Sanctuary (Family Justice Book 3) (65 page)

Desert Angel was in the house. So was the Ass in their little lady’s band of sisters. That was when she noticed that the sliding partition breaking the big hall into smaller spaces was in use. On this side, dinner was clearly happening. She couldn’t wait to see what was being kept from view on the other side.

Drinks flowed, conversations got lively, and dinner was fantastic, thanks to some of the best firehouse catering imaginable, allowing Meghan to easily downshift into wedding mode. This was their time to celebrate. To share with friends and family and make memories to warm their hearts in the years ahead.

After eating way too much, she’d been kidnapped and dragged into the ladies’ room as Alex watched with a shit-eating grin, shrugging when she begged for assistance. At that moment, she realized how much planning went into this unusual gathering.

In the bathroom, Angie opened a big satchel, which appeared out of thin air, and laid out makeup, a blow dryer, a bunch of brushes, a pack of nipple covers, and when she upended the bag, a bottle of lube.

“Oh, sorry,” Desert Angel sputtered, quickly snatching the bottle and tossing it in her purse.

Lacey stomped her foot and put her hands on her waist. She was trying to look stern, but the stage outfit and her distinctive, glossy ponytail quite comically ruined the effort. “Really, Angie? Lube? Sheesh. We’re not even hammered yet.”

Before she knew it, the small bathroom was teeming with people. She realized everyone and their neighbor’s best friend had a part to play in the evening’s planned festivities.

Even her mother was there, primping in front of the mirrors over the sinks. Mrs. Marquez was busy helping Wendy Sullivan slide on a pair of boots. White, go-go boots. For real.

Stephanie was flitting around helping everyone. This gaggle of females crammed into a small space all getting ready for god knows what must be a lot like one of the pageants she worked on. As the pageant queen huddled in the corner of a stall door, her hands moving with speed and efficiency over Brody’s girlfriend. Meghan smiled. Really big. She was glad they’d sucked Heather into this craziness. If Brody brought her with when he came back to Arizona, she’d already have a spot ready and waiting for her.

Looking around, she made note of who was there and once again, her heart sank that Sophie was nowhere in sight. That whole thing seemed more and more like a lost cause.

When everyone was ready, they turned their collective attention to her. Feeling like a deer in the headlights quickly passed as they gathered round and started preparing her for what was next. When they were finished, her soon-to-be mother-in-law tied the discarded shawl around her hips like a sexy sarong, making Meghan wonder what the fuck was going on.

Someone stuck a short veil on a tacky crystal tiara in her hair. Around her neck hung a fugly necklace made of big, beads with an oversized plastic shot glass dangling from the end. When her mom walked forward with a small bouquet of silk flowers, she reached for them only to have her hands slapped away. “Turn around.” The humor in her ma’s voice blew Meghan’s mind. Before she knew what was happening, she’d been whirled around and nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt hands touching her butt.

Oh, my god! They were pinning the bouquet to her ass. This was … priceless.

“Ready, Freddy?” Angie quipped after she’d pirouetted in front of a mirror laughing hysterically.

“Showtime!” Lacey announced and then she was shoved through the door straight into a dark room with a spotlight. Trained on her.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a deep voice boomed over the loud system. Sounding very much like a WWE ringside announcer introducing a fight, the voice might belong to Uncle Ed, but she wasn’t sure. If it was, things just got surreal. “For the last time on her hometown soil, please give it up for Boston’s undisputed and forever reigning Ball-Busting Bitch,” Meghan shrieked with laughter when the crowd pounded on tables, chairs, and walls like a drum roll, “the lovely, the talented, the bodacious … Meghan Elizabeth O’Brien!”

The entire hall erupted with shouts and applause as she waved her hand like the Queen of England and walked into the spotlight. Just before she disappeared into the blinding light, she turned back to Angie and mouthed, “Thank you.” Desert Angel nodded then made the heart symbol with both hands before shooing her into the raucous crowd.

Before she took five steps, her father slid from the darkness and offered his arm. Oh, my god. She clutched her heart. “Dad.”

“There’s a lot of love in this room, Meggie.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You chose wisely, sweetheart. Now, go on out there and have the time of your life.”

They walked down the spotlight aisle to a table in the center of the dance floor. Pulling out her chair, Meghan sat down, laughed when she felt the reminder of the butt bouquet, and smiled at her da as he uncorked a bottle of champagne and poured her a glass. “You’re not driving, are you?” her policeman dad asked with a smirk.

“I have no idea. Am I?”

He laughed, patted her shoulder, and stepped back into the darkness. She could feel her heart pounding as she waited. When the spotlight swung to the big riser serving as a stage that ran across the back wall, she almost leaped from her seat when her Major walked up to a microphone.

“Thank you all for being here tonight,” he announced in his sexy stage voice. “For those tardy to the party … I would be the groom.” Wild applause, catcalls, and laughter rang out.

Resting his hands on top of the mic, he looked out at the gathering as the lights slowly brightened and the crowd became visible.

“If we were home in Arizona, this shindig would be going down at Whiskey Pete’s. Thanks to Dev, Mike, and Finn O’Brien for transforming Fireman’s Hall into a honky-tonk bar so my Justice crew could feel at home.”

More woot-woots were heard and from a corner of the makeshift bar, she saw and heard Deval holler, “Fucking cowboys.”

Some activity in the shadows behind Alex grabbed her attention. Parker was there with a guitar strapped on and a beer in his hand. Cam was also there and Drae too. Her mouth almost hit the floor when she spied Cristián Marquez and Father Ed off to the side tuning guitars. And then her dad climbed on stage and went to the keyboards. Next thing she knew, Brody was perched on a barstool near an enormous set of drums, and she saw Calder laughing as he knocked back a Guinness and spun a tambourine in his hand.

Holy. Fucking. Shit. This, whatever it turned out to be, was EPIC.

And then, well, then Alex morphed into Thunder Foot right before everyone’s eyes, and she’d never wanted him more. As he began to unbutton his crisp, white shirt, her eyes widened. What was he up to?

“Best part of having baby boomer parents? The fucking music.” Pulling his shirttails from the waistband of his jeans, he kept on removing his shirt. “See that old hippie over there with the bass guitar?” His father flipped him the bird and grinned as the ladies in the room made noises of appreciation. “My dad,” Alex drawled. “And the scary looking guy who reminds you of a cop?” Lots of “Ooooh’s,” sounded. “Well, he’s her dad and guess what … a cop!”

That was when the shirt came off and her sexy as fuck and totally hunky Major bared his impressively muscled chest with its perfect amount of body hair. The room erupted in lewd comments, shrieks of laughter, catcalls, and who knows what the hell else. He looked down from the stage right at her and smirked.

“Sis?” he asked and out from the shadows stepped Angie. She walked up to him, handed something off, and then took control of the microphone. “Don’t salivate too much, ladies,” she jested. “He may look good but, believe me, he’s still an asshole.”

Alex turned his back to the room as he slid what looked like a t-shirt over his head. As the dark shirt covered up his muscled back, Meghan grabbed her drink and inelegantly slugged half the glass in one attempt.

When he turned around and came back into the spotlight, nothing short of comical hell broke loose. The man made a pair of black jeans look hot. That was for damn sure. But when she saw what the t-shirt said, he went from hot to adorable in a heartbeat.

In big, stark white letters across his chest, it read
Glenfiddich
.

Meghan couldn’t help herself. It simply had to be done. Aware that her posse of ladies was setting up camp around her, she ignored them, scooped her hand around her mouth, and boomed as loud as she could, “Glenfiddich is for pussies.”

The entire room rang with laughter.

Alex grinned at her from the stage. “Where’d you get such a mouth, woman?”

Before she could shout an answer, her mother came from the shadows and completely knocked Meghan for a loop.

Throughout her entire life, she could only come up with a handful of times when her mother wore pants. She was skirts and dresses the whole way. Oh sure, she would wear shorts when they went camping, but what Meghan meant was that her mom wasn’t a fan of jeans. And she would rather slit her wrists than don a pantsuit. Sweats? Better have a hundred and four temperature and be sick as a dog. That her ma didn’t do pants was a constant in her life.

So when Maggie O’Brien waltzed on stage in black skin-tight Capri style leggings with a white collared and button-down blouse that she cinched with a wide belt, Meghan was stunned. The high-heeled shoe boots looked familiar and then she remembered seeing them in Angie’s stuff.

Joining Alex at the microphone, she wrapped her arm around his waist and gave everyone a wink. “Got it from me,” she said apologetically. Smiling sweetly, she gave the Major a clear once-over. “I’m afraid she’s correct, though.”

Do it, Mom,
Meghan silently recited.
Please, please. Do it!

As if she was calling bingo numbers in the church hall, Maggie O’Brien leaned into the microphone and announced in a clear voice, “Glenfiddich is for pussies.”

Alex roared with laughter as Meghan jumped up, rushed the stage, and threw up her hand for a mother-daughter high-five. Not one person watching this display of snarky profanity wasn’t laughing out loud.

Going back to her seat, she was floating on a happiness high when her Major went for the gold. “Now, I know this was a surprise for my bride, but I’m pretty sure if she could have prepared some comments, she’d want to say this.”

Aw. God, he was so cute. His mama done taught him his manners well. Thinking he was going to say something profound about their marriage, she grabbed onto her chair and rocked with glee when he looked over his shoulder at Calder and said, “Yo, dude. What the fuck. You gonna put a ring on it or what?”

Without missing a beat, he gave Parker a signature Marquez scowl. “And you. Fucking pervert. Either marry my sister and do it quick or it’s pistols at dawn in the desert.”

This time, Stephanie and Angie jumped up to offer Alex a high-five.

Then he put his hand up to shield his eyes from the spotlight and looked straight at her. “I do good, honey?”

She shouted, “You did very good, baby.”

“Okay then,” he drawled. “Let the wild rumpus begin.”

Parker moved the mic, a few words were exchanged with Alex’s dad as her alpha bad boy climbed behind a true rock star drum set and grinned. He counted out a beat, the stage lights set, and off they went.

H
EATHER HAD SEEN
some interesting stuff in her days, but nothing that even came close to this. The little sing-a-long Brody described was a full-throated, multi-genre concert that was unique, impressive, and a thousand times more professional than anything she imagined.

Sing-a-long, my ass. These people weren’t strangers to performing. Shit. Why’d she agree to be a part of this?

Because they asked her, that’s why.
It seemed a lifetime ago when she hung out with friends and made the type of laughter these people shared. It felt good. No. It felt amazing. Brody called it when he said Justice was like nothing she’d known or could imagine. For the first time she was aware of, Heather wanted to belong. Wanted to be part of the joyful noise she’d been a guest to these last few days.

Being around loving, respectful relationships like the sort her parents had might have been the thing that turned her head around. All the men, from Meghan’s father and brothers to Alex’s priestly uncle, were simply extraordinary.