Cannon (Carolina Reapers Book 5)
Cannon: Chapter 17

My head fucking hurt. Sure, it was my fault, and I accepted that, but combining a huge hangover with a ridiculous amount of sun had my brain throbbing.

I yanked my sunglasses down and tried to listen to what Logan was saying next to me.

“So if we start our eighteen holes by eleven, we’ll definitely make it back in time for the rehearsal.”

I looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “I’m not playing golf.”

He raised his eyebrows. “The set of clubs with that caddy over there seems to suggest otherwise.”

I’d agreed to come out here and putt around on this stupid fucking green like I actually gave a shit if the ball found the hole, but I wasn’t signing up for a full round of golf. No way in hell. I wasn’t one of those douchebags over there with their neat little polos and green vests.

Like he’d heard my thoughts, head douchebag, Michael lifted his head from his perfect putt and high-fived his equally douchey friend. It was the practice green for God’s sake, not the fucking Olympics.

“Seriously,” Logan muttered, having seen the same thing.

“Right? It’s not like anyone’s even trying to take the ball from them. No goalie. No skates. Where’s the goddamned challenge?”

“Hell if I know.”

I looked over to the patio, where a private brunch had been set up by Persephone’s parents, hoping to spot my wife. The VanDorens had some ridiculous rule about keeping us apart today, and I’d about had enough of their horseshit. I needed to talk to my wife.

Once the news had come in that her mother was going to get her kidney—that she’d be okay—I’d firmly expected Persephone to walk the hell away. Instead, we were in the midst of our wedding weekend, both trying to publicly act like we were fine, even though we just wanted a private moment to figure out what the fuck we were doing.

Do you love me, Cannon? Her words were on repeat in my head, and even drowning myself in alcohol last night hadn’t washed them away.

Did I love her? It wasn’t as simple as that. She acted like a four-letter word was the answer to every problem, and I knew it wasn’t.

“Gentlemen,” Persephone’s dad clapped me on the back as he came to stand beside us. “Are you enjoying yourselves?” His eyes narrowed slightly, no doubt waiting to judge whatever would come out of my mouth.

“Absolutely. Thank you for setting this whole thing up.” I gave him a smile, and he returned it, though his looked a little more like a threat than a gesture.

“Well, Sephie and her friends practically grew up here. Seemed fitting to host a little brunch before the women head to the spa, and the men get ready to battle the toughest course in South Carolina.”

Holy shit, I wasn’t going to make it through today, and if we really went through with this second wedding then this was what I had to look forward to. Mornings at the club with a man who actively hated my guts, playing the world’s worst sport with other douchebags who hated my guts.

“It’s a perfect day for it, sir,” Logan responded when he caught on that I wasn’t going to be able to.

“It is. Now, I had to pull a couple of strings for these—usually they’re reserved only for members—but seeing as you’re about to be family…” He presented both Logan and me with emerald green vests with the clubs logo embroidered over the left pocket.

“Thank you,” I said automatically.

Logan echoed my sentiment.

“Good. I’m glad you like them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on my girls—”

“Oh, I’ll come with you,” I offered, already starting up that way.

“I wouldn’t have it!” He laughed. “It’s VanDoren tradition that you two only see each other at the rehearsal dinner and then the altar. That’s why we have Sephie staying in the main house tonight.” He clapped me on the shoulder again and headed for the patio.

My head pounded even harder. I couldn’t even sleep next to my wife? We had shit to discuss, and it wasn’t little, petty stuff, either. I’d been counting on the fact that we’d have all night in her old house to hash out our future…if we still had one.

“So we’re supposed to wear this?” Logan asked, holding it up for appraisal.

“It’s actually quite an honor,” Michael noted as he sauntered over, his putter over his shoulder like it was stylish.

“Right,” Logan muttered, but put it on and did up the buttons. “When in Rome, right?”

“I’m not wearing that vest,” I muttered. I’d put on a button-down shirt and rolled the sleeves, and even agreed to khaki shorts, but a fucking vest was where I drew the line.

“What? Is it not quite cool enough for you?” Michael asked with a smirk. “Does it not meet your rebellious, stick-it-to-the-man standards?”

I shook my head at the guy. He was such a prick. Just the thought of Persephone ending up with him—or someone like him was enough to curdle what brunch I’d managed to stomach.

“Put the vest on.” Her voice soothed my nauseated stomach as she appeared to my right.

“Hey,” I said softly. She was wearing a simple, white sundress, and her hair was loose down her back. She looked clean and fresh, and so beautiful that my chest ached.

“Hey,” she replied, stepping in front of me and nailing me with those blue eyes. “I know you hate it, but it would go a long way with my Dad if you wore it.”

“You’re using the eyes on me? That’s not playing fair,” I teased.

She smiled. “I’ll use every weapon I have in my arsenal when it comes to you, Cannon Price.”

“Whatever makes you happy, Mrs. Price.”

Her eyes flared at the title, and I put the damned vest on. Surprisingly, it fit.

“Happy?” I asked in a low tone.

“Almost.” She stepped closer and started fastening the four buttons that closed the garment. Our eyes locked and I couldn’t help but grin. It was so like the moment she’d forced me to do up my buttons before the charity auction.

“You’re always so concerned about my buttons.”

Her cheeks flushed pink, but she pushed that last one home. “Someone has to be.”

I cupped the nape of her neck and ran my thumb down her jaw, nearly sighing with relief when she leaned into my touch. How the fuck was I going to give her up?

Did I have to? I mean, we were already married, so the damage was really done. What would having a second ceremony hurt? What would happen if we decided to ride this out to whatever finish line we decided instead of one imposed on us? What if there was no finish line, and it was just us as we were right now, but for forever?

“You’re incredibly beautiful today,” I said softly.

She smiled, then rose up on her toes.

I leaned down and brushed my lips over hers. These were the lips I wanted to kiss for the rest of my life.

“Oh no, you don’t! You know the tradition. You’re supposed to be over there with Aunt Mildred!” Andromeda sang with a sugar-sweet smile, looping her arm through Persephone’s and pulling her away. “You can make out with your husband once he’s…you know, your husband again. Toodles!” She wiggled her fingers at us as she dragged my wife away.

“This family is weird,” Logan said under his breath.

“Amen to that.”

“You can dress like one of us all you want, but you’ll never be one of us,” Michael said, stepping forward now that Persephone was gone.

“Good. The last thing I want to be is one of you.” I rubbed my temples and prayed to the hangover Gods that my misery would end soon. I’d taken pain relievers and drank half my weight in water already. When was it going to end?

Michael scoffed as he looked toward the patio, following Persephone’s retreat. “God knows what she sees in you.”

“I’ll never quite figure that out, either, but I’m glad she sees whatever it is.”

He turned a hate-filled sneer on me. “She won’t see it for long. You know that, right? She’ll never be happy married to someone like you. She was born and bred for better.”

I ignored the direct hit to my worst fear. “Better like you?”

“Exactly,” he hissed quietly. “So you can enjoy whatever it is you’re doing with her, but just know that at the end of this—because it will end—she doesn’t wind up with you.”

I swallowed back the rising rage in my throat. The guy needed to be taught to keep his mouth shut, but I wasn’t about to be the one teaching that lesson during my rehearsal brunch. “In case you missed it, that’s my last name on her new driver’s license, and my ring on her finger.”

He snorted. “Well, enjoy that whole alpha mine mine mine thing for as long as it lasts. Just do me a favor and take it easy on her, would you?” His eyes took on a gleam that had my muscles tensing.

“Cannon,” Logan warned, seeing the signs.

“I’ll never hurt her, if that’s what you’re implying,” I snapped at Michael.

“Oh! No. You wouldn’t be stupid enough to end up behind bars like your old man,” he guffawed, shaking his head.

“Cannon, don’t,” Logan muttered.

I saw red.

“I mean take it easy in the bedroom.” He leaned in with a shit-eating grin like he was telling me a secret. “No doubt you’ve fucked her, but try not to stretch her out too much, would you? I’ve been waiting a long time to get in there, and—”

My fist connected with his face, and he flew backward.

“Oh shit,” Logan sighed.

I stalked the motherfucker as he tried to scramble away, fear lighting his eyes.

“Hey!” his douchey friend called, running over from the edge of the green.

I grabbed Michael by the green vest he prized so much and lifted him off his feet. “I swear to fucking God, if you ever talk about my wife like that again, I’ll do worse than punch you. I’ll fucking end you.”

“What is going on here?” Mr. VanDoren shouted, marching toward us.

“He attacked me!” Michael cried in outrage.

I dropped the sorry sack of shit on his ass. “Like hell I did. You don’t even want to know what he just said about my wife.”

Michael blinked in mock innocence. “What? That I warned you that you’re not good enough for her?”

“That is not how that went down,” Logan argued.

“I don’t give a shit. Look around you!” Mr. VanDoren hissed.

I peeled my eyes from Michael’s simpering little face to see that at least a dozen golf club members were staring at us, and two of them had their phones out.

Fuck, I was going to have to call my publicist.

“What happened?” Persephone asked as her gaze darted between Michael and me.

“He nearly killed me!” Michael stumbled to his feet. “I’ll have a black eye!”

“Oh, God, Cannon, did you—’

“Come with me right now,” Mr. VanDoren ordered. “Both of you.”

Persephone went, so I did, too. We walked past the brunch crowd and into the club itself, passing through the full dining room, then the lobby, until we reached the ballroom where dinner would be held tonight.

Mr. VanDoren shut the door behind us and shook his head. “Honey, I tried. I really tried to give this man a chance, but it just won’t suit.”

“Daddy,” Persephone whispered, coming to my side.

“No. This ends now.”

I couldn’t trust my mouth, so I kept it shut.

“We’re already married. This isn’t something you can decide to stop just because you don’t like the man I love.” She folded her arms under her breasts.

His attention focused on me, then Persephone, and back again until he pulled an envelope out of his vest. “Here’s the thing. You’re not.” He held the envelope out to me.

“We’re not what?” I snapped, taking the damn thing from him.

“You’re not married.”

Persephone’s jaw dropped, and she looked to me for answers I didn’t have. I opened the envelope and found a certified copy of our marriage license.

“That’s just a copy,” Persephone insisted, looking at the same time I did. “We have the original in the safe.”

I read through the document, down to the very bottom—the signature lines.

Then I muttered a curse.

“What is it?” Her voice pitched high and worried.

“He’s realizing that he didn’t sign it with his legal name,” her father explained softly.

“What?” She took the document from my hand and scanned it like I had. “You signed it right here!” She pointed to the line.

“Right.” I cringed. “My legal name isn’t Cannon. It’s Sheldon. Cannon is my middle name, so I’m sure you can understand why I use that one instead.” Holy shit, that morning in Vegas I’d been so focused on the way Persephone had taken my name that I hadn’t bothered to look at my own. Fuck, why hadn’t I thought to check the damned thing when the original had come in the mail?

Because you’d already agreed to stay married, so it hadn’t mattered.

Persephone’s eyes flew wide. “Your name is Sheldon?”

“My name is Cannon for every purpose except contracts.”

“This is a contract!” she cried, shaking the paper.

“That I don’t remember signing!”

Her face fell. “You’re right. God, of course, you’re right.” She stood by my side and faced her father. “Okay, so what? We get married tomorrow, anyway, and at least we’ll remember it this time.”

Her father blanched. “No. God, no. Can’t you see what a disaster it would be? He just beat the crap out of one of your oldest friends. You absolutely cannot marry him.”

It was barely a punch, but whatever, my mind was reeling. All this time, we hadn’t been married. We could have walked away from this at any time, but here we stood, and she was fighting for us. Fighting for us when I’d just done what she’d explicitly asked me not to.

“Daddy, I’m a full-grown woman, and—”

“You did this to make your mother happy. I admire you for it. I admire both of you for it. But what you don’t see is that she’s going to live now, and when you two crash and burn? That will kill her.”

“You don’t know that,” Persephone whispered.

“He can’t even make it through one morning at the club without humiliating this family! Without humiliating you! I am begging you, honey, don’t go through with this. Think about it.” He gave me a withering look and then left us alone in the ballroom.

I suddenly felt out of place, like an actual bull in a china shop.

“How could you!” Persephone shouted, turning on me.

“Whoa, what? Are you seriously pissed that I didn’t sign my name right when we were both drugged out of our minds?”

“No! I’m seriously pissed that you punched out Michael on the damned putting green! Why couldn’t you just hold your temper? Why?” Color rose in her cheeks.

“Because he said some really sick shit about you that doesn’t even deserve repeating!” I backed away from her, putting more than a few feet of space between us.

“He said something? You punched him because he said something?” She shook her head. “Unbelievable! You broke rule number seven at our rehearsal brunch!”

I blinked. “Rule number seven. You’re pissed that I broke rule number seven.” No fights.

“Yes! You promised! God, why are you so incapable of expressing your emotions without using your hands?” She crumpled the copy of our marriage license in her fist as she shook.

“Un-fucking-believable,” I said. “This is the rule you want to start shit over?”

She blinked in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure you do, Princess.” I stalked forward until I had her pinned against the wall, one of my hands on either side of her head. “You begged me to break rule number five. Begged me.”

“That’s not the same,” she said quietly, but there was no fear in her eyes, even though I had her trapped.

“Then you went and broke rule number four all on your own. I told you not to, and you did anyway. Did you see me throw a shit fit when you dropped that bomb on me?”

“Bomb?” Her eyes narrowed. “My love isn’t a bomb, and if you knew how to use your words instead of your hands—”

“Princess, you like it when I use my hands. You fucking love it when I use my body to show you how I feel about you.” Fuck, I was on the verge of showing her right now.

“Do you want to marry me?” she asked, shocking me to my core.

I pushed off the wall, giving her an exit. “It has nothing to do with want. What I want isn’t what’s right, and it isn’t what’s good for you, that’s for damned sure.”

“Why? You give me one good reason why we shouldn’t get married.”

“One? You only need one?” I laughed. “Fuck, Persephone. I don’t belong in your world. I hate the vests, and the parties, and the fake ass way people cut each other down with a smile. The only thing I remotely like about your world is you.”

“That’s enough,” she insisted. “Liking me is enough!”

“It’s not. You are good and pure and kind, and I have enough baggage to open my own luggage store. I’m dangerous. My temper isn’t something I’m proud of. You’re right, I’m shit at discussing emotion, and I know that’s something you need.”

“So we can work on it!” she cried.

“I’m not built like you! I can’t just throw my heart around and watch and see what happens!”

“Throw my heart around? I love you, Cannon. I’ve only ever loved you.” She moved toward me, and I stepped back.

“I know you think that.”

She stilled. “Don’t you dare belittle my emotions just because you can’t express your own. I love you. That’s real.”

I shook my head. “Love…it isn’t easy like this—” I gestured between us. “That’s infatuation, and it was bound to happen. I’m the first man you’ve ever had sex with, and those chemicals are a bitch, but they’re not real. Real love? It takes sacrifice. It means you’re willing to lay your body down and take whatever pain you have to in order to keep it from the person you love.”

Horror washed over her face. “Cannon…”

“Love means you make the best decision you can for that person with no thought for how it’s going to destroy you. Love is brutal, and it’s ugly at times. Love is what remains when all the fuzzy feelings disappear, and you’re still ready to wage war to protect that person.” I looked around the ballroom, at the expensive linens, the china, the crystal…the opulence. “Jesus, have you ever had to sacrifice for anything?”

She blinked, then perused the room the same way I had. “You’re not being fair.”

“Life isn’t fair. It only looks that way when you’re born into the type of privilege that makes you assume it is.”

The door opened, and both our heads snapped to see who it was.

“We’re busy!” Persephone called out.

“Well, that might be so,” her mother said with a knowing smile as she glanced between us. “But we’re going to miss our massage appointments if we don’t get going.”

Persephone’s face fell as she looked at the crumpled piece of paper she held. “Mom…”

My own mother’s face flashed in front of my eyes. The hectic way she’d packed the car, and the scared, but hopeful smile she’d given us as she made sure we were buckled in before she ran back inside to get her purse. She’d never gotten the chance to be happy.

“Go,” I said softly to Persephone, cutting off her attempt at a confession.

“What?” Confusion wrinkled her brow.

I crossed the distance between us and took the license from her. Then I kissed her forehead, lingering a heartbeat longer than I should have to take in her scent. Fuck, this woman was my everything, but she wasn’t my wife.

Of course, she wasn’t. I wasn’t the kind of man who was allowed to have good things in life, to include Persephone.

“Go with your mom. We’ll talk tonight.”

Her eyes searched mine, confused, apprehensive, and hopeful all at the same time.

“You heard what the man said! Let’s go!” Mrs. VanDoren called out with a happy clap.

“Tonight,” Persephone promised. She squeezed my hand lightly and walked out, leaving me alone in a ballroom where I didn’t belong, holding a marriage license that never really existed, cursing an aching heart that felt as though it had been cracked in a billion little pieces.

What the fuck were we going to do?