The Resurrection (Unlawful Men)

He is oblivious to Father McMahon and the congregation watching and waiting. “Tell me you love me,” he says.

“I love you.”

“Tell me you trust me.”

“I trust you.”

“Tell me you’re happy.”

I laugh, and he nudges me for an answer, his smirk matching mine. “I’m so, so, so happy.” I link my arms over his shoulders, lacing my fingers together on his nape.

“I think you’re crazy,” he murmurs.

“I think you’re mine,” I reply.

“I think you’re beautiful.”

“I think you’re mine.”

“I think I hate you more than I’ve ever hated you before.”

I circle his nose. “I think you’re mine,” I whisper back.

“Do I have a choice?”

I take his hand and lay it over my stomach. “What do you think?”

His smile is one of those smiles that doesn’t fit his deadly persona, as he looks at my stomach. “I think you want a crazy, murdering, depraved arse to be your baby daddy.”

I laugh, and it’s unstoppable. “Whose name is Danny Black.”

“Whose name is Danny Black,” he confirms. “You ready?”

I nod, looking past him, seeing Beau sitting close to James, her palm resting on his thigh, his hand covering hers. Her smile is small but there. Her damaged arm covered. My happiness suddenly feels so incredibly wrong, and my heart breaks for my friend, especially when she mildly shakes her head at me, silently willing me not to feel sorry for her. Impossible. I feel like I’m standing here with everything I never dared dream of, while Beau continues her battle to comes to terms with what she has lost.

23

JAMES

* * *

I have never in my life been to a wedding, but I’m pretty sure this is not how they’re done. Then again, I’ve not been living in a normal world for some time, least of all now. Regardless, it was a beautiful service. It was personal, almost private, and as I sat there with Beau close to my side watching Danny and Rose doing their thing, oblivious to the small congregation of family and friends, all I could think about was how hopeless I feel. I’ve experienced pain of unthinkable levels, but knowing Beau is hurting for reasons other than her mother’s death and her uncle’s betrayal is raw agony. The former I can and plan on fixing. The latter I have no clue how to right. And the helplessness only emphasizes the rage inside. I need to channel that energy before it consumes me.

There’s one grand round table in the room. One table seating everyone. This isn’t a big wedding in the sense of guests, but colossal in the sense of lavishness and expense. It’s like an elaborate dinner party with friends. The food—all eight courses—was, as expected, exceptional. Oysters to start. I know that was personal too, especially when Danny made a public display of feeding them to Rose and begged her not to chew. The silver service staff has cleared the tables and pretty much all of us are resting back in our chairs, full to the brim with good food and wine.

I feel Beau’s palm stroking circles across my back, like she’s getting comfort from my scars, and my eyes fall to her arm. I don’t know if it’s a negative or positive thing that it’s covered again. I reach for her hand and peel her fingers from the wine glass, bringing it to my mouth and kissing the back for no other reason other than wanting to show her some love. Show her that my need to be close hasn’t waned. That I love her with every fucked-up, murdering fiber of my being. Always will. And yet I might have to accept that she will never marry me, because I can’t keep the fact that I murdered Dexter a secret forever. I know that.

She looks up at me and smiles mildly, working her hand up to my neck and rubbing soothing circles there, twisting the hair at my nape in between.

“So Goldie’s in a dress,” she muses, peeking out the corner of her eye across the table, where my fearless female sidekick is necking wine like it could be water. In a dress. It’s unheard of, as is drunk Goldie, but with each day that’s passed, I’ve seen her struggling to hold up her fierce front. Maybe it’s the women she’s suddenly surrounded by. Maybe it’s the sense of relaxation. Who the fuck knows, but I’m happy for her. “I hope you didn’t mock her,” she adds.

“I’m brave, Beau, but not that brave.” And neither are any of the men. “Danny’s invited me out on the water in the morning,” I say, trying to hide the shudder her touch on my neck is spiking. “He’s planning on taking Rose to St. Lucia tomorrow evening.”

Her playing fingers pause, her face somewhere between worry and wariness. “They’re leaving?” She looks across to Rose. “But she’s not mentioned it.”