Then she informed him, “That was as long as I could hold out.”
Fin burst out laughing again, pulling his Ma close when she did too.
*
Rivera eased into the chair beside Mike and Mike’s eyes went to him.
“Bro, seriously, I can’t move. I have never eaten so much in my entire life,” Rivera announced. “Jerra’s all up in my shit. She says I do this at every buffet. But, what the fuck? It’s a buffet. Open. Which means seconds. And thirds.”
Mike’s eyes moved to Jerra who was dancing with Dusty on the wooden dance floor laid out on the grass in the Holliday yard. Their dance partner was Ryker, who, fuck him, had his hands up in the air, his hips rolling, his teeth sunk into his lower lip and he looked like a white man rapper surrounded by classy, white ‘ho’s.
Jesus.
“And I got another problem,” Rivera declared and Mike tore his eyes off his laughing wife, her giggling best friend, the fact that they were doing everything in their power to egg Ryker on and he looked to Rivera.
“What?” he asked.
“My thirteen year old is in love,” Hunter answered then jerked his head toward the dance floor.
Mike’s eyes went back, he scanned and found the pretty, dark haired, olive skinned thirteen year old Adriana swaying at its side, gazing with longing eyes at Jonas playing guitar with his band.
Mike looked back at Rivera. “I think you’re good. No has a girlfriend. Or, more accurately, twenty-five of them.”
Rivera chuckled.
Mike continued, “And she’s a little young for him.”
“Good to know,” Rivera muttered and stretched his cowboy-booted feet out in front of him.
Mike looked back at Jonas. His son’s band was doing this gig for his sister for free. Usually, they demanded top dollar because the places they played could demand top cover charges. He somehow made a living at this, playing all over Indy, in West Lafayette and Bloomington for college gigs and it was not unheard of for them to head up to Chicago, down to Lexington or over to Cincinnati or Cleveland. He wasn’t a rock god but they’d recently had a scout approach about laying down some tracks and doing a wider tour taking in the Midwest, the South and Texas. Jonas had graduated to writing songs which did not surprise Mike. They were better than good and the scout told him so. But Jonas had confidence in his talent; he wasn’t gagging to be signed. He just worked at it and expected it to happen.
And, apparently, it was happening.
And it wasn’t a mystery why. They were playing a wedding, a big one with nearly three hundred guests, but they were phenomenal and the packed dance floor was proof. The vibe they gave was fantastic.
“So, it’s gonna happen to me eventually, what’s this feel like?” Rivera asked and Mike looked back at him.
“What does what feel like?”
Rivera’s eyes left him and moved across the yard. Mike followed his gaze and saw Fin and Rees in a close huddle, having a moment of alone time amidst a throng of people.
It was not the first time he saw it. It was also not the first time he saw it that day, Fin in his dark tux, Rees in her flowing, angelic wedding gown.
And it was also not the first time it hit him with a pierce through the heart.
“It hurts like all fucking hell,” Mike muttered then his eyes moved back to Rivera and he finished, “And I’ve never been happier.”
The skin around Rivera’s eyes got soft but his mouth grinned.
Then he muttered, “Pray for me, brother, that Adriana lands a Finley Holliday.”
Mike looked back at the couple and saw Fin’s hand wrapped around the side of Rees’s neck. He was lifting his head, smiling down at her and he’d probably just kissed her. Then someone approached, Reesee’s eyes slid away and Fin’s jaw got tight for a second, clearly not wanting their moment disturbed.
He loved Mike’s daughter.
More than life.
“I’ll do that,” Mike assured Rivera and looked back at his wife, her friend and fucking Ryker who somehow got hold of his baby girl Mandy and had attached her to his rolling hip. She had one little arm wrapped around his thick neck, the other arm, like his other arm, was fist in the air. And they had been joined, flying in the face of all that was holy, by Rhonda, Audrey, fucking Kirby and a terrifying, white man bad dancing Jordy.
Fuck.
*
“Do me a favor,” Mike stated as he walked into our bedroom.
“What?” I asked, rubbing lotion into my hands.
Mike stopped at the foot of the bed. “Never, ever dance with fucking Ryker again.”
I burst out laughing.
Mike did not.
I forced it down to a chuckle and said through it, “It was fun.”
“Jesus,” he muttered and his hands went to the buttons of his white, pleated-front tuxedo shirt.
I shifted my legs and slid them under the covers of our bed.
Mike dropped his shirt to the floor.
“She rear her head?” he asked the floor, hands working at his belt.
He was talking about Debbie.
“When I checked my phone after dinner, she’d called three times.”
Mike’s eyes came to me.