Chapter 23
Pope
“How’s your head?” Pope asked, gently carding his fingers through Danger’s hair on his way past the couch.
Their yellow lab mix, who the boys had lovingly taken to calling Grunge, due to how grungy he’d been when they’d first brought him in off the beach, was stretched out along Danger’s side, head pillowed on his shoulder, snoozing.
As soon as the dog realized that he would not get into any trouble for jumping on the furniture to lie down with one of them, it had been game on.
Those big critters, who were already showing signs of gaining weight after three days in their care, saw themselves as lap dogs and attempted to fit wherever possible.
Their husky, who’d earned the name Diesel due to the stench of his farts, nearly drowned Pope with his fluff every time he scrambled up into the easy chair with him.
“Sore,” Danger grumbled. “The same as the last time you asked and the time before that. It’s going to take forever for the parts they shaved to grow as long as the rest of it.”
Chuckling, Pope leaned over his grumpy pup to stroke Grunge, who sighed, and let out a snort and a loud huff.
“We can fix that for you if you’d like,” Pope declared, grinning when Danger met his gaze.
“How?”
“The way I see it, there are two solutions,” Pope said, his grin growing wider as Danger narrowed his eyes at him.
“If you’re about to suggest shaving it so it matches, you can just go right back to the kitchen and whatever it is you three are doing in there,” Danger grumbled.
“Now see, who said anything about shaving it?” Pope declared, deliberately giving him shit to try to shake him out of the grumpy mood he’d woken up in this morning.
“That was all you. I was just going to suggest getting a few extensions braided in to cover the spot, or a hat. Saw a few interesting ones when we were online the other night, including an old-school leather biker cap. Of course, you could go a completely different route and try one of the jester ones that popped up, but it’s totally up to you. ”
Danger’s lips twitched, the grumpy pout slipping, before he grinned and rolled his eyes.
“Much better,” Pope replied. “As for what’s going on in the kitchen, I’ve been teaching the boys a few dog food recipes. We’ve almost got the last batch finished, and lunch, which we’ll bring out when we join you.”
“Good, getting bored out here alone.”
As if on cue, Grunge lifted his head, as if offended by the fact that even with him present and there in Danger’s arms, he still considered himself to be alone, and sneezed on his chin in retaliation. Danger just snickered, rubbed his chin, then stroked the pup’s ears until he settled back down.
“Diesel proved to be an attentive supervisor as we worked, casting judgy looks from his cushion in the corner every time we put a scrap of something in the trash. Since no one has replied to any of my posts about the dogs on social media, I think it’s safe to say they are ours.
I doubt there will be a chip for them to find in either of them when we take them to the vet tomorrow. ”
“Do I get to go with, or will I have to spend another day making a dent in the couch?” Danger asked.
“Well,” Pope hedged, “it’s still not fully formed in places. The middle fills back in as soon as you move, so a few more days in that spot might be in order, just to ensure that the divot maintains its shape.”
Pope had to give him credit; he tried to scowl, but his lips kept quirking until he gave up trying to look annoyed with him.
“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” Danger huffed.
“Couldn’t tell by the look on your face.”
“I hate lying here being useless.”
“From where I’m standing, Grunge seems to have found a perfectly acceptable use for you.”
“Not funny!” Danger growled as Pope left the room, chuckling the whole way.
When he reached the kitchen, he spotted his boys working in tandem to fill air-tight containers with the dog food and stack them in the double-sided fridge, each carefully labeled with the type of food contained inside.
They’d made two batches, one with beef, carrots, sweet potatoes, and brown rice, and the other with chicken, peas, carrots, and brown rice, each cooked in broth to ensure they were flavorful.
They had an order of salmon coming too, and a turkey Pope intended to roast so they could create a meal for the pups with it.
Everything had to be delivered or retrieved from the next town over, aside from the assortment of items carried at the gas station mini-mart.
Fortunately, the Martinezes stocked all the basic household stables, from milk, eggs, and bread, to boxed pasta, rice, flour, sugar, and even a variety of cereal and infant supplies.
Until the grocery store could be rebuilt, everyone would be facing the same struggle, so Pope had already started looking into a few sites online where he could set up regular delivery.
“That’s the last one,” Roan said as he closed the container he’d been working on after wiping the edges clean.
“I think I can fill two more,” Ocean declared, scooping and then smoothing the food into the container until it was full.
“Perfect,” Pope said as he plucked the pot off the counter.
“I’ll get these scrubbed. Why don’t you guys clean up then take the sandwiches and brownies to the den and see if you can find something for us to watch.
Beware the grumpy lump on the couch; he’s trying to cling to the bad mood he woke up with, so proceed with humor and a healthy dose of snark. ”
“That’s easy enough,” Ocean replied as he finished filling his second container. “If all else fails, I’ll just bust out the jellyfish jokes.”
“Jellyfish jokes?” Roan said. “How is anything that stings, funny?”
“Dude,” Ocean said as he carefully printed on the label. “What would you call a jellyfish combat veteran?”
“Sir?” Roan replied.
“A man o’ war,” Pope blurted, smacking a hand to his face at the absolute absurdity and the fact that his mind had instantly gone there.
“Precisely,” Ocean said, “see, you get it. Some of them are too obvious. Like, what fish goes the best with peanut butter?”
“Oh my god, he is going to throw a pillow at you if you ask him that one,” Roan groaned, giggling. “Those are so bad.”
“They get worse, I promise,” Ocean said.
“Good, save those in case we need them, which we might,” Pope declared. “I did have him laughing before I came back in here, and Grunge has made a cushion out of him, so he’s not going anywhere.”
“Think the brownies will cheer him up?” Roan asked. “They’ve got sprinkles on them and everything.”
“As soon as he bites into one and realizes they’re cosmic brownies, yeah, I think they’ll mellow him out some. Great job on the weed butter, guys; that was a nice addition.”
“I found the recipe in one of dad’s old scrapbooks,” Ocean said.
“Never got to make it much, since I was always traveling, but I remember the way he’d make two batches of snacks, one he’d let me have and the other he’d keep on top of the refrigerator.
He’d do that with barbecue too. It wasn’t until I leafed through the scrapbook more than I figured out why.
He had a marinade sauce that had weed in too; it’s fucking amazing. ”
“Are you fucking kidding me,” Pope said, slapping a hand to his face. “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for those damn recipes?”
“Wait, you’ve had them before?” Ocean said.
“They were Chaos’,” Pope explained. “He gave copies to both of us. I lost mine somewhere and kept hoping I’d come across them tucked in a book or between the pages of the old club minutes and never did.
Figured they were gone for good. None of the others I’ve come across were ever as good.
He’d tweaked them all to the point that you got the mellowest buzz ever off anything you used them on. ”
“I memorized them, then laminated the originals so they wouldn’t get wrecked,” Ocean explained.
“Damn,” Pope said. “First chance I get, I’m grabbing a couple racks of ribs, and you are going to whip that marinade up.”
“I’d love to,” Ocean said. “It’s been awhile since I’ve gotten to make it. If you want to copy the recipe so you have it again, I have it in my room.”
“Thank you,” Pope said. “Would be nice to work with it again. He always said he wanted to refine it more, since he never quite got it to work out the way he wanted it to for beef.”
“So, it wasn’t just me?” Ocean asked, emerald eyes lighting up as he turned to face Pope after wiping down the counter.
Roan had done the same to the one on the other side and pulled the pitcher of lemonade from the fridge after lining up a row of glasses and filling them with ice.
“What did you try to use it on?” Pope asked.
“Ribeye,” Ocean explained. “Cubed it and let it soak in the marinade before we made kababs. We got the buzz, but there was a tinge of bitterness that lingered that wasn’t there when we made pork or chicken.”
“Yup, that’s the same problem he had with it too,” Pope explained. “Perhaps if we put our heads together, we can figure out how to make it work.”
“Hell yeah,” Ocean replied. “Loved getting to cook with you today.”
“Me too,” Roan said. “Even if I didn’t know what I was doing.
I love that you guys took the time to teach me new skills so I could help cook too.
Usually, I just open something and shove it in the microwave, since my grandmother never liked anyone in her kitchen.
She was always complaining about my grandfather and me getting in the way, even if we were just trying to grab a drink while she was cooking.
Not that I ever enjoyed much of what she cooked.
The only seasonings in the kitchen were salt, pepper, and paprika.
I asked her once what paprika even was, and she told me to get the hell out of her kitchen. ”