Released (Caged #3)(46)

“She’s perfectly fine,” Chelsea said as she stuck her head out the door. “Go sit back down!”

“Stay with her, okay?”

“I will,” Chelsea promised.

I was still a mess until she was back at the table, and I wrapped an arm around her.

“Don’t do that again,” I growled.

“What?” Tria said. “Pee?”

“Take so long!” I snapped back.

“The stall was out of paper!”

I clenched my hands into fists. I knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t help myself. I shoved the chair back, hauled ass to the curb outside the restaurant, and lit a cigarette. I felt Tria behind me before she reached out and touched my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I said as I spun around and wrapped my arm around her. Then I remembered what was in my other hand. “Fuck! You shouldn’t be around this!”

I tossed the cigarette into the street and watched the embers fly around in the wind.

“I’m not handling this very well,” I admitted.

“You’re fine,” she said softly. “I don’t expect you to be magically better after one session with a therapist.”

“I don’t want to go back,” I reminded her.

“But will you?”

“Yeah.” I sighed and touched my forehead to hers. She ran her fingers up over my temple and into my hair.

“We’ll schedule an appointment with the OB/GYN on Monday. Chelsea said she thought she could get me in quickly—it’s her doctor.”

I nodded, and Tria leaned her cheek against my shoulder.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “Everything is all right.”

I wished I could believe her, but I settled for faking it during dessert. We went back to Michael’s house, and the two of them quickly excused themselves to the movies.

Subtle.

“Are you okay?” Tria asked as I pulled off my shirt and dropped it on the floor. She came up behind me, picked it up, and shoved it into the hamper.

“I’m okay,” I said. Before she could say anything else, I latched onto her arm and pulled her toward me. I buried my face in her neck and snaked my arms around her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asked.

“For being an ass,” I replied. “And for throwing clothes on the floor.”

“You are a slob,” she agreed.

“Sorry.” I pulled her tighter against me, and she wrapped her arms around my neck. I felt her fingers running through the hair on the back of my head.

“You really need a haircut.”

“I don’t have much reason to get one right now,” I said. “I’m not fighting, so I don’t think anyone’s going to pull it.”

Tria tugged gently at the strands.

“Yeah, but when you do it, I just get turned on,” I said with a laugh. I picked her up and dropped her down on the bed. I crawled over her and started nipping at her neck.

“You’re tickling!” she cried out.

“I know,” I said with a smile. I stopped and leaned back enough to get a good look at her. “My wife.”

Tria smiled, and her cheeks turned red.

“Kind of weird, isn’t it?”

“I don’t really feel any different,” I admitted. I tucked my head back against her neck. “You know I’ve been yours since I first saw you.”

“Have you now?”

I nodded.

Tria’s fingers moved around my back and shoulders.

“I love you,” she said quietly.

“I love you more,” I replied.

She giggled.

“I changed my name for you,” she countered.

“Hmm…Mrs. Teague. I do like that.”

“I do, too,” she admitted.

I hushed her with my lips as my hand worked the buttons of her jeans. I pushed them down far enough to get my fingers where they wanted to be, then proceeded to make her cry my name out over and over before I finally offered mercy.

I entered her slowly, pulled back, and entered her again. She surrounded me, engulfed me, and made me whole as I came apart inside of her.

All in all, it was a pretty good wedding night.

*****

The usual quiet morning in my uncle’s household was interrupted with an early arrival to Sunday dinner. The voices, though the volume was low enough not to wake anyone upstairs, were heated and very familiar. I stopped my descent down the stairs and dropped my ass onto a step, unsure of what to do next.

I was supposed to be out of the house before this happened.

“He’s been here for days?” Douglass growled in a barely hushed voice. “My son has been here at your house for days, and you don’t even tell me? Seriously, Michael?”

“You aren’t going to help any of this if you go off on a tirade,” Michael responded with considerably more calm. “That certainly never helped in the past.”

“Nice,” he muttered back. “I don’t need that thrown in my face.”

Leaning out slightly to peer down the winding staircase, I could see both of them standing in the foyer, blocking my escape. My father was in tan pants and a light blue polo shirt, and he paced back and forth over the marble floor looking like he was in the rough, searching for lost golf balls.