, he’s horny,” Jackson intervenes, knowing me too well, and my whole fleet of best men laughs at my situation, all of them. Enrique is the only one who shows a small, or rather a teeny-tiny bit of empathy on his face – a microscopic minuscule amount, but it’s at least more than the rest. Maybe because he already went through this shit. Logan, well, he’s staring at the sand as if he’s expecting the attack-of-the-crabs any moment now.
I scan the guests for a seriously ugly brute – you know, to deflate … but the sound of motorbikes blasts over the speakers, then ‘Fairytale’ starts to play and my attention moves to the small body running down the beach between the checkered flags, lanterns and flowers.
It’s Xamos, (a combination of both grandfather’s names) my one-year-old son, dressed in a black jumpsuit with the Reaper logo on, his little legs moving as fast as they can. His face is covered by what Mel calls a ‘beast-grin’, his emerald-green eyes shining with mischief under thick lashes, and his black hair messed up like always.
He’s aiming straight for me like a thunderbolt, leaving the rest of the wedding party behind. I grab the little sucker with a loving grin, swinging him in the air. He yelps with excitement, his eyes begging me to do it again.
This is for sure my kid, my DNA – a wild adrenaline junkie that you have to keep under eye 24/7. Hell, once we found him halfway on his way climbing to the roof, another time he made his way into Midnight’s stable. For some miraculous reason, the stallion accepted him and kept calm. Thank God for that.
And his favorite thing is to ride on my bike with me. I can’t wait until he’s old enough for me to get him his own one (the Reaper team secretly started drafting some plans for that). A little champion in the making … if I can get the notion past his mom. I throw him high up in the air and then I try to keep him still, not an easy accomplishment.
“Hey little dude, we are getting married,” I tell the toddler in my arms as if to convince myself that it’s truly happening, his eyes smile in mine for just a moment as if saying ‘no ship Sherlock’, and then he starts squirming again. I literally throw him to Alejandro like a football and he catches him and swings him a few times in the air before throwing him to the next uncle in the line until he lands in Ilkay’s arms. Ilkay tries unsuccessfully to keep him still so Jesse takes the little man for a walk.
I look at the bridal party slowly making its way down the beach. First up are the three little girls, accompanied by my cousin Ethan, Thalia’s little brother, and Luke, with a huge grin on his cute face. Then all the bridesmaids follow close behind.
But I can’t tell you anything about them – except that they’re all wearing different shades of blue and violet – because my gaze is fixed on Mel and it’s as if the rest of the world turned into a hazy fog.
She walks between the flickering lights, her arms hooked into Uncle John’s, her head looking down. I’m not sure how to describe her dress other than it’s white and hot as hell, showing off those perfect tits (she stopped breastfeeding a week or so back so they’re all mine again … and mine alone). I smile thinking that it’s for sure the ultimate dick-teaser, but I won’t make the mistake again of pointing it out to her.
And then her violet orbs look up and I’m lost and found all at once. For probably the first time in my life, I stand still, rooted to one spot and I’m okay with that, because of Mel. My fudging best friend’s little sister, my angel, my love, my life.
Her brothers were right, I am a lucky fudging devil. My mind is suffocating and I order it to clear up and remember this moment for all eternity. The way her dress clings to her legs when she moves, her hair blowing in the soft breeze, the light blush on her cheeks, the roundness of her breasts, the look in those ocean eyes, the way the sand moves between her toes – every single detail.
Her eyes are steadfast; a smile curves around the corner of those kissable lips as she walks calmly down the beach. It’s as if the earth stops and everything starts orbiting around her instead. She is the center of my axle, my universe, my fucking safety car. The testosterone parts in my body take over and everything goes blank.
I take a deep breath to get some much-needed oxygen to my brain – the lack thereof caused by the rapid blood flow to my southern parts. I change my stance. And then she’s right in front of me, and the nerves flip the lid in my head, my vows and leftover brain cells spinning like a bike without brakes around the track.
I look at Alejandro with a help-a-brother-out look and he gives me a reassuring smile softly whispering in my ear, serious as daylight.
“Just use a lot of adjectives, brother.” So I do, I speak from the heart, letting everything I feel out with colorful descriptive words. And then it’s done. Vows said. Rings on. All the boring shit is over and I’m not waiting for the pastor to say it, I grab my wife and kiss her, deep and hungrily, saying more in that action than with all my vows.
“Well, I guess you may kiss the bride,” the pastor smirks.
“Don’t worry, he does everything fast … life, love, babies, bikes, kisses … ” I sort of hear what Jackson says.
“I love you, Melaena Grimm,” I say, smiling cause it has a fudging good ring to it. And then I kiss her again, making sure to add in some adjectives and promises of what’s still to come.
And right then everything comes together … the girl from the haunted house, the angel from the locker, my best friend’s sister, my checkered flag, my light in the darkness, my baby mamma, my wife.
The end.