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Dani slumps forward onto Nathan’s chest.
I take several deep breaths, smoothing my hands over her back, before pulling out. I lean over and kiss her shoulder, then head into the bathroom to clean up.
When I get back, Crew has already scooped her up off of Nathan and is holding her, wrapped in a sheet, in his lap in the chair as Nathan heads for the bathroom next.
I take her from Crew, clean her up with the washcloth I brought with me, then I tuck her into the bed.
Crew strips and climbs in next to her, but when Nathan and I both return to the room, Crew’s left room right next to Dani for me.
Nathan always gets her right side, but Crew and I share her left side.
Tonight Crew’s letting me cuddle up next to my new wife.
"Thanks," I tell him softly as he reaches to turn off the light.
"Of course," he says easily. "Where you belong tonight." His voice is sleepy, but he sounds content.
I settle onto my pillow, next to my wife on our wedding night, with her other husband and her boyfriend like bookends on either side of us.
And it all feels pretty damned perfect.
CHAPTER 5
Sammy the Malamute
(WADE)
When I stare up at the giant scoreboard, I see the clock counting down in what feels like slow motion. Ten, nine, eight seconds left in the championship game. The Racketeers are tied with the Beavers 1-1 in what has been a boring game of defense. Or I’m just hot and a little high in my Sammy costume.
Maybe more than a little high.
I might actually be tripping balls.
But I can’t help it.
Watching Luna McNeill hang all over what’s-his-whatever in the stands while I’m just the guy in the dog suit has me, like, heartbroken. Devastated. I’m Lady without the Tramp.
Wait. That’s wrong. I would be Tramp. Right?
Fuck, I don’t even know now.
I just know it sucks because she’s probably my soulmate and now I’ll be destined to wander this planet alone for all of eternity.
Or I might have taken too many edibles.
I lean over the railing at the top of the stairs where I’m not blocking anyone’s view and try to focus on where the puck is.
There. That magical little disc of hockey happiness is floating across the ice, massaged by a stick. Left, right, left. I’m transfixed.
I glance up at the clock.
Four, three, two seconds.
He shoots. There’s a collective gasp from the fans. He scores.
It takes me until the buzzer to realize it’s the other team who just got the puck past Racketeers goalie Wilder.
Well, holy shit, that’s like bad. The Racketeers have lost the championship.
