Page 2 of Claiming What Is Mine

“What’s up? Need help with your tie again?”

“No. Obviously not.” The only reason I don’t is because I’ve actively resisted messing with it. “What do you think I am, an idiot or something?” Frank smiles. “Don’t answer that,” I add before he shares his thought. “Can you help Chet with his tie? He can’t figure it out, either.”

Frank cocks his head. “Let me get this straight. You both know practically every kind of knot imaginable, unless it’s around your neck?”

“Why in the hell would I ever want a knot tied around my neck?” I put my hands around my throat as if to choke myself. “Does this look like a skill a person ought to practice?”

Frank rolls his eyes. “And to think—you’re my older brother.” He sighs. “Lead the way.”

“What were you so busy with in there, anyway?” I ask, trying not to let the walls dredge up foul memories again as we walk back down the hall.

“Um—I’m an usher. I was helping an elderly woman find a seat. Sort of my—you know—job for the day.”

“Oh. So, you’ve had a good look at everyone here, then?”

“I suppose. ” Frank raises his brow. “Why?”

“Well, I am the best man. So obviously, I can’t be caught dancing with some cross-eyed, homely thing. Not at our eldest brother’s wedding.” I wink.

“You are such a child.”

“Incorrect. I—” I point my thumbs to my chest “—am a grown ass man.”

Frank scoffs. “No. At best, you are a man-child.”

I can see by the arrogant look on his face he’s been down in Denver so long he’s forgotten where he comes from. Our family has never been the stodgy, formal type. Hell, I consider that fact to be a personal source of pride. We Wilde’s don’t pretend to be something we aren’t, and a person always knows where they stand with us. Somewhere along interstate seventy-six this asshole seems to have forgotten that. But today is not the day, and this is not the place to call him on it. “Okay. Split the difference, at worst, I’m a grown ass man-child.”

“And somehow that’s better?”

“Obviously.” I open the door and gesture for Frank to enter. An usher? Ha. Doesn’t seem that difficult to me.

Inside, Chet paces back and forth in front of the windows, from the oak bookshelves along one wall to the cluttered desk butted up against the other.

“I hear you could use a hand with your tie,” Frank states as he enters the room. “Relax, we’ll get you squared away.”

Chet, lost in thought, looks at Frank confused. “Huh?” He runs his hand through this slicked back hair while he processes Frank’s comment. “No. It’s not the tie.” He stops to peer out the window. “I’m worried about Christy.”

I dig my hands into my pockets. “Mom’s back in the room with her. If Christy had run off, I’m sure someone would let us know. ”

Chet levels one of his not-funny-Gabe glares. “That’s not what I meant. Other than her mom, she doesn’t have any family or friends here supporting her.” He turns and points through the glass. “Look at all those cars in the parking lot—I’m worried she’s going to walk down the aisle and not see any familiar faces. I don’t want today to be anything less than happy for her.”

I walk over to my brother and place a hand on his shoulder. “In an hour, she’ll be a Wilde and the whole damn town will be there for her. Whatever she needs. Whenever she needs it. Like they always have been for us.”

Frank and Chet both look at me in disbelief.

“What? I can be serious. Sometimes.”

Frank squares Chet in front of him and goes to work, swooping and looping Chet’s tie into a perfect bow. He folds his collar down and brushes a fleck of lint off his jacket. “All set.” He stands back, pleased with his work. “So, who’d Christy pick as her maid of honor, then?”

“Her mother,” Chet answers.

Frank glances back at me, grinning from ear to ear. “Gabe, doesn’t the best man typically hook up with the maid of honor?”

I level Chet's not-funny-Gabeglare at Frank. “Don’t be disgusting.”

Frank looks to Chet. “She’s single, right?”

Confused, Chet replies, “I don’t like where this is going.”

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