Page 20 of Accidentally Marrying the Prisoner
I squeeze her left thigh under the table, surprised by the fierceness in her voice on my behalf.
Alisa looks back and forth between her husband and me. “I didn’t know that.”
Brad laughs instead of getting defensive, trying to ease the tension. “First come, first served. No hard feelings, I hope,” he says to me.
I clench my jaw to keep from unloading on him. Yelling won’t turn back time and have him pick a different name for his son.
“Seems kinda like a dick move, though,” Mirabeth says.
Brad sputters loud enough that Mom looks up from her seat beside Dad at the farthest table across the patio.
It seems Mirabeth isn’t done yet when she waves her sharp steak knife in the air, motioning to Alisa and Brad. “How long after Conrad went to prison did you two hook up? Probably not long, considering Drew’s age.”
“It’s ok,” I whisper, even though it’s not. I squeeze her thigh once more, hoping she’ll drop this line of questioning to keep the peace, though, in truth, I’d like to know the answer.
“What? I’m just making conversation with my new in-laws,” she says innocently, stabbing her steak. “We should get to know each other since we’re going to be family for the next three years.”
A rock sinks in my gut. Right. Three years. I need to remember that.
The color has drained from Alisa’s face when I look up, and she excuses herself from the table, claiming she heard Drew call for her. He hadn’t.
Brad’s smile is strained when he shrugs, “What does it matter? Conrad fumbled the ball. Figured I’d finally shoot my shot.”
“The hell does ‘finally’ mean?” I ask, careful not to raise my voice so I don’t upset Mom, who is still watching us, and Mirabeth lays her hand atop mine.
Brad chuckles, though it’s forced. “Come on. A woman as sweet and beautiful as her? She had a line of guys waiting out the door behind you, and you know it. Same as this one.” He winks at Mirabeth, and I want to pluck his eye right out of the socket. “Better watch your back in three years. First come, first served,” he says again.
I’m going to etch that into his gravestone as soon as I put him in the ground. It’ll be over my dead body that he “shoots his shot” with my wife. Him or anyone else. She’s mine.
Shit, shit.I have to stop thinking like that.
Mom and Mirabeth stand when I rise, and Mirabeth grabs the back of my T-shirt to stop me from rounding the table.
“Hey, Brad? Eat shit,” Mirabeth says quietly, throwing down her napkin. She shoves me ahead of her across the yard and around the right side of the house. As soon as we’re out of view, she suddenly doubles over, her whole body quaking so hard I’m afraid she’s going to lose her footing and collapse.
“Whoa, are you ok?” I ask, hoisting her up against me, my voice even deeper than normal.
“I’ve never talked to anyone like that before,” she says with choppy breaths. “I’m going to puke.”
I hug her close and stroke her hair, my fingers snagging on the tangles after all her writhing in bed. “You’re not going to puke.”
“I wanna,” she says, wrapping her arms tight around my back, her body vibrating with anxious adrenaline. She asks in a small voice, “Do you still have feelings for Alisa?”
“Not even a little bit,” I tell her truthfully. “Anything I felt toward her died the minute I found out she started dating Brad.”
“Really?” She tips her head back. Even in her heels, her chin rests between my pecs. “‘Cause it kinda looked like you wanted to murder your brother.”
With Mirabeth looking up at me, right into my eyes, it doesn’t feel like I met her just yesterday. If anything, I feel closer to her than I did to Alisa, even though Alisa and I lived together for the last year of our three-year-long relationship.
“Yeah, but not because of Alisa. Because of him. Exes are supposed to be off limits to family. But I’m more pissed that he took Andrew’s name, even though those two weren’t nearly as close.” And also for so much as looking at Mirabeth, though I don’t say that.
“So he wouldn’t have gone to prison for Andrew?”
“Doubt it. He loved Andrew, but never once sat with him during any of his treatments like Bridget and I did. Said it was too hard on him.”
“That’s really messed up.”
“Tell me about it.” It’s like we’re the only two people in the world when I palm the nape of Mirabeth’s slender neck and drop my chin, her lips so inviting.
