I want to argue with her, but she’s right. Last night after working and ‘musing’, Poppy was so exhausted, we fell into her bed. Not for sex but to actually sleep. I’d held her in my arms as she snored softly and had slept more peacefully than I have in years. I want to share that with Caylee, but in the end, I settle with the truth. “I worry I’m not good for her.”

  Caylee looks at me with pity. “I know. I had the same problems when Evan and I started dating. The peril of having parents we couldn’t please, no matter what we did.”

  There’s really no way to reply to that, it’s simply the hard-hearted truth. “I didn’t do a whole lot of people pleasing back then, anyway.”

  “Yeah, well . . . I kept trying,” she says with some bitterness. “You were always the smart one, going the other way when you saw it wasn’t going to work no matter what you did.”

  I snort at her assessment, both that I’m the smart one and that the youthful transgressions she knows about were the better option. I wonder if she’d still feel the same way if she knew just how far I’ve gone and how deeply I’ve fallen. But beyond myself, I realize that when I rebelled, leaving my parents’ expectations and rules behind, I also left behind . . . Caylee.

  “I’m sorry.” The words choke me, and I cough, not expecting this to be so damn hard. “I’m sorry, Cay. For then and for now.”

  Caylee presses her lips together, looking up as she blinks rapidly and fans her face. “Don’t do that. If you make me cry before the pictures, I’m going to look like a demon-possessed raccoon with red eyes with a black smudge of liner. Then I’ll have to kick your ass.”

  “Think about coconuts,” I blurt.

  Caylee looks back at me, surprised. “What?”

  “Coconuts,” I repeat. “Sunscreen. Sand. Sea. Picture it, smell it, feel it. You can’t cry on the beach. It’s humanly impossible. Probably illegal too. At least in a handful of countries.”

  It’s Poppy’s words coming out of my mouth. I can feel the randomness of them, but they’re also from the heart and seem to work because Caylee immediately laughs and dabs her eyes. “Coconuts. Okay then. Thank you. And for coming.”

  “Close your eyes,” I respond, reaching into my pocket. “And hold out your hands.”

  Caylee gives me a quizzical smile but does what I ask and closes her eyes. With the sun on her face, she looks so ethereal it takes my breath away. It makes me realize how much she’s grown up, no longer the knock-kneed, snaggle-toothed kid but a beautiful woman beginning a family of her own.

  Taking my hand out of my pocket, I pull out the small shiny rock, second-guessing myself. She might not get it. She might not even remember. But it’s too late not to give it to her when she’s eagerly holding her hands out, her smile growing brighter by the second. So with a lot of nervousness, I put the white rock in her outstretched hands.

  “Here.”

  Caylee opens her eyes and looks down. She gasps instantly, her fingers closing around the rock as she holds it to her chest. “Connor! It’s gorgeous.”

  I can’t help it, I smile at her excitement. “You remember? The backyard river? I was thinking about that the other day, and it seemed like a good memory.”

  “Of course I get it. We spent every day doing that for years,” Caylee says with a happy, wistful laugh. “You know, I hated getting all muddy like that, dirt under my nails and smudges on my face. But if you wanted to do that, I was always in to hang with my big brother.”

  I blink in surprise. “Caylee . . . I didn’t want to do it either. You were the one who always wanted to play with the animals.”

  We lock eyes, both of us realizing that we’d been doing it for each other. That we would’ve done anything for each other back then. And maybe we would even now. Laughing, I reach out and truly hug my sister for the first time in a long time.

  “Shit,” I admit as she hugs me back tightly, “I’m going to cry.”

  Caylee’s laugh vibrates my chest. “Not allowed, buddy. You cry, I cry, and then Poppy will cry because I’ll kick your ass so hard.”

  A fault line in our relationship starts to heal. It’s not an instant thing, no poof and we’re all good again. But it’s a start. I just hope I can be around long enough to keep it going, but that’s never guaranteed in my line of work.

  “Caylee,” I whisper when we let go slightly, “even when I’m not here or we don’t see each other for awhile . . . I love you, Cay.”

  Caylee pats my chest, giving me that same megawatt smile I’ve missed for too long. “I love you too.”

  “Hold it, just like that!” a voice snaps. I look up to see the photographer framing a sibling moment for Caylee and me. Instinctually, I want to argue and say ‘no pictures’ or duck away from the lens. People like me do better when we’re not photographed. But for Caylee, this time . . . I don’t. I face the camera boldly and hold her a little tighter.

  She notices, and her smile grows. “She’s good for you.”

  “Not disagreeing.” She is . . . despite my misgivings.

  “Don’t fuck this up, Connor. You’re better now, and I think she has something to do with it,” Caylee continues as the photographer moves on. “Besides, I’ve always wanted a sister. And I can’t think of a better one than Poppy Woodstock.” She sobers, her face going serious. “She doesn’t like pink poodles, does she? I’ll share you, but I’m not sharing Mr. Peabody.”

  I hum as though giving the question deep consideration. “No, not a pink poodle type, I don’t think. Pomeranians, actually.”

  “Good, then I want to keep her,” Caylee says. “Besides, I want to meet Nut and Juice.”

  “You know her dogs’ names?”

  Caylee blushes. “I might’ve done a little homework on your fiancée too.” She holds up her finger and thumb an inch apart. “Just a little Google research and maybe joining her online fan group to get the scoop. She posts pictures of the dogs sometimes.”

  I look at Caylee in surprise and with a newfound respect. She shrugs it off. “Hey, you checked up on Evan, so it’s only fair that I check up on Poppy. We siblings have gotta stick together.”

  The wedding planner comes in, looking pointedly at her watch. “Knock, knock. Time get a move on.” I’m shooed out and go find Poppy, not in the front row but in the second row.

  “It’s apparently reserved,” she whispers. “So when I get up to dance, make sure you follow my lead.”

  She’s kidding. I think.

  The ceremony is sweet, though seeing my dad stoically walk Caylee down the aisle has me clenching my fist at my side. He doesn’t deserve that honor, not after the way he’s been for the past decade. But when Dad places Caylee’s hand into Evan’s and he turns to sit with Mom, I see him quickly swipe at his eyes.

  Huh?

  Maybe the old man isn’t as empty and unemotional as I thought, though if your baby girl’s getting married doesn’t warrant some emotion, you’re probably completely cold and dead inside.

  Evan looks at Caylee like she not only hung the moon but actually created it out of silk and magic. I decide that yeah, he can live a bit longer. Especially as Caylee looks at him with just as much wonder and love.

  Relaxing my clenched fist, I take Poppy’s hand instead. She looks at our interwoven hands in surprise, but then she leans into me, laying her head on my shoulder. “Weddings are nice.”

  I’m not as good with words as she is, but she seems to understand the depth of what I’m trying to express. I feel her smile against my shoulder, and then she stays snuggled into me for the remainder of the ceremony.

  At the reception, things start off well as Mom looks overjoyed. “Isn’t she beautiful?” she gushes as Caylee and Evan spin around the floor for their first dance. Mom sips at a champagne, her eyes twinkling.

  “She looks great, Mom,” I tell her.

  Spying the ring on Poppy’s finger, Mom zeroes in. “Ooh, it’s lovely! Soon, it’ll be your day too.”

  “Thank you. Uh, yeah . . . soon,” Poppy says, her eyes cutting to me.

  I laugh a little uncomfortably and put my arm around Poppy’s shoulders. “Let’s enjoy Caylee’s day and catch our breath before rushing into another wedding.”

  Mom nods absently, dabbing at her eyes. “I know. I’m just so happy.”

  She looks it, truly delighted at Caylee’s big day and the beginning of married life with Evan. Hell, she looks happier than I’ve seen her in years.

  “Oh, there’s the Parkers. Excuse me,” Mom whispers before taking off to mingle.

  Poppy leans in to tell me, “You’re handling everything well.”

  “So far, but the night is young,” I tease.

  But as if I foretold it myself, as Poppy and I move around, my mood quickly darkens as some of the reasons I have stayed away make themselves noticeable. “Hide the silverware,” Justin, one of my cousins, stage whispers as he comes by. “Con-air’s around.”

  “Con-air?” Poppy whispers, and I grit my teeth.

  “A nickname I got when I first got in trouble,” I reply, not letting myself get baited.

  Another relative, who I don’t even know, walks by and openly looks me up and down before telling the woman at her side, “He’s strictly look but don’t touch. Sticky hands, if you know what I mean. Let me introduce you to someone worth your time.”

  Poppy gapes and almost goes after the woman. I can picture it now . . . she’d rip her back by her hair and demand that she apologize to me for what she said. But I don’t want to cause a scene. Today is about Caylee.

  “No mosh pits, and no fights for my honor among people who have none,” I warn Poppy. She narrows her eyes, giving a threatening version of the stink eye to the two women, but she stays at my side.

  “Of course. But I may need to make a pit stop later, you know, if they go powder their noses.” She says it sweet as sugar and innocent as can be, but something tells me Poppy will introduce them to Paulette the Purse since Gary the Golf Club is at home.

  We mingle, some people cordial and civilized, but then I hear a voice that scrapes along my spine like nails on a chalkboard. “Connor! Come see the aunts and uncles.”

  I breathe in deeply through my nose, turning to see Aunt Audrey along with a few of my other ‘aunts’ and ‘uncles’, those cousins from an older generation. Most of them, of course, believe the hype and not the reality about me.

  “Hello, Audrey,” I say flatly. “Gene, Lisa, Bernie.”

  “Hello, Con-air,” Bernie, who if I remember right, took to that nickname harder than any of my other family members, chortles. “Keeping your nose clean these days?”

  “Cleaner than yours,” I reply smoothly, staring at the bulbous nose in question.

  Bernie starts sniffing and rubbing his nose, trying to ‘hide’ the nonexistent booger while also wondering if there’s something I know that he’d rather I didn’t. It’s no secret that he’s had some indiscretions of his own, both personal and professional.

  Next to me, Poppy smirks, and Audrey, of course, notices. “Hello again, Poppy. Ian’s around here somewhere, I’m sure.”

  “I’m sure he is. He probably doesn’t get far on that short leash you’ve got him on, does he?” She winks and then laughs as though she’s joking. But Audrey’s face pinches in anger.

  “So, you’re Connor’s girlfriend?” Lisa, who’s been one of Aunt Audrey’s biggest sycophants since well before I was born, says. “I’ve heard so much about you. What is it that you do again?” It’s an obvious setup, but Poppy doesn’t take the bait.

  “I’m an author, working on my second novel.”

  Audrey sniffs, clearly still trying to cast shade. “She writes romance books.”

  Lisa gasps on cue, looking like she just smelled a three-day old rotten egg fart. “I see.”

  “Hmph,” Bernie, who probably doesn’t know anything about romance books, or knowing his personal history, about romance at all, grunts. “You know what a criminal degenerate this one is, don’t you?”

  “Trust me, she knows,” I growl. Bernie’s always been one of the family members most obsessed with my criminality.

  Audrey shakes her head sadly, acting as if she’s the long-suffering fountain of wisdom and forbearance even though she’s just stirring the shit. “I tried to tell her. You know I did. Some people just don’t take good advice when it’s given.”

  Gene hums, his eyes fixed on Poppy’s figure in her dress. “Such a shame. A pretty girl like you could do so much better than an ugly man like Connor.”

  He doesn’t mean my good looks. He’s talking about his perception of my soul—that its ugly, black with sin, and worthless because I don’t bow down to what he deems the proper thing to do and be.

  Bernie huffs his agreement with Gene and then sips his champagne. Looking at Poppy, he shrugs dismissively. “You’ll never get his family money, anyway. Robert and Debra won’t support his lifestyle.”

  “What the fuck did you say?” I snap too loudly. The sharp and cutting tone draws attention from people all around us. Audrey looks like she can taste the victory of pushing me over the edge.

  I’m not even mad at what he’s saying about my parents and me. I’m furious that he’s reducing Poppy to nothing more than a gold-digging whore when she’s nothing of the sort.

  Poppy, who has every justification to go full-on batshit crazy on this group, is a rock, though. Calmly, she lays her hand over my arm before I go ballistic and ruin Caylee’s special day by becoming the violent thug my family thinks I am.

  “Connor,” she says quietly, patting me gently like I’m a lapdog she can control with the slightest command. I don’t know what to say about the fact that I instantly quiet, knowing from her overly sweet smile that she’s about to slice and dice this guy, and I, for one, can’t wait to see it.

  Clearing her throat, Poppy’s smile takes on that manic glint that I’ve seen before, the one she showed the pawn shop guy who she insists on calling Gary’s ‘foster daddy’. “Oh, I’m not with Connor for his handsome face or his family,” she says in a fake as hell snooty accent, laughing lightly like that’s absurd. “I’m with him because of his monster dick.” Everyone gasps in shock, but Poppy keeps going, never one to back down from anything. Especially something crazy. Her sugary smile only grows. “It doesn’t hurt that he really knows how to use it too. Well, sometimes it does hurt, but in the best way. You know what I mean, don’t you?”

  Poppy nudges my Great-Aunt Edna, flashing her a conspiratory look. Edna sputters, hand over her pearls, literally clutching them in horror. “I, well . . . no, I never . . .”

  Poppy frowns dramatically. “Never? Oh, dear, how utterly tragic.” She tsks sadly. Dropping her voice, she confides, “I tell you what, I’ll send you a copy of my bestseller book. Ryker really gives it to Amber good. Think of it as ‘girls helping girls’, you know.” Poppy winks with her mouth open, like she’s sharing some great secret. “One warning, though, it does have anal in it. That might be a bit advanced to start out with, but you just see what feels right, m’kay?”

  “Anal?” Edna stammers.

  Poppy smiles wide, purposefully misunderstanding Edna’s reaction. “Ooh, Edna! You naughty minx. Don’t worry, if anal sex is what appeals to you, I spell it out in graphic detail. Just remember . . . you know how in real estate, it’s location, location, location? With anal, it’s lubrication, lubrication, lubrication. Never too much, right, babe?” Poppy asks me.

  I reach down and grab a handful of her ass, squeezing vulgarly. “Never too much,” I agree.

  If she were talking about anal sex with anyone other than my wrinkled Aunt Edna, I think I’d be hard as rock right now, but the ridiculous brilliance of Poppy’s mind is sending blood to my own brain instead of south, so I can fully enjoy her special brand of crazy. Admittedly, I’m particularly enjoying Aunt Audrey’s face, which looks like she sucked on a lemon coated in years of bitterness.

  “Why, I never!” Audrey exclaims, and I smirk, claiming the victory for me and Poppy.

  “We know.” Deciding I’d better quit while we’re ahead, I take Poppy’s hand in mine and tell the assembled family group, “Excuse us.”

  “Oh, yeah . . . excuse us.” Poppy offers a little two-fingered wave. “Don’t worry about me if we disappear for a bit. I’ll be fine, just fine.” She wiggles her hips in a silly dance, though we’re nowhere near the dance floor, making it more than obvious that she’s implying that I’m whisking her away to fuck her in some remote corner of the reception before the cake is cut.

  I clench my jaw, gritting my teeth to fight back the laugh trying to force its way out as we walk away, leaving the people gossiping in horror.

  “You know we just confirmed their beliefs,” I whisper when we’re far enough away, “that I’m a total degenerate, and anyone who spends time with me must be just as bad.”

  Poppy shrugs it off like what just happened is no big deal. “No matter how much you grow, some people don’t see it. Their mind is made up, and they’re unwilling to see that circumstances might be different now.”

  “Doesn’t mean I have to put up with it,” I murmur. “And that especially doesn’t mean you should have to put up with it.”

  “Who, the geezer who called you Con-Air?” Poppy asks. “Are you going to see that guy again? He’s like a bajillion years old and looks like he made a deal with the Grim Reaper just to see today’s sunrise. So who the fuck cares what he thinks? Do you care what a shriveled old prune with zero filter says about you? I sure don’t. And hell, maybe a little dick in her ass will make Edna’s day. You never know.”

  I shake my head, partly in trying to make sense of the way her mind works but at the same time trying to shake the image out of my head. “You are amazing.”

  “I know.”

  We’re about halfway across the room, and I stop, taking her hand and pulling her in close. “Fuck it. Let’s dance.”

  Poppy looks at me in surprised delight. “You dance?”

  I lift an eyebrow as if that’s a silly question. “The rules are pretty simple. Move your feet, sway, and rub your junk together . . . what’s hard about that?”