A Beautiful Wedding (Beautiful, #2.5)(24)

“Believe it.” I beamed.

I reached out to Travis, pointed to his pocket, and then turned my hand over, opening my palm. He handed me my phone, and I pulled up the camera to snap a picture of my fresh ink. Travis helped me from the chair, careful to avoid my right side. I was sensitive to every movement that caused my jeans to rub against my raw skin.

After a short stop at the front counter, Travis let go of me long enough to push the door open for me, and then we walked outside to a waiting cab. My cell phone rang again. America.

“She’s going to lay on the guilt trip thick, isn’t she?” Travis said, watching me silence my phone. I wasn’t in the mood to endure another tongue-lashing.

“She’ll pout for twenty-four hours after she sees the pictures—then she’ll get over it.”

“Are you sure about that, Mrs. Maddox?”

I chuckled. “Are you ever going to stop calling me that? You’ve said it a hundred times since we left the chapel.”

He shook his head as he held the cab door open for me. “I’ll quit calling you that when it sinks in that this is real.”

“Oh, it’s real all right. I have wedding night memories to prove it.” I slid to the middle and then watched as he slid in next to me.

He leaned against me, running his nose up the sensitive skin of my neck until he reached my ear. “We sure do.”





CHAPTER ELEVEN


The Road Home


Travis


Abby watched Las Vegas pass by her window. Just the sight of her made me want to touch her, and now that she was my wife, that feeling was amplified. But I was trying very hard not to make her regret her decision. Playing it cool used to be my superpower. Now I was dangerously close to being Shepley.

Unable to stop myself, I slid my hand over and barely touched her pinky finger. “I saw pictures of my parents’ wedding. I thought Mom was the most beautiful bride I’d ever see. Then I saw you at the chapel, and I changed my mind.”

She looked down at our fingers touching, intertwined her fingers in mine, and then looked up at me. “When you say things like that, Travis, it makes me fall in love with you all over again.” She nuzzled up against me, and then kissed my cheek. “I wish I could have known her.”

“Me, too.” I paused, wondering if I should say the thought that was in my head. “What about your mom?”

Abby shook her head, leaning into my arms. “She wasn’t all that great before we moved to Wichita. After we got there, her depression got worse. She just checked out. If I hadn’t met America, I would have been alone.”

She was already in my arms, but I wanted to hug my wife’s sixteen-year-old self, too. And her childhood self, for that matter. There was so much that had happened to her that I couldn’t protect her from.

“I . . . I know it’s not true, but Mick told me so many times that I ruined him. Both of them. I have this irrational fear that I’ll do the same to you.”

“Pigeon,” I scolded, kissing her hair.

“It’s weird though, right? That when I started playing, his luck went south. He said I took his luck. Like I had that power over him. It made for some seriously conflicting emotions for a teenage girl.”

The hurt in her eyes caused a familiar fire to come over me, but I quickly doused the flames with a deep breath. I wasn’t sure if seeing Abby hurt would ever make me feel anything less than a little crazy, but she didn’t need a hotheaded boyfriend. She needed an understanding husband. “If he had any f*cking sense, he would have made you his lucky charm instead of his enemy. It really is his loss, Pidge. You’re the most amazing woman I know.”

She picked at her nails. “He didn’t want me to be his luck.”

“You could be my luck. I’m feeling pretty f*cking lucky right now.”

She playfully elbowed me in the ribs. “Let’s just keep it that way.”

“I have not a single doubt that we will. You don’t know it yet, but you just saved me.”

Something sparked in Abby’s eyes, and she pressed her cheek against my shoulder. “I hope so.”


Abby

Travis hugged me to his side, letting go just long enough for us to move forward. We weren’t the only overly affectionate couple waiting in line at the check-in counter. It was the end of spring break, and the airport was packed.

Once we got our boarding passes, we made our way slowly through security. When we finally reached the front of the line, Travis kept setting off the detector, so the TSA agent made him take off his ring.

Travis grudgingly complied, but once we passed through security and sat on a nearby bench to put on our shoes, Travis grumbled a few inaudible swear words, and then relaxed.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s back on your finger,” I said, giggling at his overreaction.

Travis didn’t speak, only kissed my forehead before we left security for our gate. The other spring breakers appeared just as exhausted and happy as we were. And I spotted other arriving couples holding hands who looked just as nervous and excited as Travis and I were when we arrived in Vegas.

I grazed Travis’s fingertips with mine.

He sighed.

His response caught me off guard. It was heavy, and full of stress. The closer we got to the gate, the slower he walked. I worried about the reaction we’d face at home, too, but I was more worried about the investigation. Maybe he was thinking the same thing and didn’t want to talk to me about it.