Dax (Arizona Vengeance 4)

Just as it starts to feel awkward, Dax’s cell phone starts vibrating on the white-and-gray flecked granite countertop. We both glance toward it, and I see a picture of Willow’s face pop up. She has the same mink-colored hair as her brother, but her golden-brown eyes are a few shades lighter than Dax’s.

Dax taps on the green button to connect the call, then hits the speaker option. “You’re on speaker phone, Will,” he says by way of warning, which with Willow is a good move. She has no filter. “Regan’s sitting beside me.”

“Reg-a-licious,” she yells into the phone with bubbling excitement. “I cannot wait to see you. I’ll be in on Friday.”

“Can’t wait to see me either, right?” Dax says, shooting me a grin.

“Nope,” Willow retorts. “Pretty sure all my enthusiasm is for the Reg-i-rator.”

I snicker and smile at the phone, even though she can’t see me. I’m totally warmed by her use of nicknames she used to call me when we were younger. I was the youngest out of all the Miles and Monahan tribes. Willow is four years older than me at twenty-six, Dax is twenty-seven—the same age as Lance had been when he died—and Meredith is the oldest at twenty-nine, the only one married and settled with kids.

But the age difference between me and the others was large. Willow, Lance, Dax, and Meredith were all in a tight group, and I was four years behind them. That meant Willow and Lance dated briefly, Meredith was the older sister who would buy them alcohol before they turned of age, and I was the one who got silly nicknames like Reg-i-moto and Reg-gae Music Girl.

Yes, we all grew up together and our families were tight. We may not share blood, but the Monahans are now all I have left. So while I’m still not sure I’m doing the right thing by agreeing to Dax’s plan to marry him, I do know without a doubt Lance would have expected Dax to take care of me.

So I’m going to let him, not only because I know Lance would have wanted it, but also because I’m terrified of what will happen to me if I don’t. I’m just going to have to put aside my old-fashioned notions of true love and marriage. Marriage is happening to me for reasons that have nothing to do with romance, and I’ve accepted that.

Of course, it doesn’t help I’m definitely not looking at Dax in a brotherly way these days. He’s just too… male. Like a damn romance novel hero, swooping in all buff, successful, and alpha to save the day.

“I’ll be in Friday night,” Willow says, cutting into my highly inappropriate thoughts. “Dax has a game, so you and I are hanging, Reg-i-bell. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

A soft sigh escapes, and I smile at the phone again. Yes, we do. Willow couldn’t make Lance’s funeral, and it’s obvious she feels awful about it. Plus, even though we keep in touch via social media and text, it’s been over two years since we’ve seen each other.

“Regan will be going to the game,” Dax inserts coolly, and I blink in surprise over what I would term to be a slightly possessive sound to his voice.

“Oh no she won’t,” Willow snaps. “She can go to another game of yours, and it’s not like she hasn’t seen you play hockey a gazillion times. But I miss her and I’m sad about Lance, and I just want to hang at your house with Regan and a few bottles of wine. So deal with it.”

Dax’s mouth snaps shut, a muscle ticking in the corner of his jaw.

“Hanging sounds nice,” I say to Willow, hoping Dax isn’t mad about that. I have seen him play lots of hockey, so catching up with Willow is totally my preference.

“It’s a date then,” Willow says, but then I hear someone call her name in the background. “I gotta go. I’ll text you my flight information, but I’ll handle getting myself to your house, Dax. Later, taters.”

And then she’s gone.

“She’s such a brat,” Dax mutters as he snatches another piece of pizza. “Good thing I like her.”

“You love her,” I say with a laugh, swinging my leg his way and tapping my foot playfully against his shin. “Plus, you know half the stuff she says is merely to get a rise out of you. She’s such a button pusher.”

“Totally,” he agrees, then there’s an abrupt change of subject. “Let’s leave the house tomorrow about eight thirty. That way, we’ll be first in line at the clerk’s office.”

My throat constricts as the weight of tomorrow starts to settle on me.

“Did you find your birth certificate?” he asks.

I nod, telling him I thought it was in a folder of papers I had stashed away in my closet and had gone through as I was packing up yesterday.