24. Someones had too much holiday cheer
Chapter 24
Someone's had too much holiday cheer
LEO
S ue drops my hand when we enter the maternity ward’s family waiting room. Not so she can get away, but so she can get closer. She slinks flush against me, wraps both arms around my midsection, and angles herself slightly behind me so I can shield her from the massive wall of humanity.
It’s an Amos-hole invasion.
Kids, adults, babies, and even the gray-haired ones are here.
When the newcomers see us, they sling out excited greetings too fast for me to decipher who says what.
“Sue!”
“Leo and Sue!”
“Susie Q!”
“There she is!”
“Auntie Sue and Uncle Leo!”
In response to the sudden volume spike, Sue cups her ears abruptly. I tuck her under my arm and scowl, silently telling them to pipe down. Not only for my wife’s benefit, but for the sake of the entire hospital.
Damn , they’re especially fucking loud tonight.
And why the hell are they here? And so many of them.
I scan the room, attempting to count heads, but they’re mingling with the Redleg crew, so I give up when I get to twenty.
My brows tug in tightly as I catch sight of Sue’s eldest brother, Nick O’Malley, barreling through the crowd toward us. His wife, Millie, is riding piggyback on him. Because that’s how grown adults act in a hospital.
Once he’s close enough for me to hear him over the din, Nick teases, “Happy Christmas, ya giant motherfecker. Sláinte.”
Millie greets us with her own brand of holiday cheer—sarcasm. “We didn’t think we’d see you fuckers until tomorrow. When will our bad luck end?” She attempts an accent, adding, “’Tis the curse of the Irish.” Then she cackles at her sub-par joke while sliding down to the floor.
My angel and I will be having Christmas dinner with her large Irish family tomorrow. I cannot wait.
Yes , that was intended to sound sarcastic.
Kidding. The O’Malleys are a fun group but rambunctious. Much like Millie’s family. The one practically crawling the walls of the waiting room.
Sue’s head kicks back from Millie’s jab. “You weren’t looking forward to seeing us tomorrow? That’s rude.”
“Kidding, Susie Poozy. Don’t take it.” She puts her hands on her hips and flutters her lips. “Take it. Personal. Ly. Don’t take it personally is what I meant.”
On second look, Millie’s eyes are glassy, and her cheeks are extra rosy. There’s a slight sway to her movements. I glance at her husband, and he’s equally wobbly.
I lower myself down to their height. “Are you two drunk?”
Millie snickers. “Not only are we drunk, but yes. In fact, we’re schnockered.”
Nick rolls his eyes, tipping his head down toward his wife. “She’s steaming drunk, but I’m right as rain, mate. Unlike my pint-sized bride, I can hold me liquor.”
The overabundance of his Irish accent and slang is akin to Maury Povich’s lie detector. The results are in, and he’s utterly full of gobshite.
Saving me from having to call him out, Millie does it for me. “Pssssshhh.” She flubs her tiny fingers over his lips. “Lying Leprechaun. Cut it out, or I won’t show you my pot of gold.”
Sue can’t hold back her laugh but tries to hide it in her hand. She’s always loved the way Millie teases Nick.
When no one offers an explanation for the redheaded invasion, I cut to the chase. “So why are you here?”
“Why are you here?” Millie parrots, her chest puffed out.
“I asked you first,” I retort.
Sue presses her palm on my chest. “My curiosity cannot take this shite. If I don’t cut in now, this could go on all night.”
I make goo-goo eyes at her because I love it when I get a glimpse of her assertive side. It’s hot as hell.“Fair point, Mrs. Mason.”
One of her cheeks quivers with her suppressed smile. She refocuses on the drunk wonders in front of us and the room full of holly-jolly insanity. “We’re here because Sammy just had her twins. A boy and a girl. Happy and healthy. I held little Logan. He’s adorable, smells lovely, and was named after a good man instead of a horrible cartoon character. Lucky kid.”
She pauses her ramble to suck in a deep breath, then keeps on. “Now, why are you here with the rest of the heathens? Did someone need their stomach pumped? And if so, why did that result in everyone else coming along? And shouldn’t you be in the ER instead of the labor and delivery unit?”
Millie narrows her eyes at Sue, responding with irrelevant nonsense. “Your lips are glittery. So pretty.” She whips her gaze toward me, rising to her tiptoes for a better view of my face. “And you have glitter in your beard.”
Sue grips Millie by her upper arms, giving her a tiny shake. “That doesn’t answer my question. Focus, Mills. Why are you here?”
“Why are you glittered?” Millie’s eyes swoop up and down Sue’s body, finally noticing her costume. “Oh. You’re an adorable pregnant snowman lady person.”
Rolling out her lip, Sue begs him for answers with just his name and a pleading tone. “Nicky?”
He attempts an explanation, getting us only a little closer to understanding. “CJ and Archer are going to be parents.”
My angel and I trade confused glances. Her upper lip is curled, making her look beyond kissable.
I lean to the side, seeking out Millie’s sister among the masses. Last time I checked, CJ wasn’t pregnant. And unless they have a time machine, I don’t know how that would be possible. Once I lock in on her, I confirm she’s the same size.
I point in her direction. “CJ doesn’t look pregnant.”
Millie loudly interjects, “They’re adoptioning.” She holds her hands in front of her about a foot apart. “A new, tiny baby.”
Even with her drunk grammar, we finally get the idea.
“Was this a sudden decision?” Sue’s tone holds thinly veiled disappointment, and I wonder if she’s feeling left out.
Despite being intoxicated, Nick detects the motive behind Sue’s question. “Don’t take it personally, Susie Q. The situation presented itself only recently. There wasn’t a lot of time for the news to spread.”
In the background, I notice CJ trying to drag Archer away from the circle of Redleg guards. He used to serve in the Army, so he goes way back with a lot of us.
Millie bustles her way between Sue and me, tucking her arms around our elbows. “Let’s say hi to everyone. Forward!”
We start walking where she’s trying to lead us, but she stumbles a few times, thus explaining why Nick was carrying her.
She is shit-faced.
“Are you always schnockered on Christmas Eve, Millie?” I ask.
“Amos-hole holiday game night. Cara’s fault.”
Sue quips, “I’ll pretend that made sense or answered the question.”
Sue’s tolerance for drunk people is only slightly better than a bouncer’s.
I wink at her over Millie’s head. It’s not hard to do since Millie is roughly half my height.
We pass by Archer and CJ, and they’re both beaming. She’s managed to get him away from the gang.
When he sees me, he waves. “Lionheart! Hey, man. Happy?—”
Cutting him off, CJ blurts, “Hi, Leo. Hi, Sue. Happy Holidays. Can’t talk right now. We’re going to meet our new baby now before they give her to someone else.”
“Her? It’s a girl!” Millie jumps, bubbling over with excitement. “I hope they name her after me.”
We seem to be heading toward Cort and Amber, which should be entertaining. They’re talking to Jonesy and Aaron.
“Lookie who I found!” Millie singsongs.
Cort Amos, Millie’s brother, gives me an enthusiastic head tip. He has his newborn daughter in some type of harness-sling contraption. It keeps her tucked close to his chest while allowing him to use his hands. Nice.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re here, Leo. I was starting to feel awkward as the only one over here with guns.” He flexes his biceps, one then the other. “Pew. Pew.”
Jonesy, who used to guard Cort and Amber, has a fondness for Cort’s brand of delusion. “I’d punch you, but you’re holding an infant.”
“Aww,” Cort coos, tapping Jonesy’s cheek and batting his eyes at him. “That’s cute.” Cort looks at his wife, who has their older son, Cam, balanced on her hip. “Isn’t Jonesy adorable, wifey? He’s pretending to be a big boy.”
“I’m a big boy too,” Cam boasts. Then, he impersonates his father’s earlier move, flexing his biceps. “Pew. Pew.”
Cort feigns getting knocked back a few steps from the blast. “Easy, Lil C. Be careful with those guns.”
The adorable toddler, who still has his arms bent by his ears, releases a puff of air over one bicep and then the next like he’s blowing away the smoke.
Damn, that’s cute. I wonder if our son will do shit like that?
Amber’s face says it all—a flamboyant eye roll that ends in an indulgent chuckle. That’s exactly how most of us feel around Cort.
We spend a few minutes chatting with them and fawning over their baby. Since Amber gave birth to their daughter while Redleg has been under high-threat procedures, we’ve only met her once. She’s such a little cutie.
I study the baby sling Cort’s wearing, wondering if I could get something similar in a larger size to fit my broad chest and shoulders. I really dig how he’s able to keep the baby secure while remaining hands-free.
“Is this a homemade thing?” I ask him, pinching a bit of the fabric strap of the sling.
“Oh the baby? She came from my balls. So yeah, you could say she’s homemade.”
My eyes bulge, and my shoulders shake as I try to hold in the jolt of laughter. This fucking guy. A billowy laugh escapes Sue, sending me into further hysterics.
Although Amber’s fighting rising chuckles of her own, she slaps Cort in the upper arm with the back of her hand.
He plays dumb, prolonging the joke and getting a few more laughs from everyone. “I must have misunderstood your question. My bad. I thought you meant our daughter.” He kisses the top of her head.
“I was asking about the sling,” I confirm.
His face lights up. “If you’re looking for parenting advice, you’ve come to the right place.”
I hold out my hand. “Not parenting advice. Just curious about this wrap carrier contraption.”
He scoffs. “This isn’t just a wrap or carrier, Leo. This here is a baby levitation system, allowing them to see the world from new heights while hovering several feet above the ground.” He twists from the waist in a sloshing motion. “As you can see, the infant is floating in a complete state of euphoria, reveling in the effects of zero gravity.”
When Amber stops laughing at her husband’s antics, she cuts him off and gives me a straight answer. “It’s a Baby Tula. I’ll send you a link if you’re interested.”
“Please do.”
“Baby talk. Baby talk. You guys are boring,” Millie whines, opening and closing her hand to mimic talking. “Hey, jolly Irish Saint Nick. Let’s go see if they need a bed tester.”
Nick plants himself in front of her and squats down, giving her his back. She climbs on, and off they go.
Of all the couples here, I’m most grateful that those two decided not to multiply.
Sue sneaks around to my other side and tugs my sleeve. “Oh, Leo, my love. I think someone needs your assistance.”
I look where she’s pointing and bark out a laugh.
Kri’s got the eldest Amos, Grandpa Dickie, in a headlock. “Say you’re sorry,” she growls in his ear.
As I approach, it becomes clear she’s not really hurting him. Although his face is a little bit flushed, he’s laughing. The old pervert probably likes being manhandled by Kri.
Lettie’s standing in front of Grandpa Dickie, stomping her foot in protest. “Let him go, Kri. He’s an old man.”
“He was attempting to look up my skirt,” Kri throws back with vitriol in her tone. “That’s why I don’t wear them.”
Yep. That tracks.
Lettie stomps again. “You can’t choke an old man. Especially not on Christmas.”
“The hell I can’t. Old or young. Christmas, New Year’s, or Independence Day. I don’t give a fuck. I warned him this would happen if he didn’t apologize. He made his choice.” She curls her upper lip. “And you better not even think of looking near Val.”
The old bastard puckers his lips and makes squeaky kissing sounds, trying to throw them in Kri’s direction.“You smell sweet,” he croaks out.
Gross.
“Tomer, come stop her!” Lettie yells, looking around frantically for her fiancé. She finds Shep instead. “Will you stop your girl before she gives this man a heart attack?”
Shep eyes the scene carefully. Hemming and hawing, he purses his lips and then shrugs. “Bit of advice. If she does lay into you, it’s best to just let her finish.”
Pretty sure that was a modified Cousin Eddie line about the dog humping a leg. Nothin’ says happy holidays like that imagery.
My chest reverberates with another laugh that I can’t fight off.
Any one of us could assist in getting Kri off Grandpa Dickie. Most of the Amos-holes could attempt to remove her.
You’ll notice not a single soul is offering to help.
Not even his wife, the sweet-as-pie Grammy Ellie.
Lettie throws her hands in the air. “I give up!”
Sue nudges my arm and widens her eyes toward the homicide-adjacent behavior.
“Kri has it under control,” I joke. “She doesn’t need my help restraining him.”
Cara, Millie’s youngest sister, comes running over, her entrance heralded by her booming laugh. “Finally. Somebody’s gonna take him out. Hallelujah!” She continues, singing a few lines of the “Hallelujah Chorus.”
Her husband lingers a few steps behind her, their toddler asleep on his shoulder. When Brody sees Kri strangling Grandpa Dickie, his face crimps from the force it takes to hold back his laugh. He’s probably trying not to wake up Jace, which is unnecessary. Even I know that kid could sleep through a high school marching band rehearsal while lying inside the bass drum.
With Cara as his mother, it’s essential for him to be immune to loud noises.
She backs away, brushing up close to Jonesy. Her eyes bounce from the box to his face three times. Next, she glances at Aaron, repeating the motion.
Without warning, Cara lifts the lid of the box in front of Jonesy, peeking inside.
“Well?” Lettie hollers from out of nowhere, her tone no longer one of frustration. It’s giddy excitement. “Is there a hole in the box?”
“Sadly, no.” Cara lowers the lid and attempts to peek into Aaron’s box.
He swats her hand away. “No. Bad girl.”
While he’s shying away from Cara, Lettie sneaks up from the other side to flip his box lid. She gasps, flopping the lid down and cupping a palm over her gaping mouth.
“He cut the hole?” Cara asks, pointing at Aaron’s crotch.
Lettie snickers before dropping the act. “ Nah . Gotcha, though.”
“I’d have cut the hole,” Grandpa Dickie eeks out.
Everyone groans at the thought. Kri tightens her hold on his neck.
My wife gives me another nudge in the ribs. “She’s not really choking him, is she?” Sue’s face is blanching white, and it’s not only from the Frostette makeup she’s still wearing.
“Not really, angel.”
She nibbles at the corner of her mouth, shifting from toe to toe. She then tosses a look over one shoulder and the other as if looking for hospital personnel.
To save her from getting more worked up, I step in and save the day for her and Dickie. I’m likely ruining the moment for everyone else.
“Kri, come on.” I make a hacking motion in front of my throat, implying she should cut it out.
“Wow. Leo gave the signal to take him out,” Cort whisper-yells to his wife. “Let’s see how this plays out.”
I narrow my eyes at him, and he looks over his shoulder like he’s trying to spy who I’m threatening with my glare.
Again, I say, this fucking guy.
Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve missed the Amos-holes. Yet another reason why we need to finish off Lenkov so we can get back to attending game nights.
However, we might not be invited back if one of my coworkers kills the family patriarch, as deserving a death as it may be.
Facing Kri, I arch my brows at her in warning. After a silent conversation passes between us, she ultimately acquiesces, releasing him unceremoniously.
As she struts away, she hits him with a death glare. “Next time, I won’t give you a chance to apologize. You better start showing ladies some respect.”
Sadly, he’s deaf as a doorpost, so he likely didn’t hear the threat.
Come to think of it, he might not have heard her ask him to apologize in the first place.
Dickie watches Kri retreat while straightening his collar. A Grinch-style grin slithers onto his wrinkled face. If he weren’t so close to meeting his maker, I’d love to punch him. Just once.
Cara bends down in front of her grandfather, bracing her hands on her thighs. “Didn’t I tell you that you’d flip up the wrong skirt one day?”
For the first time, he looks contrite. With his face pointing downward, he offers a silent nod, accepting his scolding.
Shaking her head, Grammy Ellie sighs. “Nothing says Merry Christmas like a choke hold in the maternity ward.” Her eyes take on a wistful look. “It reminds me of our first Christmas together. His face was a similar shade of red as he gasped for air that night too. Except I was the one having a baby.”
Wide eyes meet agape jaws all around the room. It’s grown oddly silent since conversations dried up in lieu of watching the show over here.
Even Miles, Cara’s teenage son, approaches with curiosity. He’s never one to be in the thick of things, so it strikes me a bit odd that he’s coming over so boldly.
“Okay, I’m just gonna ask what we’re probably all wondering,” Lettie starts, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Who was choking him while you were having a baby? I’m gonna guess a nurse.”
Grammy looks deadass at her and answers without a hint of humor in her tone. “My father. And then my brothers. Also, my mother.”
Snickers, giggles, and snorts sail around the room.
Having come to stand behind Lettie, Tomer wraps his arm protectively around her waist. “Why?”
Flatly, Grammy answers, “So the priest could finish performing the Exorcism.”
Always with the one-liners, Miles deadpans, “Too bad it didn’t work.”