Her Reluctant Husband by Erica Marselas (summer beach reads txt) 📗

Thinking of him, I wonder what ever happened to Deacon. He was my best friend since I was ten, but shortly after the accident, he decided he wanted to travel the world because the accident opened his eyes to how short time is. I tried asking Whitney about him—they’re cousins—but she didn’t know anything. Now, I only hear from him through a few random emails a couple of times a year. Our friendship has fallen to the wayside, but it would be good to see him. I mean, I’m getting married, the bastard should be here. He would understand my pain.

“You know who we should invite? Deacon. I haven’t seen him in ages…”

“Noo!” June screams followed by a plate falling to the floor with a loud crash as it shatters. “Shit! Shit! Shit!" June cusses and Maggie rushes to her aid, asking her if she's alright.

"I'm fine," she hisses through her teeth and is holding her hand above her heart. Blood is racing down her arm. “It’s just a cut.”

I spy the large sheering knife at June’s feet along with the broken plate, and tiny droplets of blood. Just a cut my ass. I say the knife won.

"You're not fine. You cut yourself with the knife good.” Maggie grabs the roll of paper towels and takes her hand. “Alex, go grab the first aid kit."

"You’re still fucking accident prone as ever,” I mutter as I push back from the counter.

"Alex. Go," Maggie says sternly and points her finger toward the hall bathroom.

I grab the first aid kit that Aunt Liz always kept stored in the downstairs bathroom's medicine cabinet. June was the queen of falling and having skinned knees when she was a kid.

Hell, there was that one time she came back here wasted when she was about sixteen, and I found her face down on the gravel road with her face all jacked up. She told me she tripped as she was walking up the driveway, and fuck was she a bloody mess. I’d ended up cleaning her cuts.

She could never handle her liquor and drank till she blacked out. We tried to get her help, but she didn’t seem to want it.

This just angers me more because if she had taken the help sooner and didn’t lie to me about being clean when she wasn’t everything would have been different.

I storm back into the kitchen and throw the plastic first aid kit onto the counter. Maggie is wrapping June’s hand in a paper towel.

"Let me see it,” I growl, stepping between the two women and reaching for June’s hand.

"I can do it myself, Alex," she grits and jerks her hand away from me.

"Give me your damn hand." I grab her wrist and pull it to me. I peel off the paper towel which she has already soaked through. She’s bleeding pretty good, but it’s not deep enough to need stitches. Grabbing another towel, I apply pressure. Once I control the bleeding, I spray Bactine on it, making her hiss. "Oh, stop, it doesn’t sting.”

“No, I guess I still have flashbacks to when Liz put rubbing alcohol on all my cuts. That shit used to feel like it was burning my skin off.”

I smirk with a light chuckle. “It was bad, wasn’t it?” I wrap up her hand with the bandage gauze and I sense her staring at me. This all feels too normal and intimate. How it used to be. I freeze, feeling my heart add another layer of ice over its already frozen state. I can’t let her crack me and try to warm me up by using old feelings.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “You were always good at that.”

I swoop a loose strand of hair behind her ear and lean close to her to make sure only she hears me. "I guess I shouldn't expect a hand job in my future."

"It was never going to happen anyway.” She snarls and punches me in the chest with her free hand to move away from me.

“A man can dream,” I say cockily and I’m glad we’re back to the present.

“You’ll be dreaming forever,” she hisses through her teeth as she flings her braid over her shoulder. She glides over to Maggie who is pretending to sweep up the shattered pieces of ceramic but is watching us intently instead, considering none of the pieces have moved. “Maggie, I think it will be best not to have any guests or formal announcement. I do hope you understand.”

“Of course,” Maggie lays the broom to the side and places her hand on her cheek. “I do, but will you at least let me help with the dress? Every girl needs the perfect dress for her big day.”

“Sure.”

“Wait, back up. You’re not even going to invite your mom?” I ask. I know the two weren't close after her father died, but I thought they still had some sort of a relationship.

“No,” she mutters softly as she grabs the broom.

“Really? That’s kinda harsh, don’t you think? I would give anything to have my mom or dad at my wedding even under these circumstances.” Or Kathleen. And Liz. She glances over at Maggie and swallows harshly, her face paling. “What?”

“I would invite her, but she passed away seven months ago.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

June shrugs as she sweeps up the loose pieces of the broken plate in the dustpan. “How were you to know?”

Maggie comes over to tap my hand. “Alex, I want to know more about this fancy job of yours. Liz would go on and on about it, but I didn’t understand what exactly it is you do.”

“It's not that fancy.” I wave her off as June empties the dustpan into the trashcan.

“Nonsense,” Maggie waves off and goes to the