Marital Bitch (Men with Badges)

Chapter THREE

(Colleen)

He played his part perfectly, the devoted husband.

WE LEAVE THE chapel, laughing and causing a ruckus all the way. This feels right and I couldn’t be happier in this moment. We make the short trek to the strip and bask in the glowing lights of the rotating signs from the casinos and strip clubs that abound in this town. Brad is screaming that he just got married. He throws an arm in the air for emphasis, all the while the other is around my waist, never letting me go.

For a guy who acts like this was a favor to me, he sure seems awfully delighted to be a married man. I sincerely hope he doesn’t expect us to consummate the marriage. That would just be weird. After the first—and last—time we tried having sex, I really can’t see revisiting that kind of relationship. All I remember from that event—where we had tried to lose our virginity together on the night of our senior prom—was the pain and the God-awful noises he kept making.

James pulls me aside and we lag behind the others. Brad shoots James a look of annoyance. Darla doesn’t even look back. I think she set James up to this. “You’re a married woman now, little sister,” James beams and wraps his enormous arm over my shoulder. “It’s about time—you and Brad.”

I laugh loudly, making my ears ring. The sound catches me off guard and I stumble slightly. I hate these shoes. I need a drink.

“I’m going to have to get used to calling you Colleen Patrick,” James laughs, practically putting me in a headlock in the process.

“Well, you won’t have time to get used to it James, we’re getting this thing annulled tomorrow.” James stops dead in his tracks before I even finish my sentence. He is not pleased. It just now occurs to me that it’s possible not everyone realizes that this was just for fun.

We’re staring at each other. No words need to be exchanged. I’ve disappointed him; that is plain to see. “I’m sorry, James,” I look up at him, feeling like the worst sister on the planet. “I thought you knew.”

“No!” James shouts. “You mean to tell me that you two idiots thought getting married would be fun!” Brad hangs back, just slightly behind Adam. He has no interest in James’s rage. Frankly, neither do I. My husband is a damn chicken. I knew this already, so I shrug it off.

“Marriage is not fun!” James says. His eyes are beginning to cross. Darla folds her arms over her chest in annoyance.

“Well, it was Brad’s idea!” I shout and scurry back towards Darla. She won’t kill me, I don’t think. I mean, she needs all the babysitters she can get. James doesn’t move. He just stands there with blood shot eyes and this vein that’s throbbing on his forehead. He continues to rant and rave. He is livid and I can’t really blame him. If Lindsay and Adam were to get married spur of the moment and then tell me after it’s over that they were just playing around, I would be a little sad. But this is James—Brad’s partner on the force. This is my brother. How could he have thought this was real? I mean, it’s me and Brad for crying out loud. Even if our kiss back at the chapel got a little steamy, that doesn’t mean anything—we’ve been drinking.

“Come on, bro,” Brad says, walking toward James with his arms open wide. He gets within reach of James and he trips. He’s falling down drunk. The realization hits. Brad is falling down drunk, not James. I married Brad and he’s not even sober enough to walk upright. I swear he didn’t seem this drunk in the chapel. Oh, hell. James backs away from Brad, still quite angry.

“Brad, don’t tell me that you plan on… plan on…” James’s face is turning bright red. Wow, he’s really mad.

“Consummating the marriage? Bumping the ol’ uglies?” Brad asks. I think he wants a black eye. It’ll just be another story to tell his buddies at the station meanwhile James is shaking mad.

“How else do you think I’m going to get your sister to pop out a baseball team for me, playing cards?” Brad continues to goad James, and we all just stand there completely shell shocked. We have nothing to say. There is nothing we can do.

The four of us watch as James lunges at Brad who expertly dodges him. They are a formidable pair. They know one another’s moves as they’ve spent hundreds of hours sparring in the station’s gym. Before that it was in my parents’ living room. These two have been sparring since they could hold their heads up. This strange dance continues on for longer that I’m entertained by it. Eventually, Brad wears James down, and just like that, the hatch is buried. I try not to let it get to me—the fact that Brad doesn’t hold grudges with anyone else but me—but it still unsettles me.

The night wears on and we gamble and drink. Brad tells everyone he sees that we just got married. The more we drink, the more I find myself falling for all of his stories. He tells the cocktail waitress that he knew he’d marry me someday the moment I developed boobs back in seventh grade. He tells the dealer that he’s looking forward to getting me back to the hotel. My skin heats at the thought; it’s an unfamiliar feeling. If Brad’s goal for the night was to convince me that he finds me appealing, he’s succeeded; but I can’t tell him that.

FINALLY, A LITTLE after three, we make it back to our suite. James and Darla made it back about an hour ago. Adam and Lindsay disappear into their bedroom while Brad and I stumble, as quietly as possible, through the living room. Delusions and words of kindness aside, I decide that it would be improper for my new husband to sleep on the couch. I have no ulterior motives, I just want to cuddle.

Honest.

“Mr. Patrick,” I whisper-shout. Brad’s lips turn up into a goofy grin.

“Mrs. Patrick,” he murmurs, pulling me close and nuzzling my neck. I’m caught off guard and I gently press myself against him. He feels heavy, and strong, and so, so good. He sighs in appreciation.

“Stay with me tonight,” I whisper. Brad kisses my neck chastely. My response and inner musings are anything but chaste. For the first time since high school, I want to bed Brad Patrick. Regardless of how horrific our attempt at losing our virginity together was, I want to try again. We were kids—inexperienced kids—back then. Surely we could get it right this time.

“You’re drunk,” he whispers, tickling my neck.

“You’re drunker,” I state, firmly.

“Am not,” ever the mature one, he argues.

“You were stumbling outside of the chapel,” I think I’m making my argument. “That was hours ago, and you’ve drank a lot since.”

“That’s what you do to me, pretty girl,” he breathes, hot and heavy, into my skin. “I fall all over myself when I’m around you.” My breath catches in my throat. He grip tightens around me in a possessive manner.

“Hey,” he coos, “it worked. Your brother thought I was so wasted, he went easy on me.”

“I thought that was real,” I mutter, feeling slightly better about his state of consciousness.

“Are you trying to take advantage of me, Mrs. Patrick? Is that why you married me?” He’s grinning and chuckling against me. I slap his chest and pull him into my bedroom. I giggle when he agrees to spend the night with me. As attractive as he is in this moment, and as much as my hormones are going wild, I know that tempting him into making love to me would only lead to disaster. I decide to settle for falling asleep, curled into his heavy frame.

Brad kisses my ear and pulls away enough to meet my eyes. When I look into his eyes I’m caught off guard by what I see. I see the five-year-old boy who used to bring me mud pies as a present. I see the fifteen-year-old boy who let me cry on his shoulder when the boy I liked publicly humiliated me; and of course the same fifteen-year-old Brad who beat that stupid boy for making me cry. I see the man in his dress blues for the first time the day he graduated from the academy. I see Brad in every moment I’ve ever been proud of him—and there are many. I see more than the brash cop from the neighborhood, I see my best friend who I had forgotten I have.

I love him—in a way. I love Brad in nearly the same way I love James, only not quite. Only, I had forgotten how much I love him somewhere along the way. I can feel the smile on my face and the excitement in my bones. We’ve always had this thing, Brad and I. We push and pull and we fight like crazy. But then we’re closer, stronger—at least for a little while. Then it’s back to our respective lives on opposite sides of town. At least, that’s how it’s been the last few years.

Brad pulls away and kisses my forehead. “I’ll change in the living room. I wouldn’t want to compromise what little integrity you have left, Mrs. Patrick.” I scoff and swing at his arm as he leaves the room. My eyes linger on the closed door for longer than necessary and a goofy smile takes over my face.

Twenty four hours ago I was working on trial prep and worried that I wouldn’t finish in time to leave for this trip. I didn’t even want to be here and I wasn’t very happy with the fact that Brad was going to be in attendance. We haven’t gotten along this well since before my graduation from law school. Normally, we would have been fighting about my job by now. But now, I can’t even imagine enjoying my birthday without him here.

I walk into the en-suite bathroom and change into my sweatpants and an old police academy t-shirt that I stole from my dad years ago. When I return to the bedroom, I see Brad standing on the opposite side of the bed. He’s wearing sweatpants and his own old police academy t-shirt. We point at our matching shirts and laugh. In his right hand is my veil.

“Will you wear this, Mrs. Patrick?” I laugh at his request, but acquiesce. He tosses me the veil. I do my best to secure it to my head, and crawl into bed. “Beautiful,” he says. I curl into Brad’s side and fall into a blissful sleep.

THE NEXT DAY we wake up tangled around one another. My veil is long-since gone and my hair is a knotted disaster. I am wrapped securely in his arms, my back to his chest. I can tell he’s awake by the way he’s breathing. When he’s sleeping, he snores loudly. He’s not snoring now. I remain very still, pretending that I’m still asleep. He moves slightly against me and groans, muttering to himself. And that’s when I feel it—he’s stiffened behind me—all of him, I mean.

“Seriously, dude?” he says quietly, disbelief in his voice. I’m not really sure who or what he’s talking to. I don’t think I want to know. I want to laugh at the situation, but I’d rather he get up and take care of his not-so-little issue while he thinks I’m asleep. This whole morning after marrying your best childhood friend thing is sort of awkward enough as it is.

“Stop it. She’s Colleen. She’s off limits,” he groans, sounding annoyed. I remain still, keep my breathing even, and shove aside my feelings of inadequacy. I am an idiot. We were drunk, he was being sweet. “The Yankees, The Chief naked, James’s ass…” he speaks slow and steady and in a moment I feel him deflate. I decide that it’s safe for him to know that I’m awake now. I stir in the bed, trying to make it believable. I just want to sprint from the bed and wash away this marriage and Brad’s expertly crafted lies. I am such a fool.

“Good morning, Mrs. Patrick,” Brad says, a smile in his voice. My back is to him, so thankfully, he can’t see me wince. I don’t have deep-seeded feelings for Brad. It’s just that, I’m alone. So very alone, and Brad was saying such kind, gentle things to me. He played his part perfectly, the devoted husband. He was very believable. I’m the one who messed up here. I went beyond playing my part and having fun. I fell into my role and for even the slightest sliver of time, I allowed myself to enjoy the fantasy. The fantasy that someone loved me, even if it was Brad; even if we were drunk; even if it made no sense; and even if it was only for one night.

“Don’t call me that,” I snap and push away from him. This is how it always is with us. One step forward and two steps back.