Layla (Cheap Thrills #9)

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Layla

M om had called me on my way home to say we were having a family dinner tonight, something we didn’t do that often, regardless of how close our homes were. Everyone had their own lives, and getting together wasn’t always feasible. Plus, peace and quiet were necessary, especially after working all day.

I’d stayed late to finish catching up on the clients I’d canceled yesterday, and I had the beginnings of a headache building behind my eyes. Still, this afternoon’s cases had all been very uplifting emotionally for me. I loved being able to help people who had areas they were struggling with that weren’t based on cosmetic enhancements, and that was why I’d wanted to do what I did.

And four of the clients had been men, which, for me, was huge.

Typically, things like Botox and fillers were associated with women who wanted to reverse the aging process or plump up their lips, but there was so much more to it than that, and this afternoon proved it.

But I had so much going on inside my head now that I wasn’t focusing on clients that my head was pounding. There was also a downside to my job, which was likely to be playing a huge part in my headache, and that was the fact my treatment room, my hands, and my arms were kept sterile for the patients.

I didn’t mind doing it at all, but the smell of the stuff I used—the same things they used to clean down beds and equipment in the ERs—was overpowering. I’d inherited my grandmother’s sensitive sense of smell. It was both a blessing and a curse, especially when you grew up with four brothers and countless male relatives who stank.

I was dragging ass as I made my way to the door of my parents’ house and braced myself for the noise that’d hit me when I got in there. Kids screaming, adults screaming, arguments, a million conversations…

What greeted me, though, was pure silence.

Knowing they’d already be seated at the large table Mom had bought a couple of years ago, I walked toward the extension they’d added just last year. It was an extended dining room designed by George Montgomery in an orangery style.

Yeah, I didn’t know what one of those was either until I’d looked it up and discovered it was just as it sounded. Some people wanted areas to grow oranges and plants like that in their homes. In essence, it was like a long greenhouse-type structure.

My parents had decided on a glass roof, and one wall was made up entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows, while the other three were brick. It was gorgeous and long enough for the gazillion-person dining table they’d found in an estate sale and had refinished.

The second I got to the entrance to the dining room from the kitchen, I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t help it, I automatically checked to see where Cole was, expecting to find him bandaged or missing. Finding him sitting next to Ren, I frowned and looked for Gramps and my other brothers.

There was a specific order to who was the most likely to be injured or missing, and once I’d ruled them all out, I checked to see if any of the other chairs were empty.

There was just one—mine.

And then I realized the cause for the silence. Mark was in the chair next to where I was meant to sit, and all of the males in the family, kids included, were glaring at him.

“Evening?” The greeting came out as a question seeing as how I didn’t know what I’d just walked into.

Determined not to let any of them know how much the situation had thrown me—it paid never to let my family scent your fear—I walked casually over to the empty chair and sat down.

Laid down the table were platters and bowls filled with food, but no one had touched them or put any on their plates, making it even weirder.

“Evening, sweetheart,” Mom said with a big smile. Usually, her smiles and greetings made me feel loved, but this one looked scary. There were way too many teeth, and her eyes were just freaky. “We decided to have a family dinner tonight. I just don’t see enough of my kids anymore.”

Was she insane? We were all at the hospital together yesterday, had a family get together last weekend, and normally she yelled at my brothers to get out of her house.

Still, I didn’t want to rock the boat or do anything that could invoke further insanity from my family.

“That sounds… nice?”

Her demonic smile stayed in place, but her jaws didn’t move when she answered me. “Doesn’t it? And Mark’s joining us.”

I knew she was doing the same thing I was, trying to act casual and like nothing was wrong so she didn’t tip the crazy ones over the edge. Shit, what exactly had I walked into?

“Let’s eat,” Dad ground out, his voice sounding like he’d gargled with sand. “I’m starving.”

The platters and bowls were passed around the table as we put food on our plates, and I almost smiled at what Mom had made.

The only meal that’d work magic in this situation was her steak with mashed potatoes, green beans and peas, and a creamy peppercorn sauce that’d make the Gods cry. It was the one thing that’d keep everyone quiet and focused on eating instead of arguing. Well, it was normally arguing, but I’d be stupid not to know tonight’s issues would be down to Mark if people started talking. I just couldn’t figure out why he was even here?

Oh, shit, were they going to push for the divorce?

Suddenly, the food lost its appeal.

“Are you not hungry, Layla?” Dad bit out before putting a piece of steak into his mouth with more force than necessary. He didn’t even wait for an answer before he went back to glaring at Mark.

Deciding anything I had to say would just rock the boat and likely break the seal on the arguing, I kept my head down and pushed the food around on my plate. I didn’t even react to Mark shifting and jerking next to me every now and then.

“Can you pass the potatoes, please?” Tom asked almost robotically.

“I swear you put half the bowl on your plate earlier,” Mom pointed out but likely gave him them anyway. “I don’t know where you boys put all the food you eat.”

Boys—snort. They’d passed the point of being ‘boys’ years ago and were now overgrown Neanderthals.

“Could I get more peas and green beans?” Cole requested, prompting Ren to make his own.

“I’ll take some of those and some more sauce, too.”

“Potatoes over here, please,” Brett grunted.

“Me, too,” Dad added.

Not to be outdone, Gramps spoke up. “Me, three.”

The only sounds after that were from the kids who’d given up on glaring at Mark the moment they’d come into close contact with food and the knives and forks touching the plates.

And then the requests started up again. Sure, they could eat a lot normally, but even I had to admit this amount was unusual for them.

“Hurst, are you sure you should be eating that much? You know how you get when you overeat,” Grams murmured.

“Trust me, I haven’t eaten as much as you think.”

I was just lifting a tiny piece of steak when Mark jerked, making me drop my fork on my plate.

“Apologies. I didn’t mean to do that,” he murmured.

Mom’s horrified gasp distracted me from asking him if he was okay.

“What in the world?” She stood up, her chair screeching across the floor and making me shudder. God, I hated that sound. It was as bad as nails on a chalkboard or Bryony Smith’s voice. “Is that what y’all have been up to and why you wanted more food?”

I lifted my head to see her scowling at Mark. What the hell had I missed?

Grams stood up and glared around the table. “Who did that?”

From where she was, I could see that her focus wasn’t on Mark but on something behind where we were seated. Slowly, I turned around, expecting to see a sign or something outside the window.

Oh, how na?ve of me to think my brothers were amateurs like that.

No, judging by the lumps of potatoes on the windows and the amount of peas and green beans on the floor—or stuck on the potatoes if they were lucky enough to have hit it—they’d been flicking food at Mark.

Turning back to the occupants of the table, it dawned on me that most of the men were seated facing us, apart from Dad, who was next to me at the head of the table but still had a clean line of fire at Mark.

Those pig-headed sons of bitches! No offense to Mom or Grams.

Mom leaned her fists on the table, then got back up again and walked behind us, so she was facing them all. Being the intelligent person I was, I followed her, even though it meant spinning in my chair until my knees were pressed up against Mark’s leg.

“Let me tell you what’s going to happen. First, you’re all going to apologize to our guest for flicking food at him.”

Gramps sat up straight. “But—"

“Oh, don’t you dare, Hurst Townsend,” Grams hissed, leaning down until she was only a foot away from his face. “You’re the one who’s meant to be setting an example, and the one you’ve displayed here tonight is…” she trailed off and looked at the kids who were all watching what was going on closely, even the one strapped into their highchairs. Finally accepting she couldn’t swear like she was just about to, she finished with, “Bad.”

Another glob of potatoes—this time with peas mixed into it—flew across the table and hit the window behind us.

The culprit was Thames, Ren’s son.

“Thames Townsend,” Maya snapped, throwing her napkin on the table as she stood up. “What do you think you’re doing?”

My nephew was only two freaking years old, so he stuck his fist in his mouth and tried to look cute.

Not falling for it, Maya put on her mom voice. “That’s not working. You’ll answer the question, or you’re getting a timeout, and I’m taking away Barnaby.”

That did it. Thames’s eyes filled with tears as he dropped his fist, and then the lower lip began trembling. What came out of him was an explanation that likely only made sense to his mom, given that he had a limited vocabulary and he was emotional.

“Daddy said,” he squealed, the tears turning into sobs. “He said and potatoes. Uncas threw it, and I want Barnaby.” The last bit was literally screamed out as he narc’d on his dad and uncles.

“So, Daddy said to do it, and you thought it was okay because your uncles did it, too?” Maya clarified, basically voicing what I’d managed to translate out of what Thames had said.

Still crying, the kid nodded.

“Okay, you can still have Barnaby because you told the truth, but you’re getting a timeout.” Making sure all of the kids were listening, she said seriously, “There are children in other countries who are starving and would do anything to have the food—”

“And the toys,” Ebru interrupted.

“And the toys,” Maya agreed.

“Oh, and the homes,” Sabine added, leveling her husband with a glare.

“Okay, there are children in other countries who have nothing—not even a bed—who’d love to have everything y’all have. And there you are, flicking food at Uncle Mark because you saw your daddies do it.”

There were some strange noises when she’d said ‘Uncle Mark,’ but nothing beat the throat clearing and sounds of them all standing in unison.

“We’ll just clear the dishes away,” Dad offered, reaching for a bowl.

“You do that, and I’ll scoop some of the food y’all wasted tonight and throw it in your face,” Mom warned. “And you better believe I’m a much better shot than you’ve proven you are.”

Dad paused and looked up at the other men, almost like he was begging them to save him. Yeah, good luck with that, old man. They knew full well how much shit they were in, and they weren’t willing to risk digging a deeper hole to help him out.

“Pussies,” he hissed quietly before sitting back down again.

“Sorry, Mama,” Thames sniffed, picking up Barnaby, his cuddly owl.

When he was roughly six months old, my brother took his family to New York for a weekend break. Thames had an ear infection and was a grizzly bear who couldn’t stop crying, poor kid, until they went to a toy store and Ren stopped pushing his stroller next to where Barnaby was on a shelf. Thames had immediately stopped crying and just reached out for the toy. Weirdly, he’d also been the only one left in the store because they’d had a limited stock of them that’d taken forever to sell, so they’d decided just to finish selling what they had and move on to a different type.

Ren had snapped the cuddly little owl up, and Thames hadn’t cried another tear—so long as he had his Barnaby. The owl had been with him through everything since then, and I knew Maya would never take him away from him for a fact. It'd be cruel to do it with a bond like that to a toy that brought him comfort.

But it’d been a damned effective way to make a point and get him to listen to what she was saying.

I wasn’t a parent, but I understood why she’d done it. That didn’t mean my aunt-heart wasn’t sad and desperate to go and pick the little guy up and give him a cuddle. I was as weak as water when it came to my nieces and nephews, and they knew it. Ask me if I cared!

“You know,” Grams said, sounding disappointed, “Layla’s the baby out of you guys, but she’s the most mature one. She went to school, worked her ass off to become an RN, and was snapped up by a plastic surgeon who helped her get her qualifications to be an aesthetic nurse. That’s a lot of work, you know, and not once did she moan or quit. You guys seem to be stuck in diapers—and that goes for all of you.” She glared at Gramps and then Dad.

“Yeah, going to Vegas and getting married without telling your family is really mature. And he’s probably the reason she dyed her hair purple ,” Brett growled. I could tell he regretted it the second it came out of his mouth, though, by the way he squeezed his eyes shut.

His wife, Sabine, slowly pushed her chair back and reached for their youngest kid. “I can’t believe that even came out of your mouth, Brett Townsend. There’s absolutely nothing to be ashamed of about getting married like that. Anyone with eyes could see that they’d end up together, but even after your grandmother listing how determined and mature Layla’s been, you went and proved how immature and dumb you are.”

Motioning with her hand for their kids to join her, she snapped, “Well, you can sleep outside under the moon for all I care. Perhaps you can sit on hot coals until you get some common sense back.”

Those words might have sounded weak and slightly humorous, but her tone made them seem sinister, almost like she was planning to put him on hot coals. She also had an accent that was a mixture of British and French, and I always found it added something spicy when she was pissed.

Some men might have gotten up and chased after their wife when she stormed away after cutting him to the quick, but Brett was the second eldest and had a modicum of maturity that the others only had on rare occasions.

He looked at me apologetically and faced his first mistake instead of chasing after his second. “Layla, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not?” I asked quietly. “I mean, you’re all probably thinking it, right?”

I felt Mark grab my hand under the table and give it a squeeze. Imagine that, the men in my family had made my ‘enemy’ my ally.

None of the other men could meet my eye, telling me the answer without even vocalizing it. Dick shit fuckers!

Mom looked fit to burst.

“Right, you’re going to get your butts out of those chairs and clean up this mess. After it, you’ll do the dishes and clean the kitchen.” As they all stood up obediently, Mom clapped her hands once. “I wasn’t finished, and you will listen to me.”

It had to be said, I’d seen my mom pissed on quite a few occasions, but never as pissed as this.

“Don’t think I’m letting you off that easily. Before you do any of that, you’re going to look Mark and Layla in the eye, and you’re going to apologize. She isn’t bound by any law to notify you of her decisions. Your sister’s in charge of her own life, and like your grandmother said, she’s more mature than any of you. Mark’s a great guy, and you should be on your knees thanking everything possible that she’s with him.”

Grams stood back and waved toward the kitchen. “You may clean up the table and the kitchen while we have peach cobbler and homemade ice cream.”

Usually that’d get a groan and a shit ton of protests, but this time, all of them stayed quiet aside from some mumbled apologies as they got up and began loading up all the dirty dishes. My dad and Gramps sat back with their arms folded across their chests, watching as my brothers gathered as much as they could.

“Uh, Jack?” Mom called at the same time Grams called out Gramps’ name.

Both men turned and raised their eyebrows at their wives.

Smiling sweetly at him, Grams gestured to his plate. “Up you get and do some dishes.”

“What? Why? I didn’t say it. I happen to like Layla’s hair even though it’s purple,” he spluttered.

“Jack, you know where the stuff to clean the kitchen is,” Mom told him. “And make sure you use the right cleaner on the stove and the area behind it on the wall. They look nice in theory, but it’s easy for the brushed steel to look streaky.

“I think we should redo the kitchen this year, maybe go for one of those granite or sealed cement counters and backsplashes. And I hear that ranges are back in fashion, and they come with an enamel surface that doesn’t require so much attention to streaks when you’re cleaning them.” She raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to say no.

Look, I could be offended that she was basically using me to get a new kitchen out of him, but I wasn’t. Hell no, I was taking notes in case I was ever in a situation like this in the future.

Getting up, he collected his plate and stacked some other dishes on top of it. “Sounds like a great idea, Colette.”

“I thought you’d say that. Could you also bring out one of the cobblers and the ice cream from the freezer? We’ll drop the others off at Mark’s work tomorrow and give them a special treat.”

“Oh yes,” Grams said enthusiastically. “Especially after all of their hard work at Mark’s house tonight. Maybe we should drop them off to the Palmerstown station as well, given that it’s their crime scene guys who are doing all of the swabbings.”

I couldn’t stop my hand from reaching out and grabbing Mark’s face, turning it toward me so I could check him for injuries. “What’s that now? What happened?”

The last I’d allowed myself to hear about his living arrangements, he was renting a small apartment in one of the older blocks in town. Had there been an accident or something?

Grams moved so that she was in the seat Tom had previously been in, directly opposite Mark.

“Didn’t you hear or see all the cars and vans?” When I shook my head, her eyes widened. “Well, your brothers and Mark’s went over to his with that chemical that glows in the dark, and when they sprayed it around the place, it lit up like a Christmas tree.”

I was silent for a moment, trying to make it make sense in my brain, but that damn headache came back with a vengeance.

Rubbing my forehead, I held my other hand up. “Wait, what?”

Taking her previous seat at the table, Mom took the bowls that Dad was now holding out to her. Wisely, he stayed silent and skulked back to the kitchen without saying a word.

“Your grandmother’s right. Apparently, Tom has it all on video.”

Mark finally said something. “He’s not allowed to share it right now while they’re investigating.”

I felt like the lone duck floating on the water with nine hunters loading their weapons around him. “Investigating what? Why was Tom there?”

If it was because he’d gotten arrested, I’d kill him myself.

“He went with Cole, sweetheart. You know what those two are like.” Mom rolled her eyes as Grams cut into the cobbler Gramps had set down, a look of envy on his face.

“Oh, Hurst,” Grams called out, not looking at him as she served us. “We made five of these for tonight. If you could make sure the kids get some and some of the ice cream, that’d be awesome.”

Gramps perked up, a look of deviousness on his face. “Sure, sure, never a problem, Lindee. I’ll do it myself.”

“Oh, and, Hurst?” Gramps turned back around. “I’ll know if any of y’all have even so much as a spoonful of it. Don’t forget who those babies go to when they want to get out of the trouble you get them into.”

The smile on his face fell. “Tattle telling little—”

“Finish that sentence, dear, and you won’t eat anything but boiled cabbage for a month. And you know how that stuff affects your stomach, so you’ll sleep on the porch in a sleeping bag the whole time. Maybe the fresh air would do you some good, though. We’ll have to see.”

Holy hell. When my grandma was like this, she was absolutely outstanding. Her ability to deal shade while not even changing her tone from happy and relaxed was a skill I wanted when I was her age.

Smiling at us, she picked up where she’d left off as if nothing had even happened.

“Yes, investigating. I’m so sorry, Mark, that your house is being invaded like that. Once they clear it for you to move back into, we’ll help you out.” Her eyes slid to the side as her nose scrunched up. “Although, we’ll probably do that after a specialist cleaner’s been inside.”

Turning back to Mark, I asked, “Was someone hurt at your place?”

He dropped his spoon into the bowl and sighed. “That’s what we’re looking into. Whatever happened there needs some answers.” He made a gagging noise. “Or maybe not.”

“I didn’t think those apartments looked safe the last time I went by there. Have they had any work done on them in the last twenty years?”

I was sure that’s where a drug dealer had been arrested. That’s not to say all of them were drug dealers but having someone like that close by could attract trouble. God, what if some of the other inhabitants had kids?

Grams chuckled. “Mark hasn’t lived there for a long time. He bought the Mitchell place on Magnolia Road.”

I didn’t realize I’d dropped my spoon until it hit the bowl, much louder than Mark’s had.

“He what?”

“Surprise!” Mark said dryly.

Anything else I was going to say was interrupted by Gramps yelling in the kitchen.

“She said he bought what? Ah, come on, now we’ve definitely lost Layla. She loves that house more than she loves oxygen. Shit, man, who’s going to be on my poker team on the fourth of July?”

“Jack Townsend,” Mom screamed, glaring over at the entrance to the kitchen.

Sure enough, Dad’s face peeked around the corner hesitantly. “Yes, dear?”

“Stop eavesdropping and help clean the kitchen. Now look what you’ve done.”

My grandpa stormed to the entrance and stood glaring at Mark with his hands on his hips.

“I can’t believe you did something so underhanded… so sneaky… so, so…” his mouth opened and closed while he thought of a word through his anger. Finally, he smiled and looked almost proud. “I’ll go with brilliant. Well played, young man. Well played.”

See, this was the thing about my family—I couldn’t keep up. It was like a constant game of interpretation and psychiatry or psychology. Their moods and reactions ricocheted around the place until they hit one they wanted to stick to.

The only people I knew would be able to explain it to me were the two women sitting across the table, who had years of experience with all of the males in the family.

Grams shrugged her shoulders and casually spooned another mouthful of cobbler into her mouth. “He just doesn’t want to lose his little buddy. Y’all have been tight since you were a baby, and now he has to accept that you’ve grown up.”

Mom looked toward the kitchen again, then a sinister smile appeared. This one wasn’t as scary as the forced one she’d had earlier, but it still made me worried for my sanity.

“Know what? Seeing as how the male Townsends have lost their minds and turned into a bunch of shitheads, while the kids finish off their cobbler, why don’t we tell you some stories about each of them?”

“The kids?” Mark and I asked simultaneously, both sounding confused.

“Oh, I like this idea,” Grams crowed. “I have some good ones.”

“Mom, I’m confused.”

She winked at the grandkids, who were happily talking amongst themselves.

“Well, I like to look at life as a lesson in karma. The guys are due some tonight, so we’ll help it along.” She sat back and added loudly, “Let me tell you about the time we went to Disney World, and Tom showed off the new underwear he just had to have.”

“No!” Tom screamed from the kitchen.

Glancing in that direction, I noticed their wives—minus Sabine—were now standing in the doorway, watching us with gleeful expressions on their faces.

“Ignore him,” Ebru ordered. “Your words are important to us.”

There was more shouting, but Mom, having had years to become numb to it, continued regardless.

“So, we’d gone to Walmart the day before to pick up some stuff for them, and Tom had seen a pack of underwear with Disney characters on it that he just had to have. We tried to talk him out of it, but he threw the world’s biggest tantrum and burst into tears. With everyone looking at us like we were cruel parents, we threw it in the cart and checked out.”

I could see Tom glaring at us over the top of the ladies’ heads, but I knew he’d rather chew his arm off than risk hurting any of them or the kids by pushing through the wall they’d made with their bodies. Smart!

“While we were walking around the park, he came across Donald Duck and decided to show him he was his favorite character… By flashing him his new panties.”

Mark shifted awkwardly next to me. “Kind of sounds like something most kids do, Colette.” He stopped, and then his head turned slowly to where Tom was glaring at Mom. “Wait, did you say panties ?”

“I did.”

He didn’t look away once from my brother, whose eyes were now focused on him. “Not tighty whities or boxers?”

“No, my son had a pack of panties from the girls' section, all in a variety of pastel pinks, purples, and yellows. My favorite one was on the last day, and he had on a pair that—”

“Don’t you dare,” Tom bit out. “You swore.”

“Did I? I don’t remember that, do you, Linda?”

Grams shook her head. “Drawing a total blank on that promise.”

My brother’s gasp was hilarious. “You evil, betraying women, formerly known as Mom and Grandma. From now on, when people ask me if we’re related, I’m saying no.”

It was weak, but he loved them more than life and would never say anything that’d cut them deep.

Grams pumped her fist in the air. “Yes!”

“Oh, thank God,” Mom cried, putting her hand over her heart and looking up at the sky through the glass ceiling. “You’ve been listening all of these years.”

Not to be distracted from what would be one of the best moments of his life, and he knew it, Mark motioned at Mom to continue. “You were saying, Colette, before you were rudely interrupted.”

“Oh, yes, so on the last day, he tells us all he’s wearing his favorite pair of underwear and that he’d been saving it for that day. We’d just come off a ride, and one of those photographers caught us as we walked in front of the castle.

“Of course, we did what most people do and posed as a family, but then Tom asked to have his photo taken on his own. Just as the guy pressed the button, he spun around, pulled his shorts down, and pointed at his butt.”

Mark rubbed his hands together. “What character was on them?”

“There wasn’t one.”

“Don’t say it,” Tom clipped. “Don’t you dare.”

Mom shot him a look. “I’m not an amateur, I still have the photos as proof.”

I thought my brother was going to have a heart attack. His eyes bugged out of his head, and he turned a weird shade of red.

“Can I have a copy?” Sonya asked gleefully. “I don’t even know what was on them because I haven’t heard this story yet, but I already know it’s going to be delicious.”

“Of course. I have an envelope full of copies, precisely for a moment like this.”

I couldn’t help myself. I tapped my knuckles on the table, too excited by what she was about to tell us. “Mom, focus. What was on the underwear?”

“From butt cheek to butt cheek, written in glittery pink, was, ‘I wished hard enough, now I’m a princess for life.’”

Sonya laughed so hard she lost her balance and knocked into Maya, who was laughing just as hard. If it hadn’t been for the hand that grabbed him by the neck of this t-shirt, Tom probably would have used the gap they’d made to get to Mom.

Beside me, Mark wasn’t in any better state than the wives. Then again, neither was I. I swear I was laughing hard enough to get a nose bleed.

“Wait until I have to choose your retirement home,” Tom fumed. “Dad’s getting a palace, and you’re going to a basement run by the guy from Silence Of The Lambs .”

“You have photos of this?” Mark wheezed, holding his side.

“Lots of them. I’ll give you one as a housewarming gift when you can get back into your house.”

The next victim of Storyville was Ren, who she told us had sucked his thumb so much as a kid that he worried her and my dad. Apparently he’d constantly had it in his mouth to the point it looked skinnier and longer than his other one. A doctor had recommended four different things to put on his nail, but he became immune to them. In the end, they told him he had to get a retainer to straighten his teeth, but instead, they had a series of loops added behind the top row to stop him sucking his thumb.

“That’s what they were for?” he asked, looking alarmed. “You said it was to straighten my bottom row from behind.”

“Nope.” Dad finally joined in. “We were desperate, so we lied our asses off to you.”

Mark looked slightly disappointed by the story. “How old was he?”

“Fifteen. On the days where he’d deliberately not wear it, I’d go to the school wearing a t-shirt that said, ‘My Mommy Loves Me,’ with a photo of his naked butt when he was a baby on it to pass it over. He soon learned.”

Just as both of us opened our mouths, she winked. “Yup, got some of the t-shirts spare. Another house warming present.”

Brett, it turned out, had stopped flushing the toilet after he grew out of using a potty, and because he insisted on privacy and had a small half bathroom to himself, they’d never checked he was flushing it all away when he was done.

Well, until one day when he finally decided to do it and ended up flooding the bathroom.

He’d freaked out and had screamed there was a poo monster trying to kill him, which had freaked Cole out, who was only just under two years younger than him. It was also pertinent to mention Brett was six when he started using the toilet instead of the potty at home.

Thinking he was saving his brother, Cole had grabbed up a couple of handfuls—yes, I almost puked my cobbler back up—and threw it at the wall, then grabbed more and did it all over again.

Both of my brothers looked like they wanted the ground to open up and swallow them.

“It’s okay,” Tom commiserated, putting his arm around Brett’s shoulders. “She got us all tonight.”

Cole’s head lifted, and he took in the way my brother was holding the other one with narrowed eyes. “Don’t I get a hug?”

“No way, poopy hands.” He glanced at the kids. “If you ever touch poop, no one will ever want to hug you.”

I’d like to say the kids were smarter than to believe that, but they all looked like they’d been given the best advice possible. To be fair, it wasn’t exactly bad advice if it stopped them from ever doing it. Even the youngest ones, sitting in their chairs with food smeared all over their faces, looked like the advice resonated with them. Jesus!

Cole mumbled something we couldn’t hear and glared at Mom and Grams. “I think I’ve been through enough now, especially after yesterday.”

Grams smiled over at Mark. “This is true. Cole’s just like his grandpa and hasn’t outgrown the phase in life of doing dumb things. We don’t even need to record them because enough people get to witness it when they happen.”

Cole’s shoulders relaxed at that. Oh, the fool.

“However, we make sure to get copies of the security footage and any photos people get on their phones. Ah, the hours of entertainment and laughter we’ve had.”

Here's where I realized that even though he’d enjoyed the hell out of the stories, Mark was trying not to rile my brothers up too much.

Instead of winding them up about what they’d done or asking for more, he chuckled and said, “I’m sure my folks have similar stuff on the three of us.”

My brothers all looked at him with what looked like respect, whereas the women looked disappointed. Well, until they realized it meant having new embarrassing things to look at, watch, and hear about.

He might have grown up with my family, but once they’d become adults and taken on various forms of responsibility, the relationships between them had changed. That’d happened even more when they’d caught us kissing when my sisters-in-law were giving birth and when they’d likely realized we were more than just friends. While I was away, they never mentioned his name or seeing him once the whole time, either. And then there was finding out I’d been married to him the entire time…

Yeah, stuff like that changed how comfortable they’d been around each other, and the ease and casualness of conversations, so them looking at him like they were gave me hope. Just because we hadn’t spoken about ‘us’ yet and I didn’t know where we were headed, didn’t mean I wanted him to have enemies in my family.

What broke me out of my musings was Dad sitting down and asking Cole, “Hey, what was it like dealing with the police two days in a row, son?”

I couldn’t believe he’d bought the Mitchell house. That was my dream home and the one I spoke to him about our future life together in. There was only one reason he’d bought that place—for me.

I got up to take our dirty bowls to the kitchen and was just putting them in the dishwasher when Gramps appeared beside me.

“You know what they say about fairytales coming true, Lala. It looks like it’s happened for you, and that boy’s determined to check them off a list. That house was always your dream home, and once it’s been cleaned and all the sex orgies are wiped away—”

“Wait, sex orgies? The Mitchells were in their late seventies before I left.”

Gramps looked slightly gray. “Try in their mid-eighties.”

Well, shit.

“Didn’t hold them back none, though,” Tom muttered as he put some dishes in the dishwasher. “Mark wasn’t wrong when he said the room lit up like the forest in Avatar at night.”

Gramps frowned. “I don’t remember what that looked like. Was it like when you put those glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling?”

Tom pulled his phone out and hit his photos. The first one he showed us was the forest from the movie at night. It was beautiful and actually a place I’d like to s—

All thoughts of visiting it screeched to a halt when he showed us the following picture.

“Is that paint?”

Tom shook his head. “Nope, we originally thought it was the Luminol doing its job. It shows you where bodily fluids have been, but the uhh sex juices reacted to the black light we were using as well.”

“Please tell me that’s not inside the house,” I whispered.

“Oh, it’s definitely in the house.”

Gramps looked more closely at it. “I wouldn’t say it’s as bright as the picture from the movie. You can see it glowing, but it doesn’t glow -glow.”

“Gramps, picture walking into your own home or standing in a room and seeing it as covered as that. Do you think it makes a blind bit of difference that it’s not as bright as the movie when you know what it is?”

“Probably not.”

“Fortunately, we can probably count out blood because that’s what Luminol reacts to, and these stains can be seen with the black light alone.”

When we both looked up at him, he pointed at his phone again. “We got through some updates tonight, and that means they haven’t found proof someone was murdered in there. Yet,” he added sheepishly.

“Now that you explain it, I’m not sure if it matters what part of the body the stains come from. Just the thought of it makes me need to soak in holy water.”

“That’s unlikely to happen after the state Cole left the new minister in,” Grams announced from the doorway. “You can always bless a bath yourself and hope you don’t burst into flames, though.”

It seemed there was always a hiccup in the road for Mark and me—and I used the word ‘hiccup’ sarcastically. The reason we’d gotten married, the way I’d left, the house.

What else could happen?

“Oh, Mark’s staying at yours until the house has been cleared and cleaned,” Mom said as I walked back into the dining room.

For once, I didn’t even feel the urge to protest or argue. Instead, my brain went from slightly paralyzed to overworked as I tried to figure out what I wanted to talk to him about first and how I would even broach the subjects with him.