Games of the Heart Page 164

And as he wandered the rooms looking for a shoebox, like he did when he did his walkthroughs randomly at night, he took it all in and he didn’t miss what he saw.

He had it all. The full dream. His family in a big, old, graceful house in The ‘Burg, Christmas tree in the window, ferns hanging from the porch roof in the summer.

And a beautiful, smart, funny, loving woman in his bed who was his wife, the mother of two of his kids and the adoring stepmom to the other two.

He was living the dream.

All of it.

He looked into the family room hoping Rees hadn’t lost her mind and stowed her shoes there and saw Mandy on Jordy’s lap, Jordy pushed back in Mike’s recliner happily watching cartoons with Mike’s kids.

Jordy’s eyes came to his and he reported, “I already reconned the area. No shoes.”

Mike chuckled and jerked up his chin then he moved out of the door and wandered up the wood steps with their dusky blue carpet runner, rounded the middle landing and hit the top where the kids’ rooms and his office were. He’d just walked through the door to what would soon become the guest room considering Reesee wasn’t going to be in it anymore when she emerged from her closet with a scary-spiked-high-heeled, ivory satin shoe in each hand and she declared, “Found them!”

“In your closet,” Mike noted and his daughter’s eyes cut to his.

“Mike,” Dusty muttered but her voice was vibrating with amusement.

She was on her hands and knees on the floor, ass pointed in the air, her own scary-spike-high-heeled shoes (hers were pale yellow and they were strappy sandals) already on her feet, clearly having just been engaged in checking under the bed.

Mike tore his gaze from his wife’s ass and looked to Audrey who had a piece of luggage open on the bed, the folded contents of which her hands had suspended from carefully pawing through. Her dancing eyes were on Mike and her lips were pressed together to stop herself from laughing.

“Cut me some slack, Dad,” Reesee snapped and Mike looked at his daughter. “I’m gettin’ married today.”

“Yeah, to a man you’ve been with for seven years. Jesus, Reesee, you’re already practically married. You’re just doin’ this to have a party and cash in on presents,” Mike replied.

“Mike,” Dusty muttered again, now on her feet and her voice was still vibrating with amusement.

Audrey actually snorted.

“Mom!” Reesee shouted, glaring at her mother.

“Honey, your Dad is funny,” Audrey defended herself.

Mike crossed his arms on his chest and grinned at his daughter.

“I’m just cuttin’ the tension with a joke,” he told her and her eyes sliced to his.

“If that’s what you’re tryin’ to do, you’re failing!” Reesee clipped.

Mike’s grin faded and he whispered, “Calm down, beautiful. It’s all gonna be okay. Everything is going to be perfect. You’re marrying a good man who loves you, you love him and you’re starting on a journey that’ll make you happy until the day you die.”

He watched his daughter’s eyes fill with tears then she waved her hand in front of her face and exclaimed, “Don’t make me cry! My makeup! The makeup girl just left! She can’t do repairs.”

“Come here,” Mike ordered.

“No. You’re gonna make me cry,” Reesee returned, still waving her hand in front of her face.

“Reesee, honey, come here,” Mike said quietly but firmly.

She held his eyes, dropped her hand and came to him.

“We’ll just give you two a minute,” Dusty muttered and she and Audrey slid by them and out the door.

Mike lifted both his hands and cupped his girl’s jaw.

Then his eyes moved over her face.

Then they locked on hers.

“Most beautiful girl in the world,” he whispered.

She dropped her shoes, her hands came up and wrapped around his wrists, tight.

“Dad,” she whispered back.

“Most beautiful girl in the world,” he repeated, his voice thick.

She pressed her lips together.

He brought her closer and bent in.

With lips to the top of her hair, he murmured, “Love you, my Reesee.”

“I love you too, Daddy.”

Daddy.

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips against her fragrant, soft hair.

Then he pulled back a bit and whispered into her hair, “Always.”

“Always, Daddy,” she whispered back.

He heard pandemonium downstairs which meant her bridesmaids were arriving.

So he straightened away but kept his hands on her jaws and again caught her eyes.

She held his gaze and his wrists and didn’t let go.

Then two of her bridesmaids entered the room.

“Ohmigod! Your hair is divine,” one of them announced.

Mike smiled at his daughter.

Then he let her go and moved away. The bridesmaids, already wearing their sophisticated, kelly green bridesmaids dresses, converged as he walked toward the door.

He looked back to see her huddled with one, the other one had hold of her wedding dress that had been hanging on the closet door.

Then he drew in a deep breath and left the room.

And he did this preparing to do what he’d have to do in an hour.

The impossible.

Let her go.

*

Mike sat in a chair at the front of the huge formation of them that were set out in the sun by the side of the Holliday farmhouse. His eyes were on the awning that was in front of him. It was strewn with yellow roses and kelly green ribbons and streamers, all of which were drifting in the lazy breeze that luckily swept away the humidity and took the burn off the day.

Dusty had just left the seat at his side to walk under the awning.

Jonas had left the groomsmen line and was seating himself at the piano.

Dusty grinned at Jonas. He grinned back. She nodded and No twisted his head to look at his bud who was sitting at a set of drums.

Jonas jerked up his chin, the drummer kicked in and Dusty started humming into the microphone she was standing in front of.

While Reesee and Fin stood in each other’s arms under the awning looking into each other’s eyes, Dusty’s eyes found Mike’s.

Then in her pure, sweet, beautiful voice, his wife started singing Sarah McLachlan’s “Ice Cream”.

For his daughter and her nephew.

But to her husband.

Mike held her eyes as she sang, his son accompanied her and he let her voice settle into his soul.

Two minutes later, the song was over.

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