Chapter 24
CHASE
“Why are you so annoying?” Mason growls at me, one arm anchoring a clingy Macey to his chest. She just woke from a nap and she’s doing that thing young kids do when they suddenly forget how to smile and want to hide in their parents’ necks.
I switch on the blender full of pineapple, condensed milk, and ice cubes, the loud grinding filling the open-plan kitchen.
“What was that? I can’t hear you!” I yell over the noise.
“I said, why are you being so annoying?” Mason raises his voice above the blender, capping a hand over his daughter’s ear.
I point at the blender and then at my ear, mouthing apologetically, “Sorry!”
Mason rolls his eyes, scooping up the baby monitor from the island countertop and stalking away.
He’s got an eternal stick shoved right up his ass, and I swear it’s getting worse the older he gets.
He’s so soft and kind with Mia, or his kids, but for some reason I’m deeply filed away in the category of hate.
I force down the boiling dark thing that threatens to surface every time he’s an ass to me for no reason.
Letting the blender die, I slice open the limes sitting on the chopping block. “You want some of this before I add rum, Pepto?”
Sunny’s sun-kissed face bobs up from the book she’s engrossed in on the other side of the island, her feet swinging from the tall breakfast stool and a damp towel wrapped around herself. “What is it?” She wrinkles her nose at the slushy concoction as I pop the top and squeeze in the lime.
“Brazilian lemonade. It’s good, you should have some.
” Perhaps I should take some to Mom…sans rum, too.
Maybe check if she ate any of the sandwich I took her at lunch time.
I can’t deny that I’m becoming increasingly concerned about her mood swings.
One second, she is at least in some small way the larger-than-life charismatic woman she used to be, and then it all disappears in a wisp of smoke, leaving me wondering if I imagined it.
“Can I try a bit with the rum?” Sunny’s spine straightens a little, a small smile toying with her mouth.
I chuckle, securing the lid back down. “So the boss can dangle me from a tree by my ankles when she gets back? No chance.”
On second thought, it might be worth it just to see that chestnut fury wage war in her pointed glare as she spits fire at me.
I can’t stop thinking about her, remembering her soft skin and the way she parted her legs for me without hesitation.
Those breathy whimpers and eager kisses all sending my mind hurtling down a one-way track to a place where there is a big bed and no clothes.
I switch the blender back on, more to drown my own thoughts out than anything, and watch as Sunny rolls her eyes and drops her head back to the book in her lap.
She’s a good kid, sensitive, funny, and a crap-ton more confident than I was at her age.
I like her more than I was expecting to.
Only because teenagers typically tend to be painful and dumb—I know I was.
“Honey, we’re home!”
I look up to see the girls arrive, their arms laden with black string bags full of groceries. Chloe has managed to find a tiny sombrero, which clings to the side of her head with a piece of elastic.
“It’s not cultural appropriation, it’s cultural appreciation.” She wedges her finger in my direction at my raised brows.
I flip off the blender as Pepper appears at her side, red in the face and huffing out breath due to the three bags on each arm.
“How many people are we feeding?” I lift the bags from her, trying very hard to ignore the sharp zing of electricity that shoots up my arm when our fingers brush.
“Uh, thanks,” she mutters a little sheepishly, her eyes landing on Sunny as unmistakable relief glazes her face. “Is Terrence okay?”
“Getting washed up for dinner.” I jerk my head softly up toward the ceiling.
“Good lord,” Mia mutters as she ditches her bags on the island counter. “I think we may have overdone it.”
“Ya think?” Sunny sticks her nose over an open bag to see what’s inside.
“Oi, you little twerp. Time to go shower before dinner, okay?” Pepper chivvies her off the bar stool, and takes her place when Sunny reluctantly vacates it, taking her book with her.
I drag a bottle of rum over and flick off the cap, pouring a healthy measure through the small funnel at the top of the mixer.
Mason appears like his owner rang a bell, swooping down to kiss Mia’s cheek from behind. “Missed you, baby,” I hear him rumble.
“Excuse me while I go and intentionally rupture my ear drums,” I mutter under my breath, choosing that moment to flick the blender back on full blast for its final mix.
“Are the kids okay?” I hear her respond over the noise.
“The twins are napping and Diego is teaching Macey how to make daisy chains outside—Zeke is watching them.”
They’re all up in my space, and I can’t exactly move as the blender is at the end of its cable. It wouldn’t matter too much, except my brother is the size of a bear. I shift my stance a touch to give them more room.
“I got some formula to try, by the way…it’s in one of the bags.”
I try to tune out their domestic little discussion, my focus consumed with tamping down my growing resentment toward my brother.
I’ve just switched the blender off and pulled my glass closer to pour myself a portion when an arm reaches across the counter next to me for one of the bags.
Given our cramped quarters, it pushes me into the lip of the chopping board and the knife clatters to the floor, the razor-sharp tip rebounding just an inch away from my foot.
“Dude, what is your fucking problem?” I erupt without thinking, whirling around. Everyone in the room goes completely silent.
Mason is instantly tense, straightening himself to be square with me. “I don’t have a problem,” he says through teeth ground so tight I’m surprised they don’t turn to dust.
“You couldn’t have just asked me to pass it to you?
” I feel something I’m not used to beginning to claw its way up my throat, red-hot talons scorching everything they touch.
“You’ve spent your whole trip acting like me being here is an inconvenience.
You do know we’re brothers, and this is our house? ”
“We’re not the same.” He sneers the words with such malice that I physically recoil, shocked to see his usual stoic mask drop. Disgust crackles like an electrical storm in his icy blue eyes, whatever steely veil he usually wears over them burned away, letting me see the extent of his hatred.
“Say it with your chest, Mason.”
“You think you’ve had it bad for all these years swaggering around like the idiot life of the party?” Mason gets in my face, his finger landing hard on my chest. “Everything is a fucking joke to you, and do you wanna know why?”
I grieve the words he’s about to expel before I even know what they are.
“Because you got off easy.” Mason’s breath comes in ragged, as untethered as I’ve ever seen him.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I shake my head, forcing myself not to go there. To that dark time our family has tried to forget.
“Mason,” Mia breathes, placing a hand on his upper arm in gentle warning. A quick glance her way tells me that she has tears in her eyes.
“Yes I do, and I’m done.” Mason swipes a hand through the air, the other wedged against the countertop.
“Mason,” Mia warns again, sharper this time. He ignores her still, and I can do nothing but feel the adrenaline spike through my body.
“I am done babying you!” It’s the closest thing I’ve ever heard to a shout from him since we were little boys.
“What the fuck are you on about?” I squint at him, utterly perplexed and furious. “Do you know what, Mace? I’ve had it with you treating everyone else like shit because you’re so fucked up!”
“Chase!” Mia cries, looking horrified.
One corner of Mason’s mouth slants upward into a sadistic half smile that looks anything but friendly. “Not everyone, just you.”
My vision goes red, thirty-six years of repressed anger at this person erupting in a cloud of scalding ash.
I thought his cold indifference was tough, but this makes me realize I had the lesser of two evils all along.
I grit my teeth, grabbing the front of his shirt and fisting it tight.
The muted sounds of panic erupt around us, my blood rushing too fast in my ears to hear properly.
“That’s enough!” A loud, commanding tone rings out across the house—one I’ve heard many times, and in that exact same foreboding tone over the course of my life.
Mom strides toward us in her navy bathrobe, her eyes flashing as she surpasses a bone-white couch.
“Stop squabbling like children and act like the grown men that you are.”
Me and Mason glare at each other, locked in one another’s grip, tension crackling off my shoulders as I brace myself for a fight.
“Suprise!” a high female voice calls out from the front of the house, and we all look to see Teddy and Jackson at the door, both cheery faced, a bottle of wine in each of Teddy’s hands.
Teddy takes one look at us all, standing there stupidly, me with my hands practically around Mason’s neck. “Erm…bad time?”
“Yes,” Mason and I respond in unison, at the same time as everyone else rushes to reassure them otherwise.
I release him roughly enough that he takes a measured step back, his glacial eyes still trained on me.
Taking one look at everyone’s shocked faces, I turn around, heading silently past them all and avoiding eye contact.
Something inside me is beginning to crumble, and I need to be alone when it happens.