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The past three years have seen some changes. The Underground still ran as it always had, but there was a behind-the-scenes life that neither Trey, Rogue, nor Oz had seen coming. The only man who wasn’t surprised was Sal.
The loud crash from across the house got everyone’s attention. Everyone seemed on high alert with a small ounce of concern. Even Rogue was laser-focused on the doorway. The only man not bothered by it was Oz. He lifted his cigar to his lips, took a deep drag, and slowly lowered his hand to tap off the ashes.
“I’m fine.” The soft voice echoed through the main floor, and Trey clamped his lips, not giving in to his amusement. He eyed Oz, who didn’t seem the least affected. Why would he? If Trey had to guess, this was a daily occurrence.
“Ah fuck!” Rogue snapped, heading toward the bar set up in the corner of the room. “Tell me you got some fucking backup plan here, Oz. How she hasn’t fucking blown up your kitchen is beyond me. You got delivery on standby?”
Rogue’s taunting was nothing new, and it didn’t get much attention, but Oz did rest his cigar in the ashtray and glare at his brother. “You will fucking eat whatever she puts on that table.”
Trey stifled his laugh, eyeing Sal, who was openly grinning. “Personally, I love a creative cook.”
“It’s ready!” the soft voice shouted, and immediately Sal stood, walking through the grand living room. Oz was the next to follow, with Rogue trailing behind, his phone up to his ear. He was talking to his woman.
Trey wouldn’t ask questions or ask for a timeline on her arrival. He already knew the answer. It would be the same as always. She’ll get here when she gets here. Rogue's woman answered to no one, not even Rogue.
Trey stared back at his brother in every sense of the word except blood. Rogue scowled, and his lips tightened, shaking his head yet biting his tongue.
It was strange to see the evolution of the three of them behind closed doors.
Rogue nodded and veered left toward the front door.
Trey straightened and attempted to stand, but Dahlia pushed his chest, forcing him back onto the couch.
“He crossed off half my list.” Dahlia held up the handwritten invite list. “I want them all to come.”
He cupped her jaw, stroking his thumb over her cheek. “Then they’ll all come.”
This was their wedding, and while it would be far from traditional, smaller than most, and discrete, Dahlia would get everything she wanted, including the attendees.
“You didn’t put anyone on the list.”
Trey glanced down. His list was short. Everyone she assumed had been marked down.
“There’s no one you want to add? Ya know, to be there?”
Trey stared down at her. The same face he wanted to look at until his last breath. Trey reached out, cupped her jaw, and stroked her cheek with his thumb.
“You and me. That’s all I need there. Promise me you’ll show up, and I’m good.”
Dahlia scooted closer, resting her hand over his chest. “I’ll always show up, Trey. Always.”
And she did.
The End
