From the corner of my eye, I caught Aspen elbowing her husband’s side. Mac realized his mistake and began to backtrack. “I don’t have personal experience, of course, but I happen to know a guy . . .” A grin stretchedacross his face. “Happily married. Over the moon about a baby on the way.” His palm came to rest over my daughter’s rounded belly.
Great job trying to convince anyone itisn’tyou, bud.
My best friend hummed. “Well, anyway. I’m just glad they finally figured it out. She would’ve never been happy withhim.” He tilted his head toward the house.
I blew out a heavy breath, gesturing toward the abandoned wedding setup. “What do we do about all of this?”
Smirking, Wade suggested, “Call it a write-off in the name of love?”
A grunt came from the back of my throat. “Let me know what your accountant has to say about that.”
He bumped me with his shoulder. “Come on, can you drop the grumpy asshole routine for one day? We should be celebrating!”
I arched an eyebrow. “Celebrating what? That our kids left us to clean up their mess?”
“Eh.” The word was said with a shrug. “We can repurpose all this stuff for when those two tie the knot.” Wade smirked. “Can’t imagine they’ll wanna push it off. Wasted enough time already if you ask me.”
I hadn’t meant the physical mess.
The funny thing about running from your problems was that they were always right there waiting for you upon your return.
Tripp and Penny were determined to learn that lesson the hard way.
The name that flashed on the Caller ID had me clenching my cell in a white-knuckled grip.
For nearly twenty-four hours after the little runaway bride act, we hadn’t heard a damn word from Tripp or Penny, though not for lack of trying. It turned out Penny had left everything behind in her mad dash to escape her groom, and my son refused to answer when I called.
Now more than ever, I regretted not upgrading the package on the company trucks—one of which was used as their getaway vehicle—to include location tracking.
I had half a mind to let it ring out, let him see how it felt to be denied access to communication, until Daisy walked into the room and asked, “Is that them?”
The hope underlined with concern in her voice was enough to have me sliding my finger across the screen and bringing it to my ear, barking, “Where the hell have you been?”
There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “Colorado.”
That news stunned me into silence for a moment.
Head in my hand, I dared to ask, “Why?”
“Dad . . .”
My patience was long gone, so I snapped, “Spit it out.”
“We, um—” His swallow was audible, and dread settled in my gut. “We kinda got married.”
“You did what?!” Without conscious thought, I was on my feet, and Daisy rushed to my side.
“What?” she whisper-shouted, her grip on my forearm tightening. “What did they do?”
I shrugged her off, pacing the kitchen while my son remained silent,unable or unwilling to explain.
“Tripp,” I said his name with a low note of warning.
“Don’t expect me to apologize for it,” he huffed in frustration. “Because I’m not sorry.”
I barely resisted rolling my eyes. “’Course you’re not.”
“And that’s not all,” he continued.
