Playboy

  “Come on, girlfriend. The night is young,” Livvy says, steering me away.

  I follow my girls to the roulette table. And as soon as I buy in, I stick all my chips on two. After an hour with my man, it’s a VERY lucky number.

  Go figure.

  Later that night, Livvy and I stumble into my suite sometime after midnight. Rachel and Gina are staying across the hall because their guys apparently can’t sleep alone.

  “What wimps,” Livvy says, slamming the door behind us, but I get the feeling she’s missing Callan and feels like she ended up babysitting the bride-to-be.

  “Hon, you can call him. Have him come and get you. I’ll be fine.” I’m better than fine. I’m one Mai Tai away from being drunk enough to perform an opening number for a Vegas headliner. And that would be pretty damn interesting this time of night.

  She thumbs the adjoining bedroom beside ours. “I think I’ll take you up on tha—” The door slams and I jerk, realizing that Livvy just sort of fell behind that closed door. Startled, I creep closer to the door but immediately relax when I hear laughter.

  I hear Callan say, “Strip.”

  Her response is somewhere between provocative and silly. Since I’m not sure if I heard her right or if I wanted to, I amble away and close myself up in my big and empty room, a space that’s quite humongous, dark, and lonely without Cullen’s larger-than-life presence.

  It’s three a.m. when I wake up with all my clothes on. Cullen’s not here. I wish I’d called him.

  I roll over at four. Bed is empty. Kick off my shoes and now it’s five, five o’clock and I’m vaguely aware of large and gentle hands undressing me.

  And no one undresses me better.

  No one has the right to undress me. Or hold me. Or kiss me.

  “Cullen.”

  It’s six. I’m spooning him. Six-thirty, he curls around me like a blanket.

  Seven. He’s playing with my hair, whispering how much he loves me.

  At eight, the spooning is over and the fucking is unbelievable and sexy and fulfilling and . . . OH MY GOD . . . I LOVE THIS MAN.

  So much. Too much.

  By nine, he’s crawling all over me, telling me he can’t get enough, will never have enough, can never be enough or do enough or surprise me enough . . .

  But he’s wrong.

  Because at ten, I find out he’s just pulled off the surprise of a lifetime.

  It’s my fucking wedding day.

  * * *

  I pound on Livvy’s door then shoot across the hall and do the same. “Rachel! Oh my god, Gina! Somebody!” I fly back across the hall, pad across the floor, knock on the door again.

  “Dude, what is it?” Tahoe stumbles into our suite, looks at Cullen and smirks, and then hops over the sofa, making himself at home. Gina darts across the room and does the same.

  Those two are perfect for each other but right now? I’m kind of pissed at their perfection because they kept the perfect secret.

  Livvy. Callan. Rachel. Saint. They arrive in that order. Cullen leans against our bedroom door with his arms crossed, looking too cool, too sure of himself.

  And I’m a mess.

  “It’s my wedding day. Would someone please tell me what I’m supposed to do first?” They watch without speaking. “I mean . . . this is terrific.” I’ll be married tonight. I’ll be MRS. Cullen Carmichael this time tomorrow.

  I look at Cullen and I’m so damn in love but then . . . I’m so frantic.

  “I’ve got to call my mom. And Alessandra. I promised her . . . we planned for this. She’s supposed to do my hair!” I throw my clasped hands against my forehead. “And Pepper!” I spin around because, let’s face it, I’m already spinning so fast in my head anyway. “Cullen! We can’t do it today. We can’t possibly get it together by tonight.”

  “Actually . . .” Cullen looks at our friends. “We’ve got it under control.”

  “What? There’s no way. I mean . . . I had this down to a science. I had the caterers lined up. I wanted Bonnie B to do my cake. Flo’s on the Corner was doing the flowers. One Direction would handle the wedding announcement. Adele. I wanted Adele to sing. I had people. You know that. I had MY people . . .”

  Rachel laughs. “And you’ll still have your people.”

  “Yeah,” Gina says. “What do we look like?”

  “We handled it,” Livvy says. “So you can have a stress-free wedding day.”

  “But there’s just an itsy bitsy problem with that, girls.”

  “WHAT?” they say together.

  “I don’t have a wedding dress!”

  “Yet . . .” Cullen winks, tucks his phone away, and opens the door. “Bring them in, ladies.”

  * * *

  An hour later, I stand in front of the full-length mirror, punching in Mom’s cell phone number. When she finally picks up, I breathe a sigh of relief. “Mom! SOS! I need you to help me pick my wedding dress.”

  “I’ve already seen them,” she chokes out.

  “Wait. Are you . . . tell me you aren’t crying. Mom!”

  “I’m not.” She sniffs. “Okay, so maybe I am. A little.”

  “So you met Cullen?” I hold my phone to my ear while using my hand to swish the skirts of the belle-of-the-ball gown, a throwback from the Victorian era and definitely not a gown that will make my top three. “What’d you think?”

  Rachel thumbs the rack of dresses while Gina holds out her choice, a fitted white gown with rolling lace around the short train. “Um. No. It looks like a mermaid gown.”

  “Don’t do the mermaid gown,” Mom says. “It’s big in Chicago right now and the girls are having such a hard time walking down the aisle in those.”

  “No mermaids, Mom.” I remember she hasn’t answered me and I say, “Back to Cullen. What do you think?”

  “He’s charming.”

  “Yes.”

  “Handsome.”

  “For sure.”

  “And so in love with my daughter. How could we not love him?”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “I wish you were here. You should be here.”

  “Darling, I’ve seen the gowns and my favorite is the Monique Luhillier. Try it on and see what you think.”

  “But where are you?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. We love you, Wynn. And we love Cullen. We’re so excited for you!”

  We say goodbye for now and I turn to my girls. “So let’s see the Monique.”

  They swoon before my eyes as they unzip the plastic garment bag. The floating silk and lace gown has a matching veil adorned with tiny flowers and cultured pearls. It’s perfect and my friends and I know it before I even slip it on.

  Minutes later, I’m zipped and staring into the mirror, thinking how quickly everything has progressed. I’m shivering, maybe from nerves and all the excitement or maybe because I can’t believe that the lovely bride staring back at me IS ME!

  BOYS

  Cullen

  Saint treated us to lunch and a round of golf. I don’t know how anyone can play golf on their wedding day but apparently that’s what Chicago dudes like to do.

  I bear it, but barely. Three more hours and I’ll be a happily married man. I’m content, not one bit nervous. When a man knows he has the right woman at his side, everything else just comes together.

  My phone rings as we’re returning from the greens. I hold it up and see an unknown number, and I wonder if it’s the Children First in Nevada, a local adoption agency we’ve been applying to.

  “Cullen Carmichael.”

  “Mr. Carmichael, this is Dana Vanzant. I’m Jack Cavanaugh’s lawyer. Do you know him?“

  “Jack Cavanaugh. Three-time world champion in Hold’em. Yes, I know him.”

  “He’s passed away.”

  I look at my brother and he flinches, solely by the expression on my face.

  “I’m sorry to hear this,” I say, knowing he had two precious little boys. Hell, it was only recently that I wondered what he was up to. Jesus Ch
rist. Now he’s gone.

  “He named you his sons’ guardian, Mr. Carmichael.”

  The words are somehow there, but it takes my brain a moment to register them.

  I glance at my watch and imagine Wynn’s face when she finds out she can be a mother, a mother of two more boys, and decide I have time to pick Adam up from school along with Wynn. Maybe then we can go meet Jack’s boys.

  I turn to my brother, suddenly too fucking confused here. He knows more about these things than I do. His best friends are dads, and some of the best hands-on dads at that, but what if I can’t be a better father than Jack was and what if I one day find myself in a similar situation and what if . . .

  I won’t.

  Because I’ll be a better man and better dad.

  She says, “Mr. Carmichael, the boys are asking for you. They have a letter for you. We’ll talk when you get here. I’ll look forward to seeing you, Mr. Carmichael.”

  I hear myself say “likewise” but it’s becoming increasingly obvious that I have no idea what’s going on here.

  I hang up the phone and meet my brother’s stern expression. “Jack Cavanaugh died. He left a letter for me. And . . .” I pause. “Two boys.”

  “Tell her before you go.”

  “Would you tell Livvy?” I pace, shoving my hands into my pockets.

  “Yes. Wedding day or not, you have to tell her.”

  “I can’t get her hopes up only to let her down, especially today.”

  “Then get her hopes up by building up her trust in you. Tell her what you’re doing, man. She’ll understand.”

  So I walk outside and place the call. “Hey, beautiful. What are you doing?”

  She squeals. “I just picked out my wedding gown and . . .” A pause. “It’s perfect, Cullen!” Her friends cheer in the background.

  “I have something to tell you.”

  “Is everything all right?” Her voice changes.

  I nearly wince, dreading the news, and at the same time, hopeful this will be a good one in the end.

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.” I exhale. “I need you to come with me, Red.”

  I pick her up at the hotel, explaining the phone call, aware of her wide eyes as she listens to every word I say. When we walk into the lawyer’s office, all I can think about is how she feels about this.

  “Mr. Carmichael?”

  The older boy can’t be more than eight years old but he looks older, more mature, when he sticks out his hand and says, “I’m Stevie Cavanaugh. You knew my dad.”

  “I did,” I say, admiring his firm handshake and wondering how much these kids know. Jack’s youngest son is over in a corner working a puzzle and I nod to Adam and he takes off to strike up a conversation with him. “I’m sorry to hear about Jack.”

  “Thanks.”

  This boy has an odd maturity about him, like he’s wise and worldly way beyond his years. I’m guessing this kid has been through hell. His mom left after her second son was born and she was never much of a mother anyway, from what I remember. Jack spent ten to twelve hours a day in the casino, seven days a week.

  I never asked who watched the boys for him.

  I assumed they had someone.

  I’m guessing they had no one.

  Now, I’m at an odd disadvantage but don’t quite understand how true that is until the kid thrusts an envelope in my direction. “He never had a chance to ask you. You know, if you’d take care of us, you know. If something happened to him.”

  “I . . .” Quickly, I turn to Wynn, who smiles at both boys.

  Stevie waits for her to speak.

  “This is Wynn, my future wife,” I introduce.

  “Hello, Stevie. That’s a pretty name,” she says sweetly, her voice raw with emotion, and I squat in front of Stevie and see sorrow and pain on his face. He’s looking at me as if he thinks I hold all the answers.

  “Aren’t you going to read it?” he asks me.

  “Sure,” I say. “Do you want me to read it now?”

  “That would be really great, Mr. Carmichael. If you both read it.” He looks at Wynn lovingly, and she smiles and nods as she follows me.

  I glance at Adam as I draw Wynn to a nearby table and pull out the letter. I can tell he isn’t getting very far with the younger boy. He meets my gaze and shrugs in answer. I nod, hoping he’ll keep trying.

  As soon as I start to read, I can hear Jack Cavanaugh’s voice in every word, listening to Wynn’s soft gasp beside me. I clench her hand in mine, as we read it together.

  If you’re reading this damn letter now, I’ve fucked the hell up. And I’m sure you’d like to drag me out of the grave so you can tell me so but don’t bother. These boys are better off without me. I’ve provided for them so they won’t be a lot of trouble with a nice trust set aside for them but they need a dad, a real present, hands-on dad. Take care of them better than I did. You and that nice woman settle down, maybe someplace away from Vegas. Don’t fuck this up, Carmichael. You always said if you could do things over again, you’d be an attentive dad. So here’s your chance. Be good to my boys because they’re now yours. And thanks, Playboy. I’ll owe you one when I meet you at the gates assuming we end up at the same place.

  This letter hits its mark. Jack was always that kind of guy. He said what needed to be said in a way that made people pay attention. But when it came to taking his own advice? The man couldn’t do it. He was a fuck-up.

  Then again, maybe not. Maybe he finally did something right.

  I slowly turn to see the youngest one watching us as if he thinks we’ll leave him here, leave him the way his momma did when she left town and never came back. Or maybe leave him like his daddy did when he owed the casinos more than he could pay. If there’s a trust somewhere, I doubt the casinos know about it. If they’d known, maybe Jack would be alive today.

  Be good to my boys because they’re now yours.

  “Cullen.” Wynn slips her fingers deeper through mine and whispers to everyone in the room, “Will you give us a very brief moment? I promise we’re not going anywhere.”

  She pulls me outside, her eyes wide and bright with tears, her cheeks flushed.

  “Those little boys . . . the letter’s saying that . . .” Tears are streaming down her face now, and I can tell she can’t even try to hold them back. “Are they yours now?” she asks.

  Adam steps out, overhearing. He leans closer to Wynn and whispers, “They’re kind of yours, too.” He shrugs. “I mean, they are if you still marry my dad.”

  “Adam.” I want him to hush until I pull my thoughts together.

  “Dad.”

  “Wynn.” I want her to say something, anything.

  The two boys peer out the door and timidly approach.

  Wynn quickly wipes her tears and looks from one to the other, smiling that warm smile I’m fucking addicted to. Decimating them just like that smile decimates me.

  “I’m Shawn,” the little one says, looking at Wynn as if he wants her to notice him.

  “I’m . . .” Wynn looks at me, then drops to her knees in front of the little boy, holding out her arms. “I’m Wynn, Shawn. I’m sorry about your dad.” She looks up at me and the tears gush, then back at the little boy. “And if you’ll let me . . . if you and your brother and Adam and Cullen will let me . . . I’d really love to be part of your family.”

  When the boys start to cry from what’s closing and what’s opening, Wynn pulls them into her arms, and I pull Adam into mine, waiting for the two boys and Wynn to collect themselves. They do, and Wynn helps them to their feet and presses them up against Adam and I.

  My arms go out to encompass all of them. I’ve felt lucky in games, felt at those times like I’m turned on for some reason, like everything is going in my favor.

  But I’ve never felt as lucky as I do now.

  Wynn and I exchange glances. There’ll be paperwork to fill out and a shit ton of stuff to do to welcome them into our new home. But I don’t want to leave them now, and so I leave the
boys—all three of them—in Wynn’s embrace as I step into the room and ask permission to have them at our wedding tonight.

  When I step out, Adam looks comfortable. Eager, almost. As if he’s just realized he’s finally got two brothers he never knew he wanted until now.

  “Well?” Stevie expects an answer. What I say next will be important. Maybe the only way to set the right tone for the rest of our lives.

  So I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Well, boys, looks like we need to go find you a couple suits.”

  FOREVER

  Cullen

  “What were the odds?” My brother asks the question and I’m so busy watching Wynn with the boys that I can’t focus on what he’s saying. Something about odds and taking the leap of a lifetime.

  He’s right. What are the odds?

  What are the chances that any gambler would think of me when making decisions about a child’s future?

  My eyes water as I contemplate Jack and how much trust he must’ve had in me. I never knew. Never had a clue.

  I zone out, watching Adam. He has such a kind spirit. I’m proud of him. So proud he’s my son. We’ve had a chance to spend more time together in recent months. I credit Wynn and my brother for making that happen. They brought him to Vegas and Callan somehow broke the ice with Sondra, made her see that Adam needs both parents in his life.

  Tahoe and Saint watch me as if they expect me to crack under pressure. Maybe that’s what some gamblers would do but I’m not just a gambler or even a player anymore. I’m a dad with responsibilities. A husband already in my damn heart. Sondra agreed to joint custody and I wonder now if maybe everything in the universe lined up so evenly because of Wynn, because the woman I love made it all possible.

  Adam hovers over Jack’s boys and his actions throw me back to another time as well. It’s like he understands that I need him to help make Shawn and Stevie feel at home.

  Callan points and nods at the three.