CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

 

The sunlight seemed as if it made noise, and the air conditioner's hum vibrated like a jackhammer. Seven burrowed her face into the cool feather pillow, tugging the comforter over her head as though layers of cotton were enough to shield her from the headache-inducing racket. That plus her grossly sweet dry mouth were swift reminders as to why she didn't enjoy overindulging. Ugh. She couldn't remember how the tail end of the evening had gone.

She pulled at the covers again, tucking them around her pulsing skull, when her fingers caught in her hair. A hair barrette or tie dug into her scalp, pinching, but as she grappled to pull out the culprit, Seven realized it was a headband. She tugged at the tangled mess, threading her fingers into her hair and—froze.

What the heck…

Confusion morphed into panic as the tips of her fingers caressed the headband's netting and flipped the short length down to reveal white tulle. "Oh no."

Seven tore the headband, not caring about how her hair knotted on its spines, then lurched back as she threw the mini wedding veil away.

Her hands shook, and she gasped at the gold band around her left ring finger. "Oh God. Oh no. Oh nooo."

With a quick glance, Seven confirmed that she didn't have any clothes on and that Jax was next to her. Peeling the covers back—holy shit—neither did he.

"Are you awake?" Seven hissed loud enough to wake their neighbors.

He didn't budge. She leaned over him and pulled at the edge of the pillow under which his hands were shoved. The left one wore a matching ring.

Seven jumped back to her side of the bed, and the night started to come back in flashes. Cake and champagne, the wedding chapel, and so many people wearing glitter and sequins. "Jax, wake up."

He groaned, mumbled, and rolled face down with a handful of covers. She grabbed them back. "Wake up," she hissed, sitting up in bed and giving him a kick in the leg. "You have got to wake up right now."

"Jesus fucking Christ." He yanked the pillow off his head and rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. "Stop yelling."

"We have a problem," she snapped.

"Yeah. We're both awake. And hungover."

"Give me your hand." She snatched it before he could move and held up both their ring fingers for his inspection. "A big, big problem."

Jax inched back and propped himself up, forehead creased with deep lines as he blinked awake. "What is that?"

Seven snatched her hand back. "What do you think that is?"

"Um." He scrubbed his eyes. "Can you freak out in a lower volume?"

"I think I'm going to puke. I'm not this irresponsible."

"Aim for the trash can." He fluffed his pillow and lay back down.

Maybe he was the type to panic in silence. She wasn't the type to ever have unforeseen circumstances happen so experience with panic was a new problem instead of her plan A, B, C, D, E…

"Jax, do something!" Because her heart was about to explode out of her chest.

"Will it get you to please calm down?"

"Yes," Seven tried in a quieter octave.

"Right." He nodded then reached for the nightstand, picked up the phone, and pressed a button on the dial pad. What did he think? Vegas had divorce attorneys at the concierge desk? It was Vegas. Maybe they did. She had no idea. But either way, he was Titan, and he could fix this.

"Yeah, hello." He paused. "Can I get room service for two? Pancakes, waffles, coffee…" He looked up at her as Seven's jaw fell open. "Do you like eggs? I'm good with scrambled."

"What?"

Jax flinched as though she'd made his headache kick his temples, then turned back to the phone call. "Scrambled. Actually, make that scrambled with cheese. And if you have any sports drinks, something with electrolytes, we need a couple of those. Some ibuprofen and multivitamins too. And Bloody Marys. That should help." He paused again. "Right, yeah. Oh, I forgot whose room I'm in. Look up Jax Michaelson, and it'll have whatever Vegas package you offer that brings hangover medicine with my breakfast." Another pause. "Titan Group. That's me. Thanks."

He hung up the phone and lay back down as she gaped. "Let me know when they get here. Night, princess."

 

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The covers grated against Jax's skin. He could normally sleep through anything, but the revelation was like an earthquake. Every time Seven huffed and puffed, it served as a simple reminder that they'd had far too much to drink last night. But he wasn't upset, nothing like she was. Maybe it was a hangover. Maybe he was hungry. Cake wasn't much of a dinner. Marriage was life altering, but the non-reaction he was having wasn't what either one of them would have expected.

Or was it?

He grumbled as she groaned, more at doubting his uncertainty than because of the pounding in his head reminding him that he wasn't ten years younger. He couldn't remember a time when he'd had so much to drink that there were parts of the night missing.

"That's not what I meant," Seven snapped.

Why, at this moment, her exasperation made him smile, he had no idea. But it made a small grin crawl onto his face, and he snaked an arm around her bare waist, hooking her to him and eliciting another round of annoyed grumbles. He repositioned on the pillow to face her and was met with a bright-eyed and wild-haired beauty, who looked seconds away from figuring out how to conjure fire at the tip of her tongue.

"Jax! This. Is. A. Huge. Problem."

With his arm still around her waist, he chuckled, entertained that he could feel her abdomen muscles punctuate each word.

"I'm not going to do anything with you screeching in my ear," he said quietly.

He got married? He got married. Truth was, he had always been of the mindset that everything happened for a reason. It was the only way he had survived the death of his wife. His first wife.

Carrie's life had had meaning. They'd been young, but they had known enough to sign up for a career in which they'd been willing to die. They had each expected their own death, but maybe not the other's. He certainly hadn't expected Carrie's—not by their government, and sure as fuck not before they'd gotten out of the church. It had never occurred to him he wouldn't make it to the honeymoon.

Was there irony that he couldn't remember getting married and consummating his marriage with Seven? Or was that a new way to torture himself?

How had he allowed this to happen?

Maybe because it was supposed to happen… Maybe he was still drunk.

"You aren't taking this seriously." The scowl on Seven's face proved she believed he wasn't and that she had no idea what was going through his head.

He'd barely acknowledged to himself how this woman had crawled under his skin and sunk her claws in without even trying. Maybe his subconscious was tired of waiting for him to live again, but this was like going from zero to lightning speed. "Believe me, princess, I am."

"Maybe this is fake. Maybe this doesn't count."

His stomach rolled as a small wave of disappointment surprised him. "Maybe," he said gruffly.

Her eyes shot to him like blue daggers. "Because then we could just leave the rings on the nightstand and pretend none of that happened. Do you see what I'm saying?"

Either way, this was the end of the fucking. Anything moving forward would be tainted and awkward. No dude wanted to get a blow job from someone dying to get his ring off her finger. Yet she hadn't clawed the thing off yet. "Is that what you want, Seven?"

"Of course it is! Obviously, you do, Mr. Ladies Love a SEAL."

That said nothing about her and everything about who she thought he was—which he didn't buy for a second. That slutty SEAL bullshit had been debunked weeks ago, and she was well aware. He gave her a placating smile and pulled his arm back, plumping his pillow. "Tell me when the food is here."

He picked the pillow up, covered his head so he couldn't hear any more grumblings, and wondered for the second time if he was still drunk.