Finding Home: Just Found Heaven, Bk 1.5 - 3. Chapter 3-Tara

"When I feel alone I reach for you, and you bring me home... When I'm lost at sea. I hear your voice, and it carries me... In this world, we're just beginnin' to understand the miracle of livin'... Baby, I was afraid before, but I'm not afraid anymore... Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?... Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth.... They say in Heaven, love comes first... We'll make Heaven a place on Earth... Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth... Heaven... Heaven... Heaven..."

– (Heaven is a Place on Earth) - Belinda Carlisle

"I really don't think that 'Passion Flower Pink,' is my color, Tara."

The hesitancy in Sofia's voice made me look up from my precision task of painting my toenails with a teeny tiny brush. After a half hour of torture, they were now pristinely coated with a gleaming shade of pink only a few shades brighter than the lipstick Sofia was questioning. Against her skin which tanned with ridiculous, natural ease to a rich, honey-brown in the summer months—and would've made me hate her just a little bit if I didn't adore her— the rosy hue of the lipstick popped. Those full lips—lips I'd fantasized about more than once over the years we'd been friends—looked lush and kissable. I was tempted for about three seconds to see if Passion Flower Pink tasted floral because it'd probably be an amazing sensory experience combined with the sweet vanilla scent of her perfume that periodically wafted over to me whenever she moved.

Sofia was gorgeous, sweet and intelligent. She was also one of my closest friends and since my hormones were probably being triggered more by the romantic overload of today's wedding nuptials than Sofia's extreme desirability, I kept my own, 'Impatient Poppy Red' glossed mouth to myself. Being impatient with my lipstick was one thing. Being overly eager about finding my own happily-ever-after with the wrong person because so many others around me were living in worlds of hearts and flowers, wasn't even remotely a good enough reason to navigate through the after-effects of a major, friendship-complicating mistake. God knew I’d make enough romantic missteps over the years, a certain sexy, tatted, former marine turned mechanic, being the most recent.

So, instead of focusing on the kissability factor of the exaggerated pout Sofia was making at her reflection in the mirror over the hotel room dresser to better examine the lipstick color, I capped my nail polish bottle, then tipped my head to one side to assess the potentially problematic lipstick myself.

The movement shifted my long braid over my bare shoulder. The loose strands trapped below the bottom of the clear plastic hair tie tickled the inside of my elbow, irking me like they had been since the wee hours of morning after my hair had been painstakingly straightened with both a blow dryer and a flat iron to kill my natural curls before the stylist had created the intricate, side-swept braided style to drape over my left shoulder. Normally I'd have haphazardly piled my salon blonde spirals on top of my head to keep them off my neck in the savage humidity that was present even during the second week of December, but no one had asked my opinion. None of us in the wedding party had been allowed much say over any of the wedding details, not even the two grooms.

Although the proverbial wrath of scorned women made hell and all of its minions tremble in fear, the single-minded determination of an almost eight-year-old girl planning her version of the winter wonderland wedding she felt her uncle deserved, was enough to move heaven and earth in ways no one dared fight back against.

The wedding details had been scrawled with gusto in pink marker on vintage Strawberry Shortcake stationary—a gift from me I now regretted— with the solemnity of the ten commandments, and we'd all fallen in line. So, while the upper East Coast was eagerly awaiting the holidays with steaming mugs of hot chocolate, in Florida we were dealing with endless throngs of tourists and Snow Bird geriatrics escaping the cold, as well as the ridiculously consistent humidity that threatened both hairstyles and deodorant. All while figuring out how to accessorize icy blue and silver, storybook princess worthy dresses, so that they had some level of personality and zing.

Sofia's dark hair, brown eyes and glowing bronze skin were all gorgeous on their own, but against the silvery material of her dress that made a delicate backdrop for the punchy pink shade of the lipstick to shine against, the color worked. It was just more vivid than her usual neutrally nude makeup look. But Sofia had grown lightyears away from the emotionally broken and self-doubting woman she'd been throughout most of her marriage to her asshole of a late husband, so she was going to wear that dang lipstick even if I had to cross lines and keep kissing it onto her all day.

Especially since A.J. was going to be here, and I fully intended to break out my cupid wings and shoot them both with as many metaphorical arrows as I could, until they got their heads out of their butts, and remember that they’d once cared about each other enough to have the logistics talk that’d eventually made them drift apart. With any luck, that sassy little ginger would be the one reapplying her lipstick with his tongue.

"It looks great, Sofia," I said as I put the nail polish bottle on the nightstand. "If I can pull off red with this milky complexion that comes many, many espresso shots before your delicious cafe au lait, you'll turn so many heads that Sam and Ben will have to play hopscotch over them when they walk down the aisle."

The flirty tease that would've embarrassed Sofia into appealing, but self-conscious blushes before she'd found her renewed sense of self-confidence over the past year, just inspired a brilliant smile now.

"So, we're before and after bookends?"

Sofia's grin deepened until it morphed into bubbly laughter. She tucked a strand of her chin length, salon curled dark hair back behind her ears to reveal her pair of the beautiful, light blue topaz stud earrings that’d been bridesmaid gifts from Sam and Ben to her, Adelyn and me—pretty apologies for making us wear dresses that made us look like Disney sanctioned Barbie dolls.

One day I'd love to have a meet and greet with whomever had come up with the notion that blondes had more fun, so that I could introduce their delusional ass to the wicked heels of my strappy silver stilettos. Shoes, which after tonight, would be relegated to the back of my closet along with my maid-of-honor gown if I didn't burn the sucker first.

Sofia, Adelyn and Emma had been smiling and giggling since this morning when we'd all gotten dressed together in their hotel room, excited about the opportunity to play dress-up. Me, not so much. All that gorgeous, romantic frou-frouness made my inner bohemian hipster slam on the breaks hard because of the ridiculous cringe factor. An army of bangle bracelets, straw fedoras perched raskishly on my wild mass of long blonde curls, and layers of vibrant color via maxi skirts and dresses were more my style. Not because I had anything to hide beneath all the layers of fabric, but because it was diverse, vibrantly stylish and cool in the heat. I also liked making my occasional lovers have to work for the goods when unpackaging my private-time merchandise.

It was excellent foreplay.

The only thing I almost never took off except to shower or when I kick-boxed at the gym, was the silver key pendant that’d been a gift from my older brother, Nate, on my 18th birthday. I'd tucked it away safely at home in my jewelry box last night before leaving with Max to come to the hotel since it didn't work with my dress. A dress which at this point, I'd happily have swapped out for the one Sofia and Adelyn were wearing.

I'd never been a fairy tale fan girl growing up, but as an adult I'd applauded Disney's moxie for embracing the new era of self-reliant badass heroines who could shoot bows and arrows, wield a sword while cross-dressing, and most recently, freeze a bad guys balls off with ice powers if she ever felt the need.

Frozen was Emma's favorite Disney movie. While I secretly preferred Anna's quirky gumption and occasional lack of common sense because I felt that those very human qualities rounded her out realistically, I hadn't minded Elsa. If she'd lost the trailing cape, filmy long sleeves, and cut that daring slit in the front of her slinky blue dress up a little higher past her thigh, she'd be the blonde Disney embodiment of Jessica Rabbit. If that had been the vision Emma had imagined when she'd decided in her adorable, but completely void of logic little girl mind that I looked, "EXACTLY like Elsa!," I could've gotten on board with her perception for a few hours on one special day for two of my favorite people.

However, the God Ben preached was all forgiving and ever-loving, was apparently punishing me for some epic past life sin, and had borrowed a minion of the Devil's to place it into my life in the guise of the sweetest little girl on the planet.

Wearing neon orange overalls, a teal t-shirt with a furry purple kitten on it and pink sunglasses perched on the edge of her small nose, Emma had been a colorfully angelic portrait of sweet innocence on one of our bi-weekly 'girl's day out' with her two thick, dark braids swinging lightly down to her waist. She'd serenaded me with her own rendition of, "Let it Go,' blitzing me with cuteness as I'd ruined my attempts at a healthier lifestyle with a double scoop of Rocky Road, and a third of Cherry Garcia, while we sat on the beach boardwalk.

Emma had waited till the languidness of my sugar coma had kicked in before she'd launched her attack. When I'd finally managed to get a word in edgewise between her stream of excited little girl chatter and tried to gently shut down her plans for snowy themed festivities in the ever-present Floridian heat, Emma's sunglasses had slipped down that tiny nose to reveal big, luminously liquid brown eyes that’d looked at me like I'd just run over some small furry animal. When her popsicle-stained, red lower lip had puffed out and been captured by a chipped front tooth, I'd resigned myself to the same owned status every other adult in her life already had. In about ten years, Sam, Max and A.J. would be at Sofia's house guarding Emma's virtue-having already practiced with Adelyn—by cleaning their guns out front and center on the porch while I shrinked the hell out of every boy or girl who came to visit, gauging their predatory possibilities.

We were all doomed by one adorable doll baby.

Unfortunately, my suffering had started the day we'd gone shopping for bridesmaid dresses and Emma had declared that my dress needed to be different from Addie and Sofia's because as Ben's best woman, I was special, and needed to ‘stand out.’

I'd have been happier drinking antifreeze instead of becoming Emma's freezing beauty, but those big brown eyes...

I hated little girls— also known as vessels of Satan—in ruffled rompers who called me Aunt Tara, and crawled into my heart every time their faces lit up like the Fourth of July while they waved like maniacs whenever they saw me coming up the driveway in my classic blue convertible. Granted, Emma was the only little girl who called me Aunt Tara, but it was enough. I couldn't handle anyone else thinking I was special enough to be decked out like their personal dress-up dollie. One night in ‘the dress,’ as it had been dubbed by a tongue-in-cheek Sam when he'd seen it hanging in my closet, was all I could handle.

Adelyn and Sofia were both dark hared, natural beauties. In their silvery tulle dresses with full skirts, intricately beaded sheer overlays, long illusion sleeves and tastefully dipping necklines, they could've given any of my former Alabaman debutante comrades' ample competition towards filling their dance cards.

They looked breezy and ethereal, as if they were made of snow and ice crystals just floating in the balmy, Florida winter breeze— perfect displays of classic, feminine beauty and grace, perfect for a wedding.

Like their dresses, mine was also floor length with a sheer overlay, but that was where all similarities ended. The silhouette to my gown was a sleeveless, very subtle A-line, and instead of sheer flowing tulle, the dress was crafted from delicate layers of crystal embossed chiffon that started out a pale, silvery blue color at the top of the neckline, then flowed in an ombre affect to mid-thigh, where the sheer fabric became white over the nude chemise sewn beneath. The V-neck also dipped low between my breasts whose curves were a little more than tastefully revealed though the glittering illusion overlay that made my fair skin look like it was encrusted in ice crystals—all peekaboo princess.

But, as much as I hated to admit it, the dress was a fantasy masterpiece—a glittery, shameless work of fairytale art, especially with the Swarovski crystal pins the stylist had poked into my long blonde braid to finish off her artistic vision.

I looked like a Crown Princes.

I felt like a Cosplay sacrifice.

"We're surviving a thing I've avoided for years," I said, calling on my southern upbringing to manage a delicate snort that still would've raised my mama's eyebrows in disapproval as she reminded me of her long list of things that ‘good southern girls’ didn't do. Being a lesbian was always the number one item on said list, but snorting was a close second.

"Bridesmaid duty’s never been high on my bucket list."

Sofia grinned again. "Well technically, you're Ben's best woman," she pointed out. "Which is why you get to wear the extra bling."

Her lips twitched as I held up my arm to make the gaudy silver bracelet on my wrist catch the light so it would make the ice blue, plastic gems sparkle. Yet another fashion addition from Emma.

"It'll blind all attention away from the dress. Maybe it'll even do double duty as a homing beacon to some sexy, single woman somewhere else in the hotel like a come-hither bat signal."

Sofia chuckled as she sat beside me. “I still think you should’ve invited Sloane.”

I snorted again. “Riiiiight, because inviting the woman whose attention I finally got and enjoyed a fantastic quickie with in the back of my car before she ghosted me, is exactly who I should've brought to the kind of event that every shrink claiming to be worth their salt, agrees is a relationship killer for even decent ones if they haven’t made it past a year.”

“She didn’t ghost you. You know where she is, and you’re still FaceBook friends.”

I side-eyed her. “So are you and A.J…..”

I arched an eyebrow when she turned the color of fresh summer strawberries.

“That’s… different.”

“Oh? Tell me exactly how because unlike Sloane and I who are about as graceful as baby hippos when we try to figure one another out, you and the red-haired wonder were like Mike and Ike. Peanut Butter and Jelly. Friggin’ Bert and Ernie.”

Sofia’s blush remained as she sighed—a delicate sound my mama would’ve approved of much more than my snorts.

“We care about one another, Tara, but I don’t want to leave Florida now that Sam’s here. He and Emma are so close, and Adelyn’s starting her senior year of high-school. Prying them away from all that isn’t an option. A.J. feels the same way about his family, and his business is in Alabama as well. We can’t find middle ground.”

“Did you actually try? Or did you both just pull the ever-popularly human, ‘it’ll never work because….’ card? People figure out more complicated issues all the time, Sofia. And you haven’t dated anyone since A.J.” I paused as I swept her with a look. “And according to Sam, neither has he…. Guess neither of you is easy to forget.”

Sofia sighed again. “He’s…amazing,” she admitted. “Smart, funny, and so good with Emma and Adelyn. And he has—”

“A really big dick?”

I snickered when Sofia shrieked, stopping her from hiding behind her hands by wrapping my own around her wrists so she wouldn’t smudge her makeup.

“I was going to say that he has a big heart, Tara!”

I offered her innocent eyes. “Soooo… you’re not fighting for happiness with him because he’s got a small dick?”

She shrieked again, blinked, then started to laugh before groaning. “No…no he doesn’t have a…small…penis.” The last word was whispered and I settled her hands on her lap.

“Don’t touch your face. You’ll ruin all of that wretched makeup artist’s hard work.”

I’d probably be scrubbing my own makeup off for at least an hour because it was so caked on. Considering I usually wore only mascara and cherry flavored Chapstick on a daily basis, maybe with a touch of cream blush, I felt like I deserved a starring role in the Rocky Horror Picture Show right now.

“Small penis issues are big ones, believe it or not.” I grinned when she blushed even harder. “If he’s not of the micro variety, everything else can be worked out. What about just having two residences? He’s definitely got the income for it, and he can work virtually. You could probably work part-time as a nurse here, and find a part-time job there. Sort of like split custody, only no one’s using kids as payday-pawns. I mean, Alabama is hot as balls just like Florida, so it's not like you’d be losing the humidity, or your opportunity to wear capris most of the year.”

“I don’t think he’d go for that.”

“Did you ask him?”

“Well, no… I don’t think either of us considered that. We both like our lives.”

“And you also like each other,” I pointed out. “Maybe even big L word like each other, so I think it’s worth a shot. He’s here now and you look amazing, so maybe tonight with all the love and roses around us, it's the perfect time for your ginger-haired, big-dicked prince to come sweep you off your delicate feet.”

This time instead of groaning, Sofia laughed. “You’re terrible, Tara.”

“No, lovie, I’m your free romantic therapy guru. Though considering my own dream woman’s apparently riding a turtle wherever she is, maybe I should reconsider the romantic part of my guru status.”

Sofia squeezed my arm, her smile slowly morphing into a sweetly lilting chuckle. "I’ll make you a deal. If you call Sloane and set up a real coffee date, I’ll do the same with A.J.”

“Oooh you manipulative little minx. You're playing dirty.”

Sofia's smirk twisted her shiny pink lips into an unconsciously enticing shape as she reached for one of the spare glittery hairpins the stylist had left for me, then tucked it into my hair.

The braid was slowly growing on me because in a non-heat wave, a looser, less ‘done,’ boho version could be a way to wear my hair when I had to look professional in my office with clients, but I could do without all the sparkle. Camera flashes would be horrendous at night.

"Or you could always join a dating site. The one Max made me join when A.J. and I…decided to take a break… isn't bad.”

“And yet you’ve gone on exactly—” I made a zero with my right hand “dates.”

“Most men don’t want to date a woman with two children."

I snorted again, and the sound was much less delicate this time as I leaned over to adjust the ankle strap on my stiletto sandal. "A.J. did…” I let that hang there before continuing. “And no thank you on the website thing. The angelic, church going gals that Ben has tried to set me up with in the past always turn into pouncing tigers behind closed doors after a few glasses of rosé'. Not always a bad thing, but sometimes a girl wants dinner before dessert, however deliciously amazing said dessert is. I can only imagine what I'd attract on the internet. Catfishing is actually a thing you know."

Sofia looked amused. "Well, one of the new nurses in the maternity ward is gay, single and I've seen her in person, so I can vouch that she's very pretty, sweet, and that she loves kids."

I ignored the not-so-subtle hint. Even though her marriage had been far from years of tender devotion and adoration, Sofia was one of those women who believed in big families with white picket fences. If a spouse that would treat her and her girls with respect and commitment came along with that, she'd count her blessings forever.

I could get behind love, respect and the occasional cheese of cutesy romance. I was a secret fan girl of 80's power ballads, so I didn't mind the occasional ‘extra.’ I just wasn't completely sold on the idea of being called mommy. I'd planned on becoming Aunt Tara to my brother's kids first as a sort of test run to gauge my level of responsibility and enthusiasm for changing diapers, and dealing with potentially clogged milk ducts if my kid decided to follow in its mama's free spirit footsteps and do things like breastfeeding on its own time.

My tatas were perfectly perky handfuls—or mouthfuls depending on the preferences of whomever was in my bed—and even my fringe sense of feminine vanity urged me to keep them that way. But Nate's kids would've needed playmates and confidantes just like he and I had been, and that might almost have been enough to tip the scales in favor of nine months of nachos, and a falling out with my feet when my belly obscured them. Unfortunately, life often decided to take unexpected and craptastic turns without consulting you.

I inhaled deeply as I suddenly felt ninja-stealthy tears threatening to capitalize on the heightened emotions flowing every which way today. A wedding wasn't a proper one without laughter, well wishes and a few tears. Granted, the latter were usually of the happy variety unlike the ones I was suddenly struggling to keep contained....

***

(Flashback)

"Holy cannoli Batman!"

I felt my eyes widening as I took the delicate diamond ring my brother was holding out towards me so that I could inspect it more closely. I twirled it back and forth between my fingers, watching the clear center stone shimmer with perfect iridescence.

"Did you mortgage your soul for this sucker? If so, I approve. How many carats is this?"

Nate grinned at me, beaming with male pride. "Only one, but the jeweler said size is less important than clarity."

"Your jeweler said size doesn't matter? Must be a man."

I grinned when Nate snorted.

"Smartass. Properly cut facets are what make a diamond really sparkle."

I knew that, but as his little sister it'd always been my self-proclaimed, sacred duty to submit Nate to copious levels of affectionate grief. I grinned, feeling my eyes crinkle at the corners at the same time that Nate's did. We were far from twins, having been born 5 years apart, but everyone who knew the both of us always said our mannerisms and smiles were the same. He just had six inches over my own 5'6 and his hair was a few shades darker than my natural bright auburn. It also had more wave than curl to it. He'd gotten the worse eyesight though, having to wear nerd-boy chic glasses daily, so I considered it a fair genetic trade off.

"Well sparkle it does, sir."

And it did, glowing like it was lit up from within by incandescent fire no matter which way I turned the delicate ring beneath the lights. Against the nearly white band which looked surprisingly like platinum, the single, round cut stone was classic high-end elegance— something I hadn't been aware that my laid-back brother who usually shopped at thrift stores, knew anything about. But he'd done good.

"Do you think Amy will like it?"

I eyed him with affectionate scorn for the absolute ridiculousness of the statement like Miss Marilyn herself would’ve done before she launched into sultry song.

"Are you kidding? She'll love it. It's beautiful and classy, just like her. And if for some insane reason Amy experiences a brain blip and doesn't think so, give it to me. I can save it to whip out and show mom and dad that I'm ready to rock 'n roll if I ever find my forever lady love."

Nate saluted me with his beer bottle and another pleased smile as I twisted the ring around in the light, then arched my left eyebrow at him in silent question. As usual he read my mind and nodded, giving me permission to slide the slim circlet onto my own left ring finger to further admire it.

"So, you're really doing this?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?"

"I thought you said a few months ago that you didn't think you and Amy were ready to get married."

Nate nodded slightly and an almost rueful smile touched the corners of his lips. "Yeah, I know, but then I did something you'll be proud of."

I could feel my left eyebrow arch again when his eyes, green instead of blue like mine, gleamed with the same mischief that had always appeared in them right before he'd yanked my pigtails when we were kids.

"What did you do?"

"I asked myself what my little sister, former hot mess turned amazing therapist would say."

He grinned when I leaned forward to pop him in the shoulder, rubbing the spot after I pulled back to flip him off. If anyone else had brought up my colorful past—which had exploded for a year after I'd almost dropped out of college because of an epically failed relationship— my oh so delicate fist would've ended up in their face. But Nate had been there to help me build the mini bonfire in his backyard where we'd burned all of my ex's things in effigy. He'd also been there to bring me an endless supply of coffee when I'd started breaking night with study sessions to get my GPA up and my education back on track until I graduated with honors.

Nate had always been the only person in my life who loved me unconditionally despite my many, many flaws, so he got a pass. Not a free one since I knew his shoulder was throbbing even if he was still smiling. I didn't hit like a girl after three and a half years of private kick-boxing classes, but it was still a pass.

"I see. And what did that beautiful, brilliant creature tell you to do?"

"She said to imagine how I'd feel if I saw Amy smiling and happy on a Christmas card photo with 2.5 kids, a cat, two dogs and a husband that wasn't me."

I couldn't hide my grin as I lifted my glass and took a sip of my mint julep. I didn't keep up with many of the traditions from my conservative, southern upbringing, but I had a sweet tooth and a weakness for good bourbon, so I made an exception when it came to my drinks.

"Ah, so you realized that you couldn't live without the dogs? Such a softy."

Nate's grin matched mine. "Don't tell mom and dad yet, Red," he said, using the childhood nickname that only he could ever get away with using. Anyone else would've gotten popped less affectionately than he had earlier. Pippi Longstocking nightmares had been a real thing when I was a kid.

"Amy and I want to tell them ourselves."

"Okay, but you owe me big time for suppressing the public service announcement of the century since you know that in their eyes any children the two of you have will become the future salvation of the human race, even if they end up as custodians and Food Lion cashiers."

Nate's smile slowly deepened and when he suddenly shifted like he was going to reach for my drink, I held it out of his reach, unwittingly putting my long, naturally auburn curls in the crosshairs of those deceitful, grabby fingers. The tug was gentle, but still earned Nate the most withering look I could manage when all I wanted to do was smile because I was so happy for him.

Nate and I'd been close our entire lives. Aside from the occasional pigtail pulling, he'd been the textbook definition of a great older brother who'd always had my back and two strong, arms that he'd held out without any hesitation whenever I needed to hide in them. Those same arms had hugged me tightly after I'd come out my senior year in high school by asking out the gorgeous head cheerleader, Marcie Bouchard, to our prom because that endeavor had gone as disastrously as I should've expected.

All high schools are Hellmouths and Marcie had shape-shifted from the nice, friendly person who'd been my study partner all year in advanced biology, into a heartbreaking, queer-shaming mean girl. She'd turned me down flat in front of our entire senior class during lunch with scathing commentary about my style and lack of coolness, before turning to kiss Josh Holloway, the equally cliché, too full of himself, douchey heartthrob quarterback. Josh had smirked as Marcie verbally decimated me, then called me a skanky dyke bitch himself before he and Marcie had broken every school code of conduct rule and made out in front of me like he was Jacques Cousteau on a horny dive to find her tonsils.

I'd run out of the cafeteria in an explosion of tears that’d still been flowing when Nate had come home from his part-time job at the local pizzeria four hours after I'd ditched the rest of the school day and gone straight home to do the private, ugly girl cry thing.

After a hug fest where Nate had dried my tears, then put me to bed with my stuffed sloth, Freud, and a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream, my mild-mannered, auburn haired, salt-of-the-earth, Clark-Kent-glasses wearing brother, had pressed a kiss to the top of my head and told me to take a nap. Then he'd gone to the diner that Josh liked to hang out at, and beaten the shit out of Josh's 6'1, muscled jock ass in the parking lot when Josh had walked out to his car.

On prom night a week later, Nate had taken me to the dance himself. We'd danced all night, laughed at Josh's feeble attempts to sell a story that he'd been randomly mugged to anyone who would listen, then had gotten waffle sundaes with extra maraschino cherries at Friendlys after the prom ended. Over copious amounts of sugar, Nate had told me to forget about Marcie because when I graduated from college with my psychology degree—something I’d confessed that night that I might be interested in pursuing— I'd have women lining up around the block to lay on my couch. He'd grinned when he'd added that with some luck, some of them might not be patients.

It'd been one of the most amazing nights of my life and though I'd been a lit major for my first two years in college instead of going straight into psych 101, those years had been time well wasted. Women were suckers for poetry and Nate's carnal couch predictions had come true on a relatively routine basis, building my confidence in the sexuality Marcie had tried to destroy in high school. I'd built up enough self-awareness that even after a bad breakup with my first real girlfriend, I was able to regroup, slow down the pussy parade and switch my major to psych.

To this point I still hadn't found anyone I cared about enough to make the transition from couch buddy to a more permanent playing house situation, though I'd gone out a few times with a woman I'd met recently through a mutual friend.

Melanie was sweet, pretty and knew her way around my bed as well as she did my couch. We had fun whenever we spent time together and our conversations were actually filled with substance between the sexy moments. As a librarian she was as well read as I was. I also had a thing for strong and intelligent women. I just didn't see her as my forever after yet. That didn't mean I wasn't thrilled that Nate had found his.

I'd liked Amy since day one when Nate had introduced us at a barbecue at our parent's place. She was intelligent and beautiful, but also real. She kept Nate in line and occasionally wrangled him into clothing a few steps up from items off of clearance racks. She also loved my brother as fiercely as I did and would go to bat for him anytime in true southern girl style—the type to bless your heart as she loaded her shotgun with buckshot to defend her own. She could even manage my parents so they put their picket fences and Sunday potluck dinner aspirations on her and Nate more often than they did on me— a nice change because before she'd come into the picture, my life had frequently been a topic of disappointment at those same Sunday dinners.

My parents loved me and were proud of my achievements of getting through college and becoming a respected and established therapist, but my Christmas cards were never going to have a smiling husband standing at my side beneath some mistletoe and the idea of a cat and potentially a dog standing in for kids didn't wind the cranks of their internal grandparent's clocks. If Nate and Amy started popping out my future nieces and nephews right after their wedding when they were all settled in New York City now that Nate had been accepted into the FDNY, and Amy had gotten a job as an elementary teacher in a respected charter school, my parents who weren't big on traveling out of our home state of Alabama, but who were huge on the idea of extending our family, would be on the first flight out to make it work.

So would I. Distance was just logistics.

I smiled at Nate and held out my glass so he could clink his beer bottle against it before I raised my hand up to the lights again to watch the diamond shine...

***

I thought that I'd been doing a pretty good job of containing my emotions until I felt Sofia's hand touch my arm gently as I tried to school my expression into wedding appropriate happiness.

"Tara, what's wrong?"

"Nothing sweetie. I'm ok."

"No, you're not. Please talk to me."

Years of experience as both a nurse and a mother had perfected Sofia's comforting bedside manner and 'pleases,' to the gentle equivalent of now.

"So beautiful. And so very bossy."

Sofia squeezed my hand and I sighed, briefly looking up at the ceiling for a few seconds to employ the rapid blink trick passed down by women for generations, so I could keep my tears back long enough for them to dry so they didn't ruin my eye makeup.

"Sofia, today is about Sam and Ben. Mourning ghosts won't help me achieve epic best woman status and I just can't fail at that. Not today." I cleared my throat, trying to push past the lump of emotion squatting there. "I never wanted to be a bridesmaid, but when my brother told me that he was planning to propose to his long-time girlfriend, Amy, I promised him that I'd be his best woman come hell or high water, no matter what ridiculous dress Amy picked out." I felt my lips tilt into a smile I knew wasn't reaching my eyes. "But it never happened because 911 came first, and Nate died before he ever got the chance to ask Amy to marry him."

"Oh Tara..." Sofia's own eyes shone with emotion as she curled my hand tightly between both of hers.

Like all of my close friends, Sofia knew that Nate had been killed when the first tower had fallen on that tragic, life changing day in NYC and that he, along with almost his entire firehouse's crew, had been trapped inside. So many lives had been lost and everyone who was left behind had also been left to pick up the pieces any way they could.

I'd tried to move forward as much as anyone who's had their heart torn out can, but the career Nate had been so proud of me for building had suffered for a long time after I'd started spending more time at casinos and bars than with my patients. When Melanie left me because I couldn't be present enough for her, I'd moved out of Alabama, and away from the broken hearts of my parents to Florida, to try and escape both their pain and anger, as well as my own.

It'd taken years of failing at even going through the motions, lost in mountains of bourbon bottles, before I'd finally been able to get it together. And all because of a kid whose bad decision to try and steal my purse—in a park mugging that was unsuccessful thanks to all those years of kickboxing classes—had led both me and the police to Maplewood. That one poor decision by a broken teenager had introduced me to the man who'd settled my soul with patience, and a kindness that I hadn't found in many people since I'd lost Nate.

Ben was a priest now, though he hadn't always been. His former high-end, rent-boy lifestyle had put miles on him that’d helped instill deep levels of compassion and the ability to look at his past mistakes, and use them to propel himself forward after he'd finally forgiven himself. He believed in passing those beliefs on and had made Eric return my purse. I hadn't pressed charges, choosing instead to take Ben up on his offer to work with the kids at Maplewood. I hadn’t specialized in child psych, but in in most of their eyes, I'd seen that same despair I'd walked around with since 911—the look of lost souls who didn't think they mattered to anyone, and cried themselves to sleep every night because they wanted their old life back.

You could never get lost years back, but I'd created a new life in Florida with a clearer purpose, new friends, and the blonde dye job that my stylist helped me maintain flawlessly. Only people who’d had known me before I'd moved to Florida, or those who'd taken a trip down my pants pre-Brazilian wax revolution, knew that I wasn't a natural blonde. I didn't even have any pictures of my red head days on my Facebook page. I faced most of my internal demons head on now and without the help of daytime drinking, but my natural auburn color still reminded my heart too much of Nate's teasing nickname for me, and the days of family dinners at my parent's house that I'd never been invited back to after he'd died. However, my life was back on track, and I thanked God for every new day. I only wished Nate was around to see it.

"I have the ring..."

Sofia's eyes widened slightly, accentuating the subtly winged eyeliner I'd talked her into along with the lipstick. "The engagement ring?"

"Mhmm. I gave it to Amy after Nate's body was finally found by the search teams, and his identity had been confirmed," I said quietly. "But she returned it to me privately after the funeral, saying that she couldn't keep it if she wanted to move on with her life one day. With her heart as broken as it was, she felt like Nate's spirit would be trapped with it, and he'd be unable to move on."

I didn't believe in ghosts, but from a therapist's perspective I'd understood what Amy had meant. Before I started working with teenagers, I'd counseled mostly women, and had moderated many sessions that included physical representations of letting go of what you couldn't handle— Helium balloons carrying long lists inside them of missed opportunities and failures had been released from my office window more than a few times.

Amy had needed to detach from her life with Nate. I got that, even if a small, resentful part of me had wanted to scream and ask her how she thought the rest of us were supposed to move on. But Nate had loved her enough to want to spend the rest of his life with her so I'd just hugged her goodbye and wished her well. We'd made promises to keep in touch.

I never saw Amy again, not even via the ever-loose Facebook friend world.

I'd kept the ring in its little velvet box in the bottom of my jewelry case for all these years.

"I'm sorry Tara. I can't speak for Amy and I know it's not the same situation at all, but when I gave Connor's dog tags to Sam, something in my heart settled. I was finally able to start looking forward with hope, even if I'll never completely forget everything that happened between us."

When I was in a professional capacity, I always urged people to work through the difficult process of letting go of their pain and anger to move forward, especially when the person provoking those emotions was dead, and holding onto the past wouldn't change anything. Sofia was a close friend so I wanted that for her, but I was absolutely not applying for Catholic canonization, and I bristled inwardly over her monster of a late husband being included as part of the same sentence as Nate.

My brother had been flawed like all human beings, but he'd also been one of the best people I'd ever known and would never have lifted a hand to a woman. I didn't say anything though because I knew how complicated love can be, and Sofia had come so far that I couldn't angrily declare that it was absolutely NOT the same fucking thing.

“Maybe Amy thought that Nate would want you to have the ring so one day you can give it to the woman you'll love enough to have the life and family that he couldn't," Sofia added. She gave my hand another gentle squeeze. I sighed because I suddenly felt like Bitch Supreme for my fleeting, angry thoughts. Sofia was just too good of a person. I was definitely making it my mission of utterly stupid cupidity to get her back onto her own path towards a happy ending with A.J.

"Maybe. Love is so complicated."

Sofia chuckled softly. "I know, Tara. We just have to try and make the best decisions we can as we go along. I don't know if I'll ever get married again—”

She blushed when I eyed her, making a baby rocking motion and mouthing ‘gingers are cute,’ before continuing “but I'm not going to rule it out if the right man and I… figure things out."

“Good girl,” I murmured, intensifying her blush. "Any man who doesn't think you're worth a ring and can't step up to be a daddy, can just drop their drawers, bend over and hold the position so I can find a new home for these stilettos after the ceremony instead of hiding them in the back of my closet."

Sofia laughed and squeezed my hand again. "My father was so angry when Connor and I eloped at the courthouse because he didn't get to walk me down the aisle. A part of me will always regret that, but at the same time I know he'd be happy that Sam is here now and will be able to do it for him if the opportunity ever comes up again."

"My father is alive and well, but he still hasn't adjusted to the idea that any wedding gifts in my future will have to be addressed to Mrs. and Mrs. whatever hyphenation we come up with."

"He has a problem with you being a lesbian?"

I offered a slight smile. "Eh, he's... very old world southern. My mom is too, but I think that she'd try to accept it if I ever tied the knot because the union might result in grandbabies. My dad's place setting would just be filler. Nate was the one who would've walked me down the aisle."

"You never know what will happen in the future Tara. And even without knowing Nate, I'm sure he wouldn't begrudge you asking Sam, or even Max to stand in for him. They both clean up nicely in a suit, and you'd be a stunning bride with a beautiful maid-of-honor."

When she silently pointed to herself for clarification of that last part, my lips twitched. "Did you just try and shrink me? Shame on you for using your wiles of distraction, you wonderful creation."

I felt my lips twitch again but my smile broke through when Sofia beamed at me.

Before I could make another smartass comment to hide any lingering emotional baggage that just needed to get lost, I found myself ensconced by soft warm skin, very plush breasts and the comforting scent of vanilla.

I hugged Sofia back because she had me in a death grip and being a mother had perfected her hugs as much as it had her mommy voice.

"Sam is probably freaking out right now in said suit," I murmured into Sofia's shoulder, smirking when she laughed.

"He was pacing around like a restless cat past midnight until I threatened him with chamomile tea, and waking up Emma so she could make him read Goldilocks and the Three Bears. She likes it when he uses different voices for the characters."

I snickered. I'd teased Sam relentlessly many times after the night I'd come over around Emma's bedtime a few months ago to see Sofia, and had overheard our sexy, stoic neighborhood badass pitching his voice in high falsetto like he'd been kicked in the nads so he could do the feminine voices of fairy tale princesses. I could only imagine the bear situation.

I pulled back from the hug, then pressed a kiss against the dark, silky hair at Sofia's temple since I didn't want to leave a bright red lip print on her perfectly made-up face. "Hearing you threaten a man's street cred is stupidly hot."

Sofia chuckled as she pulled away. "Let me fix your hair with some spray because the braid is frizzing. Then you can go check in on Sam. Everyone gets nervous on their wedding day. I'm curious how he looks, so try and snap a photo. I saw his suit, but almost wish I'd been able to talk Emma into making him wear a traditional tuxedo."

"Ben couldn't have handled the 007ness of a former military man in black tie. Way too Jason Bourne badass. He admitted once that even though he was angry with Sam when he came back from Havana the night of the dance after I called him, he'd still wanted to jump Sam in the parking lot when he saw him in his dress uniform. I'm actually surprised that Sam didn't insist on wearing it. Then again, Emma's a compelling little imp."

"Sam was the one who told Emma that he wanted to wear a suit. It's one of the few things he insisted on. He said that though he'll always hold onto the good memories of his military service and the sense of family he'd had there, he also wanted to be able to embrace a new identity as Ben's husband and family."

Sofia's glossed lips curved into a grin when I blinked at that new information that was amazing teasing ammunition for a later date. Considering how much Sam struggled with romantic intimacy, that had been a baller move.

"Oooh he got romantic. Way to get er' done Sam."

"Mmhm. I told him that he and Ben should write their own vows so that he could put that into his. He turned green, though I think they did anyway."

Sofia's laughter wafted over me as I closed my eyes when directed so that she could add another layer of air polluting hairspray to my thick braid before declaring me good to go.

"Thanks Sofia. I'm nominating myself the president of your fan club.”

She grinned and squealed when I pounced on her, making dramatic kissy-face sounds as I hugged her hard before leaving to check in on a rattled former operative.

***

The sun was high in the sky when I stepped out onto the hotel's rooftop, and it temporarily blinded me so I didn't immediately see Max until a few owlish blinks adjusted my vision. I'd sought Sam out first, but after endless teasing commentary about my outfit had earned him a few threats to his balls, he'd told me that he had his situation under control, but that Max had seemed slightly off when he'd left his hotel room earlier. Since we both knew why, even if we weren't going to discuss it, I'd tracked Max down to check in on him.

He was sitting on the edge of the roof under the guardrail, managing to look as devil-may-care as he usually did with his dishwater blonde hair cut and styled with modern class, and his mirrored aviator sunglasses reflecting the afternoon's wicked rays away from his face.

Very blonde Maverick via the original Top Gun.

Max had removed his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves so I caught a glimpse of the Caduceus tattoo on his tanned forearm when he raised the silver flask in that same hand, to toss back what looked like at least two healthy swallows of whatever was in it, considering how his throat worked. After living with Max for months now, I knew that he didn't have a suicidal bone in his body, but I also knew that today was tearing his heart out even if his smiles and ever-present southern charm would probably convince everyone else otherwise. So, although I wasn't worried that he was deliberately planning to leap off the roof onto the sidewalk, ingesting copious amounts of booze while sitting on a stone ledge many stories up like a well-dressed gargoyle, was still potentially a recipe for accidentally turning him into a sexy splat on the sidewalk if he slipped.

Max glanced up when he heard the click of my heels on the cement rooftop as I made my way toward him. I intended to remove them as soon as we got downstairs and out to the private part of the hotel beach where the ceremony was being held. There's nothing graceful about a sexy pair of stilettos sinking into the sand and ruining your gliding swagger every few steps. The floor length hemline would hide my bare toes anyway. But at the moment, the heels served the purpose of alerting Max to my presence, while also giving him a few seconds to compose himself, and rethink his plans in the event I was wrong, and he did plan to become a bird.

I wasn't dressed to clean up bloodstains. Chiffon was a porous fabric.

Max didn't say anything when I placed my left hand on his shoulder for balance while I struggled with loosening the strap on my left heel to get it off with my right hand. He just wrapped his long, surgeon's fingers firmly around my upper thigh, high enough that if I'd been a different woman who liked non-detachable dicks, I might've warmed up a little extra in special places. But I wasn't, so I just turned my body and switched hands, waiting till Max repeated his earlier steadying grope so I could get the right heel off too. I dropped both offending shoes onto the ground before sitting down beside Max, hoping that my dress didn't snag on the stone ledge. Scuffed shoes I could hide. A tear down the side of my derriere would show up in photos.

I swung my feet lightly over the edge as I squinted at Max in the sunlight.

There were many things to love about Max Melone, the man who over the last year had slightly edged out both Sam and Ben from the #1 best friends spot in my life. I'd never actually tell them that, but didn't have to since it was probably the worst kept secret.

Max was intelligent, loyal, funny and unbeknownst to most people, he also had a huge heart hidden beneath his charismatic snark, and trademark swagger. He was also sexier than even a southern man had a right to be, which usually worked out well for me.

Aside from one carnal night together that had been the result of lonely boredom, and too much booze on both our parts, I didn't have any interest in his pecker. But Max attracted all kinds of open-minded women when we went out together to bars and nightclubs. A surprising number of them were more than happy to shift their attention to me after some scintillating conversation, and a few drinks which empowered them to pursue their secret Katy Perry fantasy of kissing a girl. From personal experience, I knew that very few women weren't turned on by properly quoted poetry, and Max wasn't the only one who knew his way around a pretty pussy.

The greatest quality Max possessed though, was his commendable ability not to start an incessant line of questioning unless a situation obviously merited a Q&A. A fact proven when he silently handed over his flask without any hesitation when I held my hand out and made grabby fingers. The sweet, mellow flavor of good bourbon was another check in Max's already impressive list of pros. It was a tragedy that his dick wasn't a detachable attachment interchangeable with a vagina.

I only took one sip as opposed to the two I'd seen him take—and the others that had probably been swallowed before I'd shown up on the roof. I could handle my liquor, but straight bourbon had been Nate's drink of choice when he wanted something stronger than a beer, and my heart couldn't handle another trip down memory lane right now. My conversation with Sofia had been brutal enough.

Max swept me with a slow look when I handed the flask back to him, his lips twitching by the time he'd made it from my toes where he'd started, up past my normally impressive cleavage that was currently holding court high and proud thanks to my offensively expensive strapless push-up bra. I couldn't see Max's eyes behind the sunglasses, but the curl of his lips broadcast his thought process loud and clear, though it was more discreet than Sam's wide-ass grin had been after the initial reveal.

"Wow."

"Before you go anywhere else with that train of thought, know that just because you don't look drunk enough to unintentionally slip and fall off this roof, doesn't mean I still couldn't sell it as an accident."

Max's grin deepened as he removed his sunglasses and set them on top of his head so I could see his eyes. "I was just goin’ to say that I liked your hair."

I snorted. Liar.

Max's eyes were gleaming with his usual high levels of barley contained smartass, but thankfully he also looked focused and in control of all his faculties, which meant that he wasn't drunk yet. That was surely going to happen later tonight after the ceremony and the best man speech, but for now, he was holding it together.

He stretched and took another sip from his flask, but just one this time.

"How'd you find me?"

"Women are gossipy creatures my friend, and this is a beautiful, but also very small boutique hotel. The hijinks of a sexy best man with a southern drawl who's as generous with his lips as he is with his tips, leaves a lasting impression on people. Selena, our gorgeous, blessedly heavy-handed bartender from last night, said she hopes you come again soon—in a literal sense I'm assuming, since you didn't return to our hotel room. She was in the lounge this morning and told me that you'd asked where the roof access point was. She let me up with her hotel badge. Very obliging lady."

Max's grin was slow and lazy, not a hint of embarrassment present in his bright blue eyes when I called him out. "Yeah, she should be workin’ in hospitality. Really knows how to make a guest feel welcome."

"I'm sure she did. And yet instead of being happily fucked out, you're up here drinking like a suburban housewife before noon. What's with starting the party early?"

I knew exactly what was wrong, and Max knew that I knew. We also both knew that it was my duty as his best friend to ask anyway.

"Nothing's wrong. Just wanted to enjoy the view for a bit."

"Oh no sir. I just barely survived the Spanish Inquisition downstairs so I'm sharing the misery. Talk."

When Max didn't answer me right away, my expression softened. "I know today's going to be tough, but this is the right thing for Sam and Ben."

"Don't worry darlin'. I don't have any intention of voicin’ objections today to cock-block the "I do's."

"Great to know because I'd hate to put my stilettos up your butt seeing as I'm saving them for a certain ginger we both know and love if he and Sofia keep doing this, ‘we can’t be together because of A-Z bullshit reasons,’ that essentially boil down to fear on both their parts. So please, pretty please, tell me what's wrong. I know it's more than just the wedding because you've been bracing yourself for it for months."

I expected the momentary pause, but not the resigned sigh that broke the silence, or the suddenly visible, uncharacteristic strain in Max's eyes.

"I was thinkin’ about somethin' Connor said to me once."

"I thought we'd agreed that he-who-we-shall-not-name isn't allowed to come up in any conversation today," I said, referring to the code name Max and I had coined for Sam's late brother. The moniker had been my idea because Max and I agreed that while the world wasn't completely overrun by complete wastes of space, the ones who do exist, wholeheartedly deserve their disparaging titles.

Connor's personality had checked every box under disgusting human being. Although he and Sam had been identical twins, where it mattered—heart and soul—they were as different as peanut butter and mayonnaise. But, Connor was still a sore spot for Sam and even though Max would happily have taken me salsa dancing on Connor's grave, Sam had confided to me once that as much as Max hated what Connor had become over the years, Connor had mattered to Max once too. Their relationships had all the components needed for a very dysfunctional Band of Brothers theme song.

"I know. I'll get over it. Just got stuck in my head for a minute. No need to worry darlin'."

"As much as I want to jump on this forget-about-the-asshole bandwagon, you wouldn't be up here drinking alone if you weren't really upset about something. I know you better than that, so stop the Mickey Mouse BS and talk to me Melone."

"Plannin’ to shrink me?"

"You couldn't afford my fees sugar. If I charged you and Sam for our impromptu sit-down sessions, I could send my entire fleet of nonexistent children to college for several lifetimes apiece."

It was rare for me to push this hard for someone to open up about their private thoughts because I preferred people in my inner circle to come to me willingly with their problems. Using years of experience to pry into their psyches always felt like a violation of their trust. But I'd never seen Max this rattled, and though I had no doubts that he could pull off hiding all that hurt with smiles and teasing until the day was done, I was worried about what would happen when the night was over and the curtain came down on the act.

Max was in love with Sam and had to give him up. He knew that, and he'd made an unhappy, resigned peace with the fact. But the shadows in his eyes right now were something new. Something darker was haunting him and I needed to know what it was.

"Please?," I said again.

After Max took one last healthy swallow from the flask, he screwed the cap on tightly and slid it neatly into the inside pocket of his laid-out suit jacket before holding out his hand for the small metal tin of wintergreen Altoids I automatically removed from my clutch. I always had them in whatever bag I was carrying that day. Once upon a time, they'd been a way for me to hide the scent of bourbon on my own breath before noon. Now I just liked the flavor. Max knew both of those facts.

"Sam fell in love with me when we were sixteen Tara," he said after popping the mint into his mouth, and immediately moving it into his left cheek like a chipmunk so that it could slowly dissolve while still allowing him to have this conversation. "I didn't want to admit to myself how much I loved him until we were about twenty. But instead of tellin’ him, I insisted on remainin’ fuck-buddies and pushed as many random people as I could between us so it wouldn't seem like we'd ever be more than casual."

I nodded, keeping my expression compassionate and neutral— my therapist face. Max wasn't my patient, but he was my best friend and in emotional pain. He needed my sensitive softer side right now, not our usual affectionate snark.

"I know, Max. You messed up. We've talked about this before. What's fuckhead have to do with it?"

Max rubbed a hand over his handsome face restlessly with a vigor that would've smudged all my own carefully applied, glowy wedding warpaint.

"After Connor and Sam broke ties, Connor came to see me, but Sam doesn't know that, and I want to keep it that way."

I felt my left eyebrow lift, but nodded in silent acknowledgement. Knowing how open Max was with the people that he cared about, if he was keeping a secret like that from Sam then it had to be for a good reason.

"What did Connor say?"

Max's lips tilted into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "A lot of shit, but the main event, was that I never told Sam how I felt because I had to manage him too often to love him."

I felt my eyes narrowing as my protective temper flared up. "He was an asshat, Max."

"Yeah, he was, but was he completely wrong?" Max said, turning his head to gaze out over the ocean. "There were so many fuckin’ times that I had the opportunity to tell him how I felt, and yet I always choked. Instead, I pushed him away for years. Gave him away fuckin’ gift wrapped, even though he's the only man I've ever given a damn about. Why the hell did I do that Tara?"

I heard Max's knuckles crack when he restlessly squeezed his hands between his knees.

I hated shrinking my friends, but Max was asking for help even if he wasn't entirely sure he wanted the answers, so I took a moment to gather my thoughts.

"All interpersonal relationships are complicated, Max," I said after a moment. "Even close friends and families struggle with creating and respecting boundaries."

I took the little tin of Altoids mints when he handed them back to me and hid them in my purse again. At the rate we were going with the revelations and the booze, I was going to have to go back to the room before the ceremony started to swap out the mints for one of those miniature bottles of hotel mouthwash, and a lot of aspirin.

"Romantic entanglements are especially complex, and you and Sam have a unique relationship that started when you were kids. You protected one another from his dad and whatever fuckers were stupid enough to take the two of you on, since I'm sure even teenage Sam and Max were cute badasses."

Max's lips quirked slightly when I gently nudged him with my shoulder.

"And then in the military you still had each other's backs. That level of near constant, high-intensity emotion creates a certain level of expectation between two people. You always have to be on. And that works splendidly for soldiers because their level of loyalty to one another is intensified in good ways like roman generals getting all the love of their troops. In a romantic relationship you also experience those instinctive urges to protect your person because you love them and want them to always feel safe and happy. But in most romantic relationships, there are also opportunities to briefly step away from your significant other and have some personal down time. Couples usually have different jobs and their own private circles of friends whom they can spend time with. Generally, their schedules don't keep them in the same place all the time so they can take a break if they need to exhale. When they're ready to come back to center and be happy together they can be, because those small moments of separation help to keep the relationship balanced."

Max nodded silently, harder to read than a professional poker player. I felt my expression soften as my voice gentled. I was trying to channel professional Tara, using variations of words I'd used with other couples going through rough spots before, but even though I was spot on in my assessment, this was Max and being completely neutral was difficult.

"You and Sam have always had to juggle those two types of relationships without time to reset between the intensity, and that can be difficult," I continued as I reached for his hand because yeah, screw professionalism right now.

Max didn't look at me, but he curled those warm, strong fingers around mine and squeezed just enough that it was a hint as to what was going on in his head.

"It's one of the reasons that law enforcement agencies don't usually allow romantic partners to work together," I said, continuing with the professional shrinky talk because it got out the facts more effectively than me just shaking Max with a continual mantra of 'FUCK Connor,' until it sunk into his head.

"Not just because loving your partner and putting them first to guarantee their safety could put the lives of others in jeopardy, but also because if mistakes do happen as a consequence of one of those heart-guided decisions, most relationships can't survive the fallout. Guilt and resentment are always romance killers."

"So, you agree with Connor? That I couldn't give Sam what we both wanted because I had to babysit him?"

Max sounded more tired than angry, though his expression was painstakingly schooled into perfect neutrality. I immediately shook my head, my voice heating as Tara the therapist completely vacated the premises, and Tara the protective mama bear happily jumped back into the ring with gloves on.

"No. I think that you and Sam have a very complicated, multifaceted dynamic that began years ago when his dad used to beat the shit out of him, and yours favored him over you even though you still managed to love each other with everything you had past, that in your own little unit. What I KNOW with all certainty, is that Connor was an asshole who I'd castrate with a spoon if he was still alive, because the fucker seemed to possess an almost supernatural ability to get into people's heads."

Max glanced over at me when I hooked my bare foot beneath his ankle and jiggled it gently to get his attention. "Max, I know that you love Sam. So does he, and it sucks that it didn't work out between the two of you because I know your big ol' heart hurts, even though your equally large pecker is trying to prove otherwise to anyone with a pulse."

Max grinned at me, all perfect white teeth and dimples in summer tanned skin, but the smile didn't lighten up his eyes with his usual levels of cheerful hedonism. "It's always a good time had by all."

I snorted softly. "We don't have even a fraction of enough time right now for me to point out how many shades of unhealthy it is to hide your emotions behind your freak flag. I've been there, I know. All that bed-hopping does is keep your heart empty and your schedule packed with medical visits to make sure you don't catch any crud. It's exhausting, and you seriously need a new hobby to work out the heart sludge. You've already proven that you're a fantastic doctor and that you screw with the enthusiasm of a baby demon. It's time for a change."

"Not like I have a lot of extra time on my hands between hospital shifts, Tara."

"I call BS because if you have time for a quickie on some random horizontal surface, you have time to watch a YouTube video on something like learning to play a harmonica. It would be a very dramatic backdrop for our exchanges of gallows humor."

Max's lips twitched. "Negative on the harmonica, but I’ll eventually have to pick up the guitar again like I promised Addie. The Colonel apparently sold my old guitar, so on one of the days off I rarely enjoy, I’ll have to pick up a new one.”

This time my own perfectly plucked eyebrows arched. I vaguely remembered him mentioning the guitar thing when he’d come down for that last visit before he’d retired from the military, but he’d never given many details.

"Were you like elevator, easy listening guitar, or the long haired, all the girls and the more interesting boys want to bone you, electric guitar?"

I had my suspicions, but I wanted to hear it from him.

"I tried the rock and roll thing, and it definitely accomplished the whole drawer droppin’ phenomenon from both sexes, but I was better at acoustic. I'm good with my hands because the slow and steady doctor thing translates well to those beats. So does the Louisiana drawl when I sing."

Max grinned at me when I blinked. The man was just full of surprises today.

"You sing? Since when? I'd know if you serenaded the shower stall. I didn't spring for extra soundproofing when I renovated the downstairs into an apartment, and I've hung out on your couch watching Scandal more than a few times while you were washing off evidence of whatever sexually acrobatic sin you'd been indulging in earlier."

This time Max laughed outright. "Dayum, woman. I'm not that bad. Sometimes I'm just washin’ off hospital antiseptic, and the puke of whatever drunk jackass gets put on my rotation after rammin’ their car into a lamppost."

"Tomato, tomato. The point is that you sing, and with that slow and low James Earl drawl, I'm pretty sure you'd kill at karaoke nights, so it's going to be you and me at the next one. We might even scrounge you up a guitar because if you're as good as you're coyly hinting at, we can probably get all of our drinks comped for the night."

"Oh, I'm not being coy, sweetness. I'm very, very good. We'd get all our drinks comped, and get offers lined up for next time."

I rolled my eyes, but if Max could be cocky then we were getting somewhere.

"And that would be fantastic if the point of karaoke night was to get laid. Unfortunately bubba, the only person you'll be taking home is me, or it defeats the purpose of you finding another outlet to work out your feelings about Sam."

I squeezed Max's hand again because his eyes sobered and I could feel the tension creeping back in.

"I know that loving someone who can't love you back hurts and SUCKS BALLS . My dad isn't my romantic ever-after, but I was a daddy's girl growing up all the way till I finally decided to fly my happy little rainbow flag in our very behind-the-times- town. So, having him refuse to acknowledge, and accept that I'm deliciously dykey, hurts like you wouldn't believe."

Max's expression softened when our eyes met, and I nodded slightly.

"Yep... it totally kills when people can't love us in the way that we want them too but as corny and cliché as it is, time does heal. It does. I also want you to remember that today's nuptials aren't the consequence of you not loving Sam enough. It's just proof that you love him enough to always put him first, even when the decisions you make for his happiness tear your own heart out."

Max didn't say anything, but his teeth grazed my knuckles gently when he brought my hand to his lips before pressing a kiss to the same spot and returning our linked hands to his thigh.

I gently swiped my thumb over the top of his hand. "You're giving Sam away in safekeeping to a man who is emotionally available in every way and can give Sam all the things that you want him to have. And that my friend, isn't the action of a selfish person. Connor was just a dick. Please remember that ok?"

Max's lips quirked into a faint smile before he nodded slightly. He probably wasn't actually convinced, but he was a doctor and he realized that we had to triage the situation as best we could right now.

"All right, darlin'. If you can survive a day looking like a Disney fetishist's princess fantasy, I can manage that one little thing."

His smile deepened, becoming more genuine when I let go of his hand and punched him in his right arm hard enough that he rubbed at it even though he was grinning. It was completely at my expense because I could feel all that lean muscle beneath his shirt sleeve. I didn't hit like a girl, but walls felt no pain and Max had been hitting the gym as hard as he had any willing piece of ass lately.

"Hey, remember what I said about convincingly playing the role of heartbroken best friend if you fall off this ledge."

I ignored his soft chuckle as I huffed and toyed with the end of my braid, suddenly hit with the urge to make a drastic change because God knew that whatever photos were taken tonight of me in this getup were going to circulate for the next umpteen years.

"Maybe I should go back to my natural color," I mussed aloud.

Max swept me with a surprised look before he grinned slowly.

"I'd never have guessed the carpet didn't match the drapes. Then again, you're completely missing all carpet so you can't blame me."

I offered him a toothy grin of my own. Although neither of us needed a repeat of last week's horny hijinks that had been inspired by a lot of good bourbon and even more lonely curiosity, I couldn't deny that Max's intimate medical knowledge of human anatomy combined with an extremely healthy oral fixation had made me go from 0 to 120 in record time. Just like he couldn't deny how much he'd approved of being on the receiving end of my 7-inch, clear iridescent dildo. I'd only ever enjoyed it with female lovers before that night, but based on how hard Max had come, it was an equal opportunity pleasure stick.

"I tip my colorist extremely well, and helped her close the door on her toxic on-again, off-again relationship with her ex. She's very very grateful."

Max snickered, reading between the lines. I didn't slut shame when sex marathons were done for the right reasons. I just didn't like seeing my bestie bedding random strangers because he was being haunted by the ghosts of missed opportunities.

"I'll bet she was. So, what's your natural color?"

Max leaned into my personal space, peering at the top of my head. I knew he didn't see a thing beneath the warm blonde to give away my natural color, which was several shades deeper, and much brighter than strawberry blonde, but thankfully light years away from the dreaded carrot top. Like I'd said, my stylist was a genius.

"Bright auburn. Classic red-headed step child, which feels so disturbingly true in the case of my parents."

Max grinned and whistled. "Oooh a natural redhead. That explains a few things."

"The sass? The temper?"

"Nope, these tiny freckles." He gently tweaked my nose. "And why you're my best bitch. Red is my signature color."

We grinned at one another like two fools when he dropped the Steel Magnolia's reference, complete with Julia's slow drawl. The movie made a frequent appearance on our Netflix rotation since we could both relate having grown up in the south where the gossip was good, and the preconceived notions sometimes not so much.

The remining tension in the air ebbed, the angst contained for now, so I tossed my braid back over my shoulder. "In that case, red is absolutely on the horizon if you get a new guitar. We can take Miami by storm like a much cooler Sonny and Cher."

"If we get our act down solidly, we can be the adult entertainment at the first birthday festivities for Sam and Ben's kid."

My eyebrow arched and I paused with my arms over my head, the satisfying stretch I'd been going for, momentarily interrupted. I counted one Mississippi times three, expecting a Danger Will Robinson! moment, but Max just shrugged as my hands settled onto my own knees.

"You don't look surprised, so I guess you already knew. Makes sense since you're close to both of them. I just found out today."

"They just told me a few days ago. But that's neither here nor there. What matters is that at no time during our entire loving, shrinky-dink situation did you think that might be something to bring up and process?"

Max shrugged again. "Honestly? No, because Sam havin' a kid is probably the best proof that I could ever have gotten that I'm not the right man for him."

"Because you don't want kids?"

He seemed to consider that for a moment. "I like kids. I mean, I love Emma and Addie, and if you ever decide to bust out a mini me, then that's an entire new generation to worship their uncle Max like the god he is." He smiled crookedly. "But if I'm completely honest, kids wouldn't have been on the table for Sam and I because I couldn't even tell him how I felt, so all other doors were off limits too. It wouldn't have been a natural development for us because I couldn't have made him see how good a man he is, or that the entirety of both Emma's Girl Scout Troop, and Addie's soccer team make goo-goo eyes of hero worship at him because he's one of the few dads who actually show up."

"Well, he is the resident DILF, so there's that," I agreed with a grin because it was common knowledge to everyone except Sam, that the reason that Emma always outsold any of the other girls in her troop when she set up shop outside of Ben's church with Sam, was because he always wore the same battered blue jeans and his muscle tee version of the scout troop's t-shirt.

Max smirked. "Yeah, 6 feet and 2 inches of GI Joe hero."

"That he is, but you're really okay with that? Even with all the feelings? Because to be honest with you, I played the therapist card when they told me and argued for a puppy as a first step instead."

He chuckled then nodded slightly, a slight curve to the corners of his mouth. "I love Sam, but I couldn't have given him that. Ben can, because that fucker truly can work miracles. So, today is right. It just..."

"FUCKING BLOWS ," I said, supplying the words when he hesitated.

Max nodded as he laced our fingers together when I reached for his hand. "What about you, sweetness? Kids on the horizon for you when you find your lady love?"

I swung my bare feet lightly over the edge of the roof, admiring the bright pink polish which was extra glossy in the sunlight. It wouldn't last the weekend. I had a habit of going barefoot because my toes hated confinement as much as my boobs did. Underwire was a bad word in my book.

"I don't know. I used to think maybe yes when Nate was still alive because cousins are cool, but now... I'm not sure. I'd have to find someone I loved enough to wreck my body for if I lose the whole rock, paper, scissors game to decide who will say goodbye to their feet for nine months."

Max laughed aloud. "If that's how you want to decide who becomes bio mom, I'm terrified to think of how you'd choose a donor. FYI, most of the samples come from exuberant young guys who’re happy to wack off for money they tell people is for college, but that actually goes towards their new gamin’ systems which they're glued to in between wackin’ off."

He laughed again when I swatted him.

"Gross. Okay, so adoption might be the route unless my one-day-lady has another option like an obscure cousin willing to spend some time with a nudie rag and a dixie cup to help impregnate me."

"Or, I can step up."

It was rare when I was left completely speechless, but hello hot damn, that's exactly what Max's statement had managed. I blinked owlishly at him as his warm gaze met mine with obvious amusement at my silence.

"What?"

Instead of yelling gotcha, Max offered a crooked, but easy smile. "I’d step up," he reiterated, before adding, "And no, I'm not suggestin’ a down and dirty, boots under your bed situation. But, if you're goin’ to do a turkey baster baby, knowin’ who the daddy is, and what all his quirks, numerous as they may be are, might not be the worst thing in the world. It'd at least avoid some Good Son sperm. Addin’ a future serial killer to our family ranks is a negative for me."

I blinked again, apparently still stunned. "You'd... you'd do that for me?"

"If you and your future wife wanted me to, of course I would. You're like a sister to me, though considering’ what we're talkin’ about, and the fact we're both from the deep south, that might not be the best example."

"But you just said you didn't want to be a daddy," I protested when Max grinned because well, hello, this wasn't a conversation I ever thought I'd be having with him of all people. My protesting also served the purpose of keeping away the suddenly high-def images of a baby with my wild red curls and Max's mischievous, dimpled grin worming its way into every heart in our inner circle, then beyond. No hybrid of Max and me would settle for less than complete world domination. The neighborhood could also use another resident DILF to keep Sam company during Girl Scout cookie season.

"I said I wasn't sure if I could be a daddy and that's still true, but I also love you. and you'd be a great mom. So if it'd make you happy, of course I'd be honored to volunteer. Regardless of the kid's genetic code, I'd always be UNCLE Max. Always around, always havin’ their back, and ALWAYS their momma's best bitch," he said, tweaking the end of my braid in a gentle tease though his tone was steady, confident.

I'd managed to keep my tears back during my conversation with Sofia earlier when we'd been talking about Nate, but right now, my eyeliner was being threatened by the unexpected wave of emotion that was hitting me hard.

Damn Max Melone.

I didn't bother trying to verbalize all those feelings. Instead, I threw my arms around him and braced my chin on my own arms around his neck so I wouldn't smear any of my cosmetic war paint on the shoulder of his dress shirt. I felt the soft rumble of his laughter more than I heard it as his arm came up around my back to return the squeeze.

On more than a few occasions Max and I had teasingly discussed the possibility of a future where we'd spend our twilight years together if neither of us ever settled down, hitting on pool boys and serving girls while living out Golden Girls fantasies. But, while I always wanted Max to be a permanent fixture in my life as much as he wanted me in his, we weren't ever going to be the matching wedding ring type for obvious reasons. But if we ever met our forever people and they agreed to it... well then, Max and I would always share an extra special bond through a mini us.

"I love you, Max Melone," I murmured, and I felt his smile against my hair before he pulled back to brush a kiss across my forehead.

"I love you too, Red," he said, making my heart clench all over again because Nate would've approved. "You just need to meet your forever girl first."

"Well, today's not the day," I said, employing the rapid blink trick again like I had earlier with Sofia. "After three times being a bridesmaid and catching that damn bouquet every single time despite my steadfast attempts at avoidance, I'm convinced that the only people every truly happy at weddings are the ones getting married, and maybe some of the long-time married folks. The rest of us single souls find solace in the open bar."

"Maybe, but being single also means being free to enjoy yourself without guilt if you meet a gorgeous girl tonight who wants to turn up the heat and melt down those Frozen walls to make you her personal wet dream."

This time Max laughed outright when I hit him again.

"Jerk. As far as I know, I'm the only single sexy lesbian in attendance tonight."

"Well, you already look the part so I'm sure singin’, someday my princess will come in the hotel lounge, would be amazing free entertainment enjoyed by all."

Max caught my hand before I could pop him a third time, pressing a kiss to my knuckles like he had earlier. Warm, happily platonic affection.

He grinned when I rolled my eyes but I didn't pull away when he tugged me close so I could rest my head against the solidness of his shoulder.

"I'd settle for a nice girl with goddess-like hands that can make me purr like a high-end sports car when she gets right up under my hood."

I felt the rumble of Max's laughter vibrate throughout his body before he leaned down to press a light kiss to the top of my head, close enough for me to catch a whiff of the clean, aquatic cologne I'd gotten him for his birthday, and which he only wore on special occasions because at the hospital, eau de sterile alcohol was how he rolled.

"Isn't that a requirement for anyone who wants to fly a capital L on their freak flag?'

I rolled my eyes as I sat up again so I could look at him without craning my neck. Even seated, Max was half a head taller than me.

"Knowing how to properly lick a clit just because you have one, is preposterous propaganda put out by the same people who believe that all blondes, even bottled ones, have more fun. I mean, can all men give great head just because they have a dick?"

Max's dimples teased me when his grin turned slow and lazy, obviously reset to his normal levels of self-possession for the time being. "Don't have an answer for you there gorgeous because I do have a dick, know how to give excellent head, and have never had any complaints from women when I've revved their engines." His smile deepened again as he winked at me. "Not even from my favorite lesbian."

"Your vast knowledge of how to properly push my start button with your tongue is duly noted."

"So is yours Sunshine."

We grinned at each other stupidly and for a moment I hesitated in voicing the thoughts suddenly on my mind because I didn't want to potentially napalm this happy moment. But even though I'd already played out my role earlier as therapist Tara, best friend Tara still had a few things to add.

"Hey you."

Max lifted a curious brow silently, encouraging me to continue. I reached for his hand again.

"You and Sam didn't work out, and on paper that makes sense. But, as happy as my therapist's heart is that you're that self-aware, as your bestie bitch, I also need to point out that two things can always be true at once. In this case, you couldn't be what Sam needed in a romantic life-mate. Also true, he couldn't be what you needed."

Max's eyebrow arched again and this time it held.

"Uh huh, bet you never let that possibility sneak into your self-flagellating little mind, did you? Well let me introduce a new theory for you to think, think, think about later like a properly pondering Pooh Bear when you steal the last of my expensive local orange blossom honey, and smear it over those God-awful, store brought honey buns."

Max's eyebrow lowered but his lips quirked slightly in amusement. "Okay sweetness. Lay it all out on, me extra slow."

"That right there," I said as I gently flicked his nose with my finger. "The sass. The all-in confidence. Your ability to compartmentalize even when life is kicking you in the nads, and making your life tip sideways. It all adds up to a level of tough self-reliance that's commendable, and frankly, impressive as hell, but living like that 24-7 has to be exhausting."

His lips twitched again. "And you have a cure for all that?"

"Yep. You need a partner in your life who's the badass male equivalent of me."

Max laughed and I nodded as I opened my purse to snag another mint for myself first before I tossed one in a perfect three point shot into his waiting mouth when he opened it.

"Well, as close to my awesomeness as he can manage anyway. As long as he's somewhere in my ballpark, that kind of man will be as strong and stubborn as you are, and will provide you with both a safe space and the permission to use it so you can exhale while he takes a turn carrying all that pressure you put on yourself to be a good friend, a fantastic doctor and a frigging AMAZING MAN."

"Tara..."

"Nope," I said to shush him as I made an accompanying shh hand gesture. "I know that you're a strong, self-reliant mofo, all Doc McSteamy and McDreamy rolled into one. But real life isn't the ER, Max. It's even messier because there isn't a handbook for diagnosing the ups and downs. Occasionally, even the best doctors need to take a minute."

I gave his hand a little shake to ease some of the tension I felt building in his body. "Sam was and is a badass in so many ways, but love, the lasting kind, is a two-way street, and he wasn't strong enough to be your support during those times that you needed someone to prop you up. It doesn't mean that he didn't love you enough try and break down your stupid walls. He just wasn't the right man for you. And that's ok because just like he found the right person for him, so will you. I as the wind beneath your goddamn wings have decreed it."

Max blinked owlishly at me for a moment, but then he laughed and it was genuine enough that I knew that even if he buried my words of wisdom beneath a layer of booze later, deep down he wouldn't forget it. Just in case though...

"You need a very specific type of man, Max. Someone who's strong enough to let you be the one to break when you have to because he's got a whole stash of superglue. A guy whose confident enough to fight back when you get stupid, and who won't let you screw yourself out of the happiness you deserve just because you're afraid of what could happen if you admit to giving a crap about your people as much as you actually do."

I sat up and reached for my stilettos, handing them to Max to still the protest I saw starting in his eyes before he could vocalize it. I propped my feet on Max's lap so that he could buckle the shoes on for me like he'd done with my harness that one night we'd spent together. Max Melone was all about helping a friend in need.

"The guy who's right for you can, and will, go all in, balls out and tell you to sit down, be still, and take a damn breath because it's alright for someone else to take the wheel sometimes. Sam was a Special Forces badass, but baby boy, you didn't hold out for a hero. God love you Max, but you need a soldier as defined by the Queen herself, Ms. Beyonce."

Max threw back his head and laughed again, this time full out and hard enough to temporarily have to stop what he was doing. Our eyes met when he got a hold of himself and he nodded.

"Yes ma'am. Noted."

He grinned at me when I made a dismissive hand gesture and got back to his task. His fingers were warm and sure against my ankle as he finished buckling the thin strap, but it was a comfortable heat, not the temperature spiking touch I wanted to experience from smaller, feminine hands one day. Hands that would light me up like a spark plug, and put me through every gear expertly until I zoomed hot over the finish line, before slowing me down by increments instead of a harsh stop; a proper, well-executed run so that we could both enjoy the downtime before the next race with glasses of wine, some actual conversation and maybe a night of binge-watching trash TV.

Granted, dream woman who were beautiful and intelligent, with gentle souls and a little bit of bite who also deserved to wear Nate's ring on their finger weren't exactly banging down my door. But if I was going to be forced to look like a princess for a day, I might as well take advantage of an opportunity that as God was my witness, would never happen again, no matter how precious Emma was.

"A dream is a wish your heart makes, when you're fast asleep..."

When Max quirked an eyebrow at me, I shrugged and stood up with both shoes on so I could reach one hand down to help him up.

"Hey, it's not Jessica Rabbit jazzy, but I'm a professionally successful, 35-year-old woman wearing iridescent body glitter because apparently, I can't say no to a kld. It's the best I can do right now. Let's go."

I waited until Max had unrolled and re-buttoned the sleeves of his dress shirt and put on his suit jacket again before I held out my hand. Instead of just holding it, Max quickly spun me out gracefully, then twirled me twice with that same sensual ease he showed whenever went out dancing together. I loved to dance and people who believed that white boys didn't have rhythm, had never hung out with Max who held court wherever we went.

My skirt billowed around my ankles, caught by the breeze before Max dipped me back in those strong, leanly muscled arms that I doubted would ever let me fall any more than Nate's would've.

"No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep believing..." he sang, making my lips curve into an answering grin as his deep baritone carried the tune easily and harmonized perfectly with mine as we sang the last line together.

"The dream that you wish will come true..."

Little girls and Disney Channel marathons really were vessels of Satan.