one up the other day at work, but I threw it in the trash. I’m the one saying no to a prenup. I don’t want it, and I don’t need it. I love Lori and—”
“And what, Mr. Pussy Whipped?” he grumped.
Tom paused, not taking the bait. “Not all marriages are like your parents. Think of my mom and dad.”
That’s exactly what he was thinking about. Tom’s parents, Grace and Scott, treated him like another son. Tom’s grandfather, Franklin Goodwin Abbott, who they affectionately called Judge because the man had served in the family courts for over fifty years, taught him how to fish alongside Tom. He even enjoyed spending time with Tom’s Uncle Russell, who could be best described as a balding, leisure suit Larry wannabe Casanova. The guy might have had game once upon a time, but he and Tom always got a kick out of taking him out to the bars over the holidays to watch him get shot down by women half his age.
Then there was Tom’s ballbuster of an older sister, Denise, who gave him shit like an older sister should. And Denise’s wife Nancy wasn’t one to be left out either when it came to the playful ribbing. Their kids, Cole and Carly, called him Uncle Scooter, for Christ’s sake! Soren Christopher Traeger Rudolph, the hard-nosed, money-making womanizer, allowed two children to call him Uncle Scooter.
Why? Because they loved him.
He opened his desk drawer and peered at a picture that five-year-old Cole and eight-year-old Carly had drawn for him. A picture of a stupid Vespa scooter, and it was a damned treasure.
Denise and Nancy had gotten married ten years ago, which, along with having the kids, had altered the holidays. But he and Tom had taken on the role of uncles together.
It was always him and Tom.
And he sure as hell wasn’t about to allow a shake-up to the status quo. More than that, he had to think of Tom. Marriage was nothing to take lightly. He was moving too fast. He wasn’t in his right mind.
“Come on, Scooter. If I can’t lure you out for the week, promise me that you’ll be on good behavior when you do get here,” Tom said, exasperation coating his words.
His fiancée must have put him up to this call.
Soren closed the drawer containing Cole and Carly’s picture as a sly expression graced his features.
“Hey, if this love of yours is as strong as you say, it can survive anything, right?”
Throwing Tom’s love logic back at him was a jackass lawyer move. But he was starting to feel something deep within him.
His past, percolating in his chest.
Before he spent the holidays with the Abbotts, he’d been utterly alone.
“Scooter?” Tom pressed.
Soren tapped his fingers on the desk. “I agreed to be your best man. Isn’t that enough?”
“And I’d like my best man with me for the week. You’ve celebrated every Christmas with us since we were fourteen. You’d be here right now if there wasn’t a wedding.”
“I prefer your parents’ place in Massachusetts,” he shot back.
“Well, tough guy, this year, the Abbotts are in Colorado.”
“For an entire damned week,” Soren mumbled.
Tom groaned. “Again, Scooter, you’ve always spent a week with us. Plus, Birdie’s got the whole week planned with activities, dinners, and all sorts of good stuff. It’s going to be a blast.”
Soren bristled. The thought of prearranged plans left a bitter taste in his mouth. He’d lost count of the camps and daycares his parents had enrolled him in when he was a boy to get him out of their hair. Nannies who were charged with his well-being dragged him all over the city. Neither of his parents ever asked about his day, his likes, his dislikes. They’d breeze in and out of his life like leaves in the wind.
“I make my own schedule,” he replied, shaking off the memories.
“Scooter! Dude! It’s my wedding,” Tom pleaded.
“You’re not married yet, and who the hell is this Birdie. And what the fuck kind of name is that?”
“Birdie is Lori’s sister. I told you about her.”
Soren frowned. He’d become accustomed to zoning out of the conversation when it turned to Lori. In fact, he was damned ready to have his friend back and talk about something other than this woman.
“Scooter, you need to get on board with the wedding. My whole family loves Lori. Even Denise. And you know what she’s like.”
Soren stared out into the city, twinkling with holiday lights. “S, C, T, R,” he said softly.