Misfit(285)
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Val joked as Johnnie walked into the living room where him, Digger, Cash, Stretch, and Diesel waited, along with someone else. Brooks.
Christopher growled. “What the fuck you doin’ here?”
The attorney raised his hands defensively. “Meggie,” he said quickly. “She asked me to walk Kendall down the aisle. I wanted to refuse. Please believe me, but she reminded me that Kendall sees me as a father. Meggie swore you wouldn’t hurt me, Outlaw.” Swallowing, he looked at each of them. “None of you.”
“Megan some-fuckin-how got your bitch in the wedding, too, yeah?” Christopher guessed.
Refusing to meet Christopher’s eyes, Brooks stared at the floor. “For what it’s worth, Charlotte apologized to Meggie.”
Christopher drained the rum from his flask. He’d been very generous, sharing it with Johnnie and Mort. “Lemme fuckin’ guess. My girl accepted your bitch boo-hoo sorryness?”
Brooks nodded, ignoring Christopher’s glower, although he paled.
“We not able to fuck Brooks up, then clean up the blood, Prez,” Mort said. “Meggie girl’ll be pissed if you fuck up all her hard work.”
“You know what’s going on?” Johnnie asked. Mort knew a helluva lot about Kendall and Megan, almost as much as he knew about Bailey.
“Fuck, Johnnie, yeah. Prez got me on her detail.”
“Even when I didn’t have you on her goddamn detail, you know what the fuck goin’ on with my wife, motherfucker.”
“We’re in the house of God’s messenger,” Father Wilkins said tightly. “Please refrain from the language.”
“As usual, Wilcunt, you mess up a good thing, goin’ from fuckin’ Jazzman back to your bitch-ass priestiness.”
“Christopher!” Johnnie said in outrage as Val winced and Mort said, “damn, Prez.”
“C’mon, let’s get the fuck to the church,” Christopher ordered. “I’m fuckin’ ready to be the fuck out this motherfuckin’ monkey suit.” He stared at Brooks. “You better hope your bitch don’t fuck up. I killed my old man at my wedding for fuckin’ with Megan. You know what the fuck I’m gettin’ at.”
“Charlotte will be perfect,” Brooks said quickly.
In silence, they walked across the garden to a side door at the church. When they reached the building, only Johnnie and Christopher continued to follow the priest. The others branched off, heading toward the entrance. Johnnie supposed they were part of the ceremony.
Inside, Johnnie stopped, shocked at the simple beauty of the white and turquoise décor and filled seats. A lot of his brothers and their old ladies were there, dressed in their cuts. Bailey’s sisters and brother. Three of Charlotte and Brooks’ children. Doctors’ Hughes and Wills. Bunny’s parents. Some of Kendall’s socialite friends. Members of Phoenix Rising, although he didn’t see Georgie or Sloane Mason.
Only then did Johnnie pick up on the sound of piano music, and glanced in the place where the organ usually stood. Sloane sat at the piano, playing Canon in D, along with two women, one playing the harp and the other the flute.
Seeing Johnnie, Sloane acknowledged him with a nod and continued playing.
People near and dear to both Johnnie and Kendall filled the church to capacity. Choked up for the first time in a while—if ever—Johnnie continued on to the altar.
Father Wilkins beamed at him, obviously in on the plans. Johnnie wondered how much the priest had pocketed this time around, to allow the secular music.
“You have the rings, right?” he asked Christopher, searching for a way to get control of himself.
“Yeah, motherfucker,” Christopher answered, forever the same.
Two minutes later, Potter and another Probate, wearing white gloves, tuxedoes, and motorcycle boots, opened the door, two old ladies of their brothers whispering to Matilda and Ryder and pointing to where Johnnie and Christopher stood.
Wearing a satin and lace dress, Matilda was almost the spitting image of Kendall, with her mass of red curls and big, brown eyes. Johnnie’s heart swelled with pride at the sight of his daughter. Next to her, Ryder was adorable in a tuxedo, a smaller version of what the men wore. Looking at him, Johnnie understood why Kendall had gone off the deep end. From afar, the little boy resembled Johnnie more than Christopher. Understandable, since Ryder was Johnnie’s blood nephew. Up close, Ryder had green eyes, like Christopher, but paler.
So busy contemplating the two cousins who’d been born hours apart, Johnnie almost missed as the women started down the aisle with them as they looked all around. Before Fee could catch him, Lou, Mort’s thirteen-month old son, toddled down the aisle.