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CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TANNER
I don’t usually get nervous. Not really. But standing outside the glass doors of Celestial Balance Yoga, I’m sweating like a hooker in church. My hands are slick, my pulse is racing, and I’ve zipped and unzipped my hoodie so many times I think the zipper’s about to fall off.
I jam my right hand in my pocket for the billionth time, just to make sure the box is still there. It is. It’s been burning a hole in my pocket since I picked it up from the jeweler two weeks ago. I try not to think about the fact that in less than an hour, I’m hoping to be engaged to the woman of my dreams, and instead focus on the logistical nightmare that is wrangling my entire family into a yoga studio.
Right on cue, I hear the sound of Hudson’s monster SUV pulling into the parking lot. The door pops open, and he unfolds out of the cab looking like an Adidas ad. Silas hops out of the passenger seat, wearing a similar outfit and shaking his head at me.
Hudson gives me a once-over, zeroing in on my face. “You look like you’re about to shit your pants,” he drawls.
“At least I remembered to cut the fucking tags out of my shorts,” I fire back, pointing at the little white tag sticking out of his waist.
“Fuck me with a stick.” My oldest brother growls and reaches around to snap the paper tag off while Silas grumbles under his breath about the shit he does for me.
Next to arrive is Cole, who happens to be in town for the charity rodeo. He pops out in Lululemon shorts, a neon green compression shirt, and Ray-Bans, looking less like my brother and more like the love child of a personal trainer and a frat member.
“Morning, gentlemen,” he chirps, then squints at me. “You alright, Tannie? You look a little peaky.”
“Shut up,” I say, but I’m smiling now because, for all his bullshit, Cole’s energy is infectious.
The next ten minutes are a blur of arrivals and barely contained chaos. Todd Sharp shows up wearing an ancient Silver Spoon Falls Football T-shirt with the sleeves hacked off. He eyes the yoga studio sign like it’s personally offended him, but when he claps me on the back, it’s gentle. “You sure about this?” he whispers, low enough for only me to hear.
“Only thing I’ve ever been sure of,” I say, and mean it.
Flint Stockton lopes in next, wearing jeans and an honest-to-God bolo tie, but he’s at least taken off the cowboy hat. He nods at me, then leans in conspiratorially. “I came for moral support, but I’ll be damned if I wear fucking nylon shorts for anyone.”
“That’s probably for the best, Flint,” I say, then add, “because none of us are prepared to see your hairy ass legs anyway.”
By the time everyone has gathered, the sidewalk outside the yoga studio looks like the NFL draft meets an Adidas fashion show.
I clear my throat, needing to remind these assholes of the ground rules. “Listen up,” I say, in the same tone I use before we hit the arena or a board meeting that’s about to go nuclear. “I need you all to remember this is Star’s business. Not a bar, not the ranch. No one’s allowed to fuck around. Understood?”
Hudson’s lip twitches like he wants to say something but doesn’t. Cole fakes a salute and grins. Todd gives a single, solemn nod, like he’s receiving a field promotion. Flint just says, “Yessir.”
“One more thing.” I stare each one of them down, in turn. “You can shake hands with Star. You can even compliment her yoga moves. But if any of you tries to hug her, or touch her in any other way, I will break your fucking fingers.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Cole bursts out laughing, and even Hudson lets out a snort.
“Jesus,” Cole says, “you left pussy-whipped in the rear-view mirror way the hell back.”
“Lay off of him.” Maggie walks up with Saoirse. Both of them have their hair done up in identical fancy ass braids, both wearing yoga pants and matching tank tops that read “NAMASTE, BITCHES” in sparkly letters. They’re practically vibrating with excitement. My little sister turns and gives me an up-and-down scan. “Are you ready? Oh my God, you’re so pale. You aren’t going to faint, are you?”
Saoirse smirks. “He really is white as a sheet.”
I open my mouth to retort, but nothing comes out. I close my eyes and take several deep breaths, then I mutter, “I’m fine.” Or at least I will be once I get this over with.
Maggie pats my arm reassuringly, then turns to the other men. “You guys look… scary.”
“No shit,” Hudson says, stone-faced. “I’d rather have a fucking prostate exam than prance around a yoga studio.”
God. I hope this holds together. “Pull your shit together,” I grumble and herd everyone toward the building. I take another deep breath, squeeze the ring box in my pocket for luck, and push open the door.
Time to see if I can actually do this without puking.
Star is standing near the back corner, fussing with a Bluetooth speaker, when she spots us. Her jaw actually drops, which I didn’t know was a real thing that happened outside of cartoons. For a split second, her eyes go huge, and I swear she considers making a break for the emergency exit, but she rallies fast.
She glances at me, and I just shrug. What can I say? My family is a lot.
