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  “If you use this, they’ll expect Sam and Mitch to stay here, and given what you’re saying about how the wedding night will go down, this might be the wrong kind of intimate.” She wrinkled her nose. “Besides, everything smells like perfume.”

  Randy nodded with a grimace. “All right. Let’s hope this wedding chapel is better, then.”

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t. The proprietors were wonderful, charming, beautiful people. The space was the right size, and while there were several weddings booked that day, the chapel had plenty of other openings. The problem was the room didn’t feel right to Randy at all. Technically it gave Sam everything he wanted, but it was dark, cramped, and felt like a Vegas chapel’s sad, neglected cousin. He’d worried about that from the pictures online, but the real thing was even more disappointing and depressing.

  “What now?” Emma asked as they got back into the van. “Your Hail Mary?”

  “I guess. The good news is that it’s just a few blocks from the reception. The shit news is that it’s outside.”

  “Well, are you going to tell me where it is, or what?”

  “Nope. I’m going to show you.”

  Randy drove into the downtown, navigating the one-way streets with a lot of swearing until he had them driving up Locust, heading for the west side of the capitol building. He gestured at the golden dome glittering in the muted winter sun. “There. That’s my Hail Mary.”

  Emma looked around, confused—then up. “Oh—oh. Randy, that’s a brilliant idea. The Iowa State Capitol. How fitting is that—the whole reason they can get married.”

  “No, technically that would be the Iowa Supreme Court, but it’s not as pretty.”

  “Can you have a ceremony here?”

  “Totally, and better yet, it’s free. It doesn’t have to be reserved—which means it’s not exclusive, but I doubt there will be a rush. Only outside, though, so it’ll be cold. It could be really fucking cold. But it doesn’t cost a dime, and it comes self-themed.”

  “I think this is perfect. Screw the cold. They can wear winter coats and have hand warmers. Like Mitch was going to wear a suit anyway.”

  “Oh, he’s wearing a suit.” Randy pulled the van into a parking spot and stared at the capitol building, imagining the wedding happening there. “So it’ll be them, you, me, and whoever we can bring over from the bar. You know, maybe this is perfect in a lot of ways. And who knows, we could get lucky, and it’ll be sixty that day. This is the Midwest in winter after all. Anything from thirty below to seventy above is fair play. Shit odds, though. But it doesn’t take long to say a few fancy words and I do, me too, I guess.”

  “It’ll be you, me, and Steve, by the way. When you book the honeymoon suite, I’m getting the two of us a room in the same place.”

  “Good.” Randy tapped his thumb on the steering wheel. “What about Sam’s aunt and uncle? Should I just write them off?”

  “You have to invite them to the ceremony. And…honestly, I don’t think it’s a given they won’t come. Unlikely, but…well, let’s say in the past year I’ve learned a lot about Sam’s aunt.”

  “Don’t tell me she has hidden depths.”

  “No. But under all the barbs and judgment is Sam’s mom’s sister.”

  Randy said nothing, only nodded, but he made a mental note to deliver that invite in person. He’d also ensure if Delia did come, she didn’t rain on Sam and Mitch’s big day.

  Emma turned in her seat. “So where is the reception? What bar are you talking about? Because you have me all curious about this.”

  Randy grinned. “I’ll show you. But don’t tell Sam and Mitch. It’s my favorite surprise.”

  AS JANUARY ROLLED on, Randy’s wedding preparations got more and more intense. He teased Sam and Mitch relentlessly about how much they were going to love it, but outside of a trip to Ames to get fitted for their suits, he kept even the smallest details to himself. He began to disappear more and more often, sometimes for days at a time. Sam tried to get information out of Emma, who had been working with him, but Emma would only grin mischievously and promise it was going to be awesome.

  Mitch was sure it would be. It was strange to be so removed from their wedding, but mostly he liked how happy Sam had become again. The light was back in Sunshine’s eyes, a spring in his step. When they made love, he was soft and sweet, and when they fucked dirty and played, he let go more completely, the release a celebration, not a coping mechanism.

  This was all because of Randy, Mitch knew. And as the wedding drew closer, Mitch decided it was time he did something about it.

  One weekend when Randy was off on another planning mission, Mitch took Sam on a jaunt to Minneapolis. He had a job, so they went in Old Blue, but in Mitch’s mind the greater task was having a conversation he’d been trying to work out for weeks.

  “It’s nice to get away.” As they navigated onto the highway, heading north, Sam stared out across the wintry landscape. “I feel like all I’m doing lately is going to school and working.” He laughed softly. “Since Randy showed up, I guess also having kinky sex.”

  That was a good segue, Mitch decided. “I wanted to talk to you about that. About Randy.” He shifted his grip on the wheel. “I don’t think we could have done this without him. Not just the wedding, but everything. It’s been nice having him here.”

  “Yeah.” Sam turned in his seat, and when Mitch glanced his way, he saw his lover smiling a slow, sweet smile. “I wish he could live with us. But probably that would get weird, eventually.”

  “He couldn’t ever live here long-term. I can’t believe how long he’s put up with this winter.” Though, honestly, Mitch wasn’t surprised. Randy would do anything for his friends.

  “Fun as it is to be with him, the three of us…sometimes I think it makes him sad.” Sam tucked his feet beneath him on the seat. “I think he wishes he had somebody too. Somebody his alone.”

  That, Mitch couldn’t give Randy, unfortunately. “I thought we should find a way to thank him for everything. Something at the wedding. Or rather, something after the wedding.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Why did this make Mitch so nervous? He fumbled for his Winstons. After a long drag, he made himself spit his thoughts out. “Well, I wondered if maybe you in particular should say thanks. That night.” His stomach knotted. “Unless you don’t want to.”

  Sam was quiet too long, and Mitch sucked the cigarette down way too fast. But when Sam finally spoke, he wasn’t mad. “Do you mean you’d be okay with me fucking him on our wedding night? Really?”

  Mitch couldn’t quite trust he hadn’t fucked this up. “Only if it was okay with you. But…yeah. I think it would be…good.”

  “I guess that surprises me is all. It’s kind of a big day.”

  Shit, did Sam think Mitch didn’t consider their wedding special? God, he’d stepped in it. “We can forget it. You’re right. It was a dumb idea.”

  “I never said it was a dumb idea.”

  Mitch glanced his way, then did a double take as he realized Sam was turned on. “So…you’d be okay with it?”

  “Okay? God. I’m hot right now simply thinking about it.” Sam adjusted himself in his jeans, but it didn’t seem to relieve him much. “You’d seriously let him fuck me. In front of you. On our wedding night. God, that’s so dirty.”

  Mitch put his spent end into the butt bucket and reached for a new one. “Actually, I thought he should do you first alone. On the bed where we’d sleep that night. Let him have you for an hour all on his own. We could play together after, but first, the two of you.”

  Sam swallowed hard. Even in the dim light Mitch could see how turned on Sam was. “We don’t usually play like that. Not if you’re around. Not often even when you’re not.”

  “Right. We won’t tell him in advance—but that night, you will. You’ll go right up to him and tell him he gets you all by himself. You suggest it.” Sam bit his lip and shut his eyes, touching himself, and Mitch grinned. “In fact, beg
him to fuck you. I’ll listen outside the room. Or sit at the bar downstairs, or whatever. It’ll only be the two of you, though. And you have to do whatever he says.”

  “Kissing too?”

  Mitch hesitated, walls going up as emotions churned inside him. “Everything but that.”

  Sam clutched his erection through his jeans. “Mitch—fuck.”

  Mitch smiled and exhaled a ribbon of smoke as he saw a sign for a rest stop a few miles ahead. “I think that’s a good present for both of you. Make you whore yourself out to my best friend on your wedding night. You can tell him I ordered you to do it, to throw yourself at him—in fact, probably you should. It’ll turn you both on. Just make sure he fucks you hard. I want to know he’s been there when I have you.”

  Sam arched his back against the seat. “Please, please tell me to jerk myself off.”

  “Nope.” Mitch slowed down, not quite ready to let Sam have his release. “Sit there and squirm and practice how you’re going to beg him. What are you going to ask him to do to you?”

  Sam whimpered, but Mitch made him describe it all, every filthy detail. Sometimes Mitch offered suggestions, which only made Sam wilder. By the time he pulled off into the rest stop, Sam was incoherent. When Mitch told him to get out of his seat and strip, Sam clambered out of his seat and tugged off his clothes in less than twenty seconds flat.

  They found a parking spot in the back of the rest stop, and Sam climbed naked onto Mitch’s lap. But when Mitch reached for the lube on the dash, Sam shook his head and pushed Mitch’s hand to his ass, where a greased-up plug quickly came away, revealing Sam stretched and ready.

  “I figured you’d want to fuck me on the way.” Sam kissed Mitch as he undid his belt buckle. “I wanted you to be able to go right in.” He bit Mitch’s lip. “Please, go right in. Fuck me hard. Fuck me really, really hard.”

  Mitch freed his cock and drove straight inside, taking in Sam’s body as he arched and cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, running a hand down his torso. “Since it makes you so hot when I give you away, maybe I should put out a call on Grindr in the Cities. Let them know I have a slutty boy who’ll be in town for the night and gets hot when I make him whore for strangers.”

  “Whatever you want.” Sam’s eyes rolled back in his head as he bounced himself up and down on Mitch’s cock. “I’ll do whatever you want. I love you, Mitch. So much.”

  I love you too, Mitch thought, but couldn’t say out loud because Sam had plastered their mouths together again. Taking Sam’s hips tight in his hands, Mitch sucked hard on Sam’s tongue, mashed his cock between their thrusting bodies, and drove them both home.

  Chapter Seven

  A WEEK BEFORE the wedding, Randy went to Cherry Hill.

  It had snowed three days ago, but now it was fifty and sunny, and Randy had been in Iowa long enough to find that nearly tropical. As he parked his van on the street in front of Delia and Norman’s house, he squinted at the sun and glanced around, imagining Sam living in the crispy-pressed, high-sterilization that was his aunt and uncle’s housing development. Simply standing there made Randy feel depressed. He couldn’t imagine coming home there every single day.

  He couldn’t imagine having to call this home.

  As Randy ambled up Delia’s sidewalk, he could feel the eyes of the neighbors on him, metaphorically if not literally. He knew without looking Delia would be at her window, trying to work out who it was coming to her front door. Randy hadn’t made any extra effort to clean himself up, so he imagined she was freaking out over the grubby, jean-jacket guy in motorcycle boots heading up to her house.

  Good. In his opinion, Delia Biehl could do with a little squirming.

  He almost laughed out loud when she answered the door without opening the storm door that separated them. If his mission wasn’t so important, he would have fucked with her, tried to live up to her fantasies of a dangerous stranger. But he had a job to do, so he smiled his least-alligator smile and held out the wedding invitation. “Delia. I’m Randy, Sam’s friend who’s planning his wedding. You keep not replying to the invitations I’m sending, so I thought I’d bring one to your house so you could tell me yes or no to my face.”

  He liked the way that made her sputter. Poor thing didn’t get many blunt speakers, did she? “I—” She opened and closed her mouth several times, but she couldn’t seem to speak.

  Randy braced a hand against the doorframe, leaving space for her to open the door if she chose. “I know you aren’t Sam’s biggest fan, but I am. He doesn’t have a lot of family, but I know he’d want me to reach out to you. Emma also thinks I should. Me, I wanted to skip it because I figured you’d do this, pull passive-aggressive shit where you string everybody out. I hate to tell you, it didn’t work. I’m the only one who knows you haven’t sent a reply. So you’re going to tell me, right now, if you’re coming or not. And if you are coming, I’m letting you know here and now if you try to sour Sam and Mitch’s special day, I will visit ruin on your head like you don’t even know to dream of.”

  Delia gasped and drew back, pulling her best well, I never face, but she still didn’t know how to respond to Randy, how to behave around him at all. She simply stood staring at him. She wasn’t quite stripped bare, but she was undone and vulnerable.

  “I don’t know who you think you are or why you think you have a right to threaten to assault me in my own home, sir.”

  “No one is threatening to assault anyone. Listen carefully to what I’m saying, Mrs. Biehl.” Randy stretched his smile to dangerous lengths. “I’m saying, if you come to their wedding and make them miserable with catty comments and ill-timed remarks, I will return the favor. You’re an active, social person in this town. It wouldn’t take me a day to make you achingly sorry you spoke out of turn.”

  Delia’s mouth fell open, and she clutched at her pearls—yes, she really was wearing a string of them.

  Randy went in for the kill.

  “I know you.” He leaned closer to the storm door, speaking softly enough that she had to strain, but loud enough to get through the glass. “I know who you are, Delia, and I understand. When Sam first told me about you, I thought you were a cartoon, because he made you out to be such a bitch it was hard to believe, but then I saw you at the store, around town, and I got it.”

  He jerked his head at the fireplace mantel behind Delia, at the funeral urn sitting there—the one Randy knew was empty because Sam had stolen his mother’s ashes. “She was the pretty one, wasn’t she? Sharyle was smart and pretty and bubbly, like Sam, and everybody liked her. Even when she got knocked up, everybody liked her. Even when she got sick and died, everyone liked her—and then she was gone, and she was a saint. You loved her because she was your sister, but you hated her too, hated how she got what you always wanted. She was dying, and you had a husband and a fancy house, but you still wished you could be her. And then she did you one worse—she had a son when you couldn’t. A sweet, wonderful boy who everybody loved as much as his mom. Who couldn’t love you.”

  Delia blinked at him, tears in her eyes. “How—?”

  Randy waved a hand. “Easy. Nobody hates like you do without a reason. And why else would you be such a bitch? Except that’s where you fucked up, sweetie. Because Sam’s amazing. You had him that whole time—no, he’d never have been your biological son, but he could have been close. You wouldn’t have had an empty, lonely Christmas this year or any other year. You’d have had Sam and his boyfriend. You could have been helping him plan. Instead of me befriending strangers so he can have a crowd, you could have provided the real deal. You could be filling a church with your friends who would give him gift cards and twenties and make him feel included and wanted. Which was all you ever wanted, ironically enough. Except you never figured out that the way to feel included yourself was to be that for other people.”

  He held up the invitation, pressing it against the screen between them. “Here’s your last chance. Come to his wedding. Be his family. Send him into t
he next part of his life with a smile. Just know if you decline, this is it. He won’t come to you again. And with Sam, there might be grandchildren one day. There might be a lot of amazing things. You come to his wedding, he’ll remember. You don’t, he’ll remember that too.” Randy waited, letting that sink in. “So what’ll it be, Delia? Yes, or no?”

  She stared at him a long time, full of hatred and misery and sadness. “No,” she said at last, and slammed her front door in his face.

  Randy pulled the invitation off the screen, tucked it into his pocket. “That’s what I thought,” he said, and ambled back down the sidewalk to his van.

  FOUR DAYS BEFORE the wedding, Sam and Mitch sat on the couch watching TV when a knock sounded on their apartment door. Since Randy was off playing poker and laying schemes, Sam went to answer. When Sam gasped in surprise and said, “Delia,” Mitch got up and went to stand with his husband-to-be.

  Usually when Delia showed up at their apartment she was angry about something, but this time she seemed beaten up. Her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying, and she held a ceramic urn in her hands. “She’s gone. I—I don’t know how, Sam, but she’s gone.”

  Mitch was about to ask who was gone, but something in Sam’s expression made him pause.

  “Come on in.” Sam stepped back to let his aunt inside. “Why don’t you come sit down?”

  Delia went to the kitchen, where she put the urn on the counter and lifted the lid, tipping it to show Sam. “Nothing. I lifted it, and it was so light, so I opened it, and it was almost empty. I—I don’t know what happened, Sam. I’m so sorry.”

  Sam put a hand on hers, but even as he comforted her, he appeared battle-ready. “She’s gone because I took her, Delia. When I went off with Mitch, I took her with me.”

  Ashes, Mitch realized. Sam’s mother’s ashes. Apparently Delia never knew Sam had them.

  Shit.

  Delia blinked at Sam, over and over. “You…took her? The ashes? Out of the urn? On a…road trip?” She said the word road trip like most people would say sex-fueled orgy.