Chapter 44 Charcuterie
charcuterie
Liam
Stretching for my phone is a mistake, but rolling over would be worse. I groan and fight not to disturb Poe with my reach.
She cracks a minty green eye and groans back.
“I see you’re going to be verbal.” I cup her in my other hand and roll my eyes. Lucky me.
I check the text thread first because something about Lorien makes me laugh and I could use it after the last twenty-four hours.
Me: Are you blushing reading this? Is the heat prickling up those perfect tits that I need to taste again?
Wifey: Yes, times three. Cheese and crackers.
I asked if she could still feel me deep in her pussy and she answered with charcuterie. I scrub a hand down my face. My life is unrecognizable in less than two months.
Wifey: This trip has been weird. I feel so guilty saying that. My brother seems great, though, and he wouldn’t fake it with us, even for his birthday. It was so worth the trip just to hug him tonight.
Wifey: Something’s up with my sister. I haven’t said much about her to you. She’s different than I am. As in polar opposite. She’s 9 ⒈／⒉ years older and is artsy. Needless to say, our brains don’t have the same frequencies. My stick people are crooked, and she makes a living doing watercolors.
Wifey: I’m not sure about the make a living part, actually. I wouldn’t be surprised if she lived in a commune that grew mushrooms for private sale. I’ve never been there.
Wifey: I’ve tried calling you. A couple of times. It’s weird that it doesn’t even ring.
Wifey: When you see the missed calls, don’t think I’m crazy. You get to have a life…
The last one was—I look at the clock—this morning. It’s almost midnight here.
Wifey: I’m trying not to worry. We never said we were obligated to one another. It just felt like something different when you dropped me off.
Wifey: Pumpkin balls. That went through green and I can’t delete it. I’m not being clingy. I promise.
Me: I don’t mind clingy, especially when it’s your pussy around my tongue. Or my fingers. Or my cock.
Me: I’ll tell you about my weekend when we talk. Let’s just say it’s been eventful. I’m hoping yours is nothing like mine.
Me: Sweet dreams, Wifey. I’ll call in the morning.
Me: One last thing, that Sunday Protestants comment. Is there a window of time I need to avoid in the morning?
Dad is, what I call, a devout verbal Catholic.
That means he claims it, shouts it, and owns it, loudly.
Like his Irish heritage, it’s his identity.
And like his heritage, he knows nothing of the culture, the lore, or what it means to inhabit its values.
He wouldn’t know a hymnal if it smacked him in the head.
And he needs a good smacking.
We weren’t church goers. He told people proudly of his “faith,” while living nothing. So we’re not Sunday anythings. None of us ever have been.
The idea of Lorien in a dress going to church isn’t something my mind can even fathom, aside from what I’ve seen on TV.
She’s a funny, brilliant girl who loves me shoved deep inside of her as she shouts about pastries.
Deep inside her cunt is the closest I’ll ever get to God or Heaven.
I’ll worship at that altar for as long as she allows.
A knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts.
“Li?” Ayla pokes her head through. “The vet’s here. Can we come in?”
“Sure.” An attempt to push myself up to sitting is met by screaming in one shoulder and pain in the opposite hip. Fuck it, I’ll stay where I am until I’m so stiff I can’t move.
A woman somewhere between Ayla’s age and mine follows my sister in. She’s bare-faced and almost stern-looking. She has the no nonsense appearance of many seasoned veterinarians.
Poe takes one look at her and hisses.
I like this cat more and more.
“Liam, this is Candace. She’s Franklin’s vet. Dr. Thistle, this is my brother Liam… and Poe.”
“May I?” the woman asks.
I lift Poe in one hand and offer her to the woman. My cat is most unhappy about leaving me.
The vet lifts the cat to her chest, the whole while getting an earful from the scrawny thing.
She turns the kitten this way and that, does a thorough exam, but what do I know of feline anything, before setting the beast back on my lap. Poe promptly climbs under my beard, rubs herself against my chin, and starts to purr.
“Can you tell me how you found her?” the vet looks suspicious.
How do I put this? “I was traveling and she came to me. I never saw a mom or any other kittens during my time there.”
Her eyes narrow and Ayla makes a face behind her lifting her arms.
“She’s very young—too young to be away from her mother—and is lucky to be alive.”
That’s no lie.
“She’ll need special formula for a couple of weeks.
I’d like to see her again in three weeks.
At my clinic,” she adds needlessly. “I’ll head to the office and bring the formula back tonight.
I’ll write down the instructions. Water and solid foods are a week or two away.
The next twenty-four hours are critical. Do you have any questions for me?”
I don’t know. I don’t have a clue about cats.
“We’re not knowledgeable on cats, actually,” Ayla offers. “We’ve always been dog people. Anything we need to know?”
Dr. Thistle turns to my sister and begins a conversation I don’t care to hear. Instead, I let the warmth at my throat and the purring lull me into rest. Tomorrow will come soon enough.
It does. I wake with the sun, not because I wouldn’t rather sleep in, but because I have to piss. Also, my entire body is stiff from sleeping in one position all night. I slide Poe onto the warm spot in the vacant bed much to her frustration. I know because she tells me about it.
Stepping into the bathroom is a rude awakening. I relieve myself before examining the carnage in the mirror. And carnage is the right word.
The shoulder wound is bandaged. I need to ask what that’s about, but something stains the skin around it.
That’s not counting the bruise that radiates from it, around the shoulder cap and down the biceps.
Both elbows show bruising, as much as I can see through the ink there.
I can feel them, and I can see the swelling even if the color isn’t the primary indicator.
There’s a bruise to my chin on my left side, the same side as the hip wound.
That’s bandaged as well. I rip the tape back and study the “gutting graze” as Ayla called it.
It’s basically a through and through, but close enough to the edge that it blew away the skin there.
It’s easily an inch wide and an inch deep and will be permanent.
It fucked with my tat there too, which pisses me off almost as much as the shot itself.
Both kneecaps are swollen and angry. Again, I’ll have to ask.
Ayla wasn’t wrong. I’m annoyed as fuck. I’m not dead. I’m not buried alive in a house that may or may not be owned by a former client. I’m curious to see how this plays out with him.
My tablet. Shit. I return to the bedroom on stiff knees and a screaming hip, log on to manage my cloud devices, and remote wipe the tablet. I’ll log into Barnett’s systems later. I want eyes on him. I want ears on him too. That fucker better think again if he believes I’ll take this lying down.
I find a sweatshirt in Cian’s things from when he was here recuperating. That’s been more than a year. I slide it on backwards. The arms are too small, uncomfortably so, but I need the hoodie. I slide Poe inside and dial Lorien.
It never rings. The call goes directly to voicemail. “Wifey, you’re not answering and you haven’t responded to text messages. Send proof of life or I’ll be forced to come save you.”
I hobble downstairs, past Christian’s closed office door and to the outdoor terrace where my sister sits, face tilted to the summer sun, Sophia sound asleep on her chest, wrapped in one of those things my brain can’t figure out how to work.
“Morning.”
“Morning, Li.”
“Are you tired of playing Florence Nightingale for your brothers?”
“I’m tired of brothers needing hospital recovery.”
I scrub a hand over my head, feeling the bristles of two- or three-days’ growth. Long for me. “Can I guess that I didn’t go to a hospital?”
“You had the Army Ranger medical expertise of Dr. Young.” She smirks.
“Fitz did this?” I point to my shoulder. Fitz makes a damn good chili, but he’s no doctor.
“And your thigh.”
“I don’t remember it.”
She turns her face to me. “I’m not surprised.
They gave you some good drugs. You should hear the stories about Ren trying to hold that kitten while Fitz needed his services.
Christian ended up being the medical assistant while Ren calmed Poe.
And we know Christian’s tolerance for that.
” She smiles wide as a shiver runs from my head to my toes.
“This shit has to stop. Why does it feel like an attempt to pick us off one by one?”
“That’s something.” She sits up. “Think Dad could be behind this?”
I shake my head. “Doubtful. I’ve worked with Barnett for a while. He came from a referral.”
“And you know the references?”
I stare across the yard. “I’ll go back to double check. I can’t say I remember them off the top of my head, but anyone who uses my services…”
“Can afford to,” she finishes my thought.
“Thanks for bringing her to me last night.” I point to Sophia asleep on her chest.
She nods but doesn’t say much else for a long moment. “You said she’s why you’re here last night. What was that about?”
“How much did Christian tell you about yesterday?”
She turns toward me, cupping Sophia so she doesn’t fall. She’s a natural at this momming gig. “All of it?”
“You’re a terrible liar. Let me get some coffee and I’ll tell you.”
“I’ll come with you.”
She’s a terrible liar, but she’s freaking tenacious.
The woman can bring someone to their knees simply by wearing them down.
It’s probably been a factor in her business.
She’ll outwork anyone. Gets up earlier, takes more hikes, shoots more shots.
And her gallery, Aspen & Evergreen, was born out of sheer hustle.
I’d admire her for it, but the receiving end is not where I want to be positioned.
I gesture to the silver monstrosity on her counter. “I need a latte.”
She hustles to it, Sophia never stirring, and turns to me as she opens the drawer below it. “What flavor?”
“Coffee.” I fight the smile on my lips.
My sister faces me enough that I can see her roll her eyes. “Fine.” She pulls out two cups and more shit that coffee doesn’t require and gets to work. “You were saying?”
“Coffee first, then story time.”
She huffs but obliges, walking back out to the deck once she’s done and retaking her lounge.
“Have I met all your requirements?” she snarks, taking a sip of her coffee then dancing a little in her seat.
I needed her to have caffeine as much as I need it for myself. I expect this shit sandwich to go down exactly as it sounds.