“Did anyone see you come out here?” Tristan asked. “I found this spot first, and I’m not anyone’s sacrifice.”

“No, I had someone plant a clue I was in the bathroom, then I raced out here.”

“Good job,” Dalton said.

Cal glared at them, then took a swig of beer. “Some best men you are.”

“We had to save ourselves. Morgan is scary,” Dalton said. “Who’s playing Danny now?”

“Her father. Uncle Bob is Kenickie, and some twelve-year-old is Sonny.”

Tristan lifted a brow. “Umm, if Morgan gets mad about your nonparticipation, will you get a wedding night?”

Cal rubbed his head. His hair fell in disarray across his brow. “Don’t know. I think I have enough moves to get her to forget.”

Tristan snorted. “You hope.”

“I’m not putting on a fake leather jacket and lip-synching ‘Summer Nights.’ There are people I know out there. Men I work with. I won’t be welcome on a construction site for the rest of my life.”

Tristan met Dalton’s gaze and burst into laughter. “Sorry, man, that sucks. We’ll tell them you got sick and needed some air.”

Cal gave a brusque nod. “Now you’re talking.”

They stood against the wall, drinking beer, looking at the night sky. A sense of peace settled over him. “You happy?” he asked Cal.

His brother turned and grinned. “Hell yeah. Are you?”

Tristan nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

“Things seem to be working out with Sydney. Have you been able to forgive her? Move on?”

He shifted his feet. Thought about the question. Had he? Since the night he’d chased her into bed, their relationship had shifted. They were closer, the physical union sparking a deeper emotional bond he hadn’t been prepared for. When he felt as if he was slipping too far, caught deep in her jade-green eyes, he managed to yank himself back from the precipice. So far, he’d been able to control it. They were being real with each other. No words of love or false promises. Things were just about perfect.

Except for the sadness in his wife’s eyes.

He caught her now and then, staring out the window, a melancholy aura hanging heavily around her figure. Sometimes she’d look into his face, and he’d spot a glimmer of pain that tore at his heart, but when he looked harder, it disappeared.

He shook off his thoughts and tried to answer the question.

Tristan was surprised at his honest response. “Yeah, we’ve been able to move forward. We’re finally giving Becca something real.”

Cal nodded. “Good for you, Tris. It’s always been obvious how in love you two are. I’m glad you both finally admitted it.”

Tristan held up his hand. “No, we’re not in love. That’s a place I’m never going again.”

His brothers stared at him. “What are you talking about? You married her. Have a daughter. You’re sleeping together, right?” Cal asked.

“Yeah.”

Dalton gave a laugh. “Dude, you’re kidding yourself. You love her. She loves you. What’s the big deal? You’re already married. It’s usually the opposite way—men terrified of committing forever.”

His gut clenched. Loving Sydney put their relationship on a whole other level—one he never intended to reach. The word only brought confusion and too much damn vulnerability. “Love is how things get fucked-up,” he said brusquely. “Much better to keep things the way they are.”

Cal snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that. Sydney loves you. No rationalization is going to make that fact disappear.”

“The longer you deny your own feelings, the worse things will get,” Dalton warned. “Believe me, I figured that out from experience. Just man up and admit you love your wife.”

“And if I don’t?” he challenged.

“Then either you’re scared shitless you’ll get hurt or you haven’t really forgiven her,” Cal said.

Dalton nodded. “And either one needs to be dealt with, or things can begin falling apart. Don’t let that happen, man. You and Sydney deserve to be happy.”

He opened his mouth to deny both charges, but it was too late.

The door banged open.

Three pissed-off females stood framed in the doorway. They all wore pink satin jackets over their dresses and bright pink sneakers. Fake cigarettes dangled from their fingers. Gazes narrowed in feminine temper, they stepped outside like a gang about to kick some ass.

Ah, shit.

Morgan stuck out her lower lip and blew her lace veil off her face. Blue eyes glinted in warning. “Charming, if you’re not inside to finish up this dance in two minutes, tonight will not be what you expected.”

Cal’s mouth dropped open. “I told you I didn’t want to do this! Isn’t it my wedding, too?”

Raven practically snarled, looking mean in her pink satin. “Morgan has been dreaming about a Grease song for years. You’re telling me you can’t take a few minutes from your life to make her happy on your wedding day?”

Tristan blinked. Damn, she was good. Dalton was in big trouble.

Sydney joined in, her index finger jabbing through the air. “Have you been trying to hide the groom from us?” she asked suspiciously.

Tristan threw his hands up. “No! I came out for a quick break, and they followed me!”

“Traitor,” Cal and Dalton growled.

“Well, I don’t care. All of you get inside, put on the leather jackets, and let’s do this. Becca is jumping up and down with excitement, and Uncle Bob needs to take his medication, so he can’t dance any longer,” Sydney snapped out.

Suddenly Morgan’s face fell. Her lower lip trembled. “You don’t want to do this with me?” she asked pitifully.

And just like that, Cal crumbled.

“Aww, princess, don’t get upset. I’ll put on the jacket. Okay? But I’m not dancing. I’ll stand there, and you can dance around me.”

She smiled brilliantly. “Perfect. Thanks, Charming. Love you.”

He sighed. “Love you, too.” Cutting his brothers a furious glance, he trudged inside.

Sydney tapped her pink-clad toe and jerked her thumb. “Let’s go, T-birds.”

Tristan paused, lowering his head to whisper in her ear. “Get ready for payback later, Pink Lady.”