Sous. Will you marry me... again?”
At the little added touch of that last word, her mouth breaks into a smile, and she’s nodding while her eyes fill to the brim with more tears. I’m up in a flash, lifting her, bringing her body to mine, right where it fits, and then I’m taking her mouth and consuming her emotions and sharing my own.
I twirl us around, because fuck, I’ve never felt this hyped or happy, and then our mouths are fused together again. When she reaches for the button of my dress shirt, I swat her away gently.
“I should’ve asked, will you marry me... right now,” I whisper into her ear, and she stops moving. We break apart and wonder is written all over her face.
“Right now?”
“Yes, beautiful. Right fucking now.”
“But I don’t—”
“You look perfect, and there isn’t a better moment than right now while our families are standing a hundred feet away, waiting.”
“What did you do?” she muses as a myriad of feelings wash over her.
“I decided we should have a real wedding where you’re the queen and the whole fucking world bears witness.”
She grabs my face, and we resume kissing. It’s consuming. Effortless. Blissful. If this is the start of the rest of our lives, I’ll never wish for another thing again.
She’s all I need.
“Let’s get married then, old man. Wouldn’t want you to die of old age first,” she teases, smirking at me. I set her down entirely and smack her ass.
Squeals escape, and then I’m leading her to our forever.
The place she’ll truly be mine.
Josephine Ellis Hayes, my wife. My lifeline. My sobriety chip.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Present
Joey
I bottle the resentment and hatred as one would a black widow and praying mantis in a jar, wondering which would strike first and who would conquer all.
One time, Wes caught one of each in two separate jars. It annoyed me that he captured two beautiful creatures just to hold them hostage and watch them waste away.
He set the glasses side by side, mirrors, almost doorways, to see how calculated each species was.
The intrigue in his eyes terrified me, let me know something inside him may be darker than I bargained for, yet I did nothing but watch.
His fingers caressed the one housing the bright green mantis. He leaned in close, his eyes narrowing on the stillness, I'm sure.
When the insect didn't move, only keeping a stock-still position, I wondered if maybe fear kept it frozen in place, but like Wes knew something I didn't, he smiled.
The way his lips tilted at the edges conspiratorially made my insides squeeze uncomfortably. As a predator or person with a lack of empathy would, he gave me chills, but for some reason, it didn't force my eyes away.
Like the impact when music hits really loud, the bass bumping throughout your body, I could only prepare for the cacophony of bulldozing emotions.
After deciding whatever he needed, he stared at the widow. Its red stomach patch faced away from us as it protected itself by hiding in the lid, but Wes saw. Tapping the lid several times, we watched as the spider plopped to the bottom.
He bit the inside of his cheek wordlessly, causing an insane curiosity to bite at my mind.
It made zero sense.
This was barbaric, but I didn't do a single thing to stop this from escalating.
He unscrewed the lids, lifting both cylinders at the same time. Nothing could prepare me for what I witnessed next.
Anxiety gnawed at my stomach, creating an untamable distress to bubble through my chest. It burned and ached, acting as an early warning system as the two foes faced off.
Neither moved.
They both stood motionless, almost calculating, watching, observing the opponent.
It never occurred to me which would win, but staring at the black widow, knowing its bite was as deadly as it was vicious, my mind had made itself up.
It struck first. The widow went straight for the jugular, and that was its first mistake—taking the easy shot, the uncalculated risk of striking first.
The mantis, as if knowing all along, gripped the spider with its pincers, holding it like it was sushi, his arms the chopsticks of death.
It squeezed and squeezed, making sure to eat its legs while it writhed in its hold. Nausea built inside me, suffocating my every breath, but the mantis didn't stop to recognize how uncomfortable I was.
How could it know?
This was a dog-eat-dog world. In this case, a mantis-eat-widow one, he did what he had to do to survive. He won, eating his winnings like a