Epilogue #4
And it was not lost on Dutch that Wilder, who used to
worship him, hadn’t even looked at him.
So she did that with Dutch saying, “I stole your cat, you
stole my brother. This is not even.”
Which made her smile.
Massive.
But it also made Wilder stop dead.
“Where’s Murtagh?” he demanded.
“He’s at home, little bro,” Georgie told him.
Wilder finally looked to his oldest brother.
And he did that to order, “Go get him.”
“We got enough going on without a cat in the mix,” Hound
declared.
Wilder looked up to his father. “But Daddy! Murtagh can’t be
alone on Christmas! He’s family!”
Hound looked at his son.
Then at his other son.
That being Dutch.
And he did what he always did if it was within his power to
do it.
He gave them what they wanted.
“You mind gettin’ him, Dutch?”
Hound asked.
Dutch dumped the bags he was carrying and said, “Be right
back.”
This bought him an even bigger smile from Georgiana before
she took off to help his brother wrap a present, and Dutch took off to go get
their boy.
It was much later, Wilder was finally down in a way he’d
stay down (they hoped), and they were all sitting around, the men drinking
whiskies, the women drinking wine, when Hound got up from the couch after a
quick kiss for his wife, and loped off.
Dutch didn’t think much of it, figuring he was going to the
can.
Instead, he was thinking he was glad he and Georgie got the
guest bedroom, which meant Jag had to take the couch, because Wilder would
probably be up in about four hours, and the first person who would get his
wakeup call would be the one who was on the couch.
He was also thinking that he felt no guilt about the fact
Georgie wasn’t super close to her family, so he and his family got her for
Christmas.
Sure, the next day, they were heading to her dad’s house for
a drink and to give him, Michelle and Carolyn some time, but Georgie promised
that would last an hour, at most two (her mother was on a cruise, something she
did every year—a rare bonus from that broad, who Dutch had now met twice, and
he couldn’t dilute it, she was such a haughty, disapproving bitch, this aimed
at him, but mostly at Georgie, he detested her).
And Georgie had let Dutch promise Keely they’d be at her
Christmas dinner table, so he knew she was serious about that.
These were his thoughts when he got early warning that Hound
didn’t hit the head when he came back too soon, and Dutch felt Georgie tense
against him as he did.
Then Hound stood in his own living room carrying what looked
like a very thick scrapbook for only a second before he announced, “It was
Georgie’s idea and I was down with helpin’ her
because what she said was right. This shit’s gotta
stop. If you’re doin’ it for me, or whatever reason
you’re doin’ it, it’s just gotta
stop.”
He then dropped the scrapbook on the coffee table with a
loud thud and the nearly decimated plate of Georgiana’s cookies jumped
when he did.
So did everyone in the room, including Dutch.
“Now, me and Georgie are gonna
hang out outside by the firepit and give you time. Take it,” Hound finished.
Then he reached a hand Georgie’s way.
Jag was staring at the scrapbook like it was going to form a
mouth and bite him.
Dutch was staring at his mother.
She was glaring at Hound.
But before Georgie could catch Hound’s hand, Keely snapped,
“If that book is what I think it is, don’t you take one single step out of this
room, Hound Ironside.” Her eyes swung to Georgie. “You either, Georgiana.”
“Woman, this needs to be Black’s,” Hound returned.
Dutch felt his throat close and his arm around Georgie, who
was nestled into him in a cuddle chair, tightened.
“Okay, it wasn’t my place—” Georgie started.
“It is absolutely our place. And you were right, it’s high
time and was about twenty years ago,” Keely decreed, reached for the book,
opened it and lifted her gaze to Hound. “The brothers help with this?”
“Yeah,” he grunted.
She looked down at the opened scrapbook.
And her face got soft.
“Seriously, your father was one good-lookin’
man,” she whispered.
Dutch’s attention shot to Hound.
But he just said, “That brother got all the good pussy.”
“He sure did,” Keely agreed.
Georgie giggled, somewhat nervously, mostly with humor.
“Someone, kill me,” Jagger said. “I mean it. Right now. Kill
me dead.”
“Shut up, Jagger, and come sit by your momma,” Keely cooed,
flipping through the pages.
“She’s talkin’ to me like I’m
Wilder’s age, so, seriously,” Jag was staring at Dutch, “kill me.”
It was then it struck Dutch for the first time that his baby
brother was at the age Dutch was when he’d lost his dad.
But Wilder was asleep in his bed, and outside in his living
room was a mom and a dad, two brothers, a sister, a ridiculously social cat,
and so many presents waiting for him to open up the next morning, it was more
than a little insane.
And that was when it occurred to him that God took his dad
away so they could have Hound, Wilder and all of this.
Dutch did not know if he’d trade it to have his dad back. He
did not know, if his dad knew this was what would happen, if he’d welcome that
blade at his throat to give them the precious things that would come to their
lives after he was gone.
He just knew his father loved Keely, Dutch, Jagger, Hound,
he’d adore Georgie because he’d know Dutch did, as well as Wilder.
So in the end, it didn’t matter.
This was what they had.
And it was beautiful.
And Graham Black would think the same thing.
He pushed Georgie up in front of him then took her hand and
guided her down on his lap as he sat beside his mother who had shifted to the
middle of the couch.
She didn’t stay seated for long.
Hound pulled her up, sat in her place, then yanked her down
on his lap.
Jagger took the other side.
Keely got right down to it, flipping back to the front.
“Okay, this one, I can’t believe it, who remembered this? It
had to be Millie. Maybe Rush got it from Naomi, which makes this is the only
thing I’d ever thank that woman for, but this is us at the first Chaos hog
roast I attended. I met your dad that night.”
On her words, Dutch zeroed in on the first picture in that
scrapbook that was just a photo of the two of them standing together. His dad
was smiling down at his mom, but in hearing what she said, he could see the
flirty way she was standing, and the relaxed, confident line of his father’s
frame.
“I played hard-to-get for, oh, I don’t know, all of about
two seconds,” she went on.
Dutch tore his eyes from the photo and looked across at
Jagger to see Jagger already looking at him.
What he was feeling was in his brother’s eyes.
They had something precious now, in that room, in that
house…
And in a scrapbook.
Jag dipped his chin.
Dutch did the same.
“God, you look so much like him, honey. Every time I see it,
I think it’s so cool,” Georgie breathed.
It was.
So cool.
His hold on her tightened.
Then he looked again at the book and Dutch settled back,
leaning into Hound.
His woman settled, leaning into him.
And his mother kept talking.
He looked and listened.
When Hound came to them, really came to them, and
made them a whole family again, Christmases got good again.
It wasn’t that his mom didn’t give good holiday, she did.
It was just that Hound made it a whole lot better.
When they got Wilder, especially when he got old enough to
get into it, it got off-the-charts better.
But that Christmas…
Right there…
Before the actual day even got there…
It was the best Dutch could remember.
“Murtagh, don’t eat that ribbon,” Georgie ordered.
“Mwrr.”
“Murtagh, don’t make me come over there,” Georgie snapped.
“Mwrr!” Murtagh
fired back, then flounced away from the tree and jumped into Jag’s lap.
“Yeah, it sucks, but we don’t need that comin’
out the other end, dude,” Jag told him, curling him in his arms.
“Murr-ow,” Murtagh replied.
Jag started stroking.
Murtagh started purring.
“Okay, this was the night Boz got so tossed, he challenged
every brother to an arm wrestling contest,” his mother said, and Dutch looked
down to a photo of his father sitting in a chair, his mom draped over his back
with both her arms around him, both of them looking at the same thing,
laughing. “He lost. To everyone but Chew. We should have known about Chew right
then, shouldn’t we have, baby?” she asked Hound.
Hound grunted.
Keely turned a page.
Meanwhile
Meanwhile…
Two weeks later, in a heat snap that
was not unknown during Denver winters, the first time Dutch could take his
Georgie on his bike…
Georgiana was surprised, when Dutch went for
his wallet to pay, the big, frightening-looking barista said, “That’s on me,
brother.”
They exchanged a look.
More surprising, Dutch didn’t fight it and took his hand
from his pocket.
Five minutes later, she took a sip of the best coffee she’d
ever tasted.
Apparently, it was true what everyone said: the coffee at
Fortnum’s Used Books was the best in Denver.
Dutch got his and took her hand to walk her back into the
stacks, but he exchanged another glance with the biker-looking guy who was
behind the book desk.
She didn’t ask.
If Dutch wanted her to know, he’d tell her.
Though, from what she could read, it seemed the thing that
was being communicated was that something was all good.
Georgiana and Dutch spent the next two hours in the stacks,
twenty minutes of it making their selections, the rest of it curled up together
in a big chair in the way back, sipping coffee and reading.
They walked out to buy their books when Dutch heard
Georgie’s stomach growling.
He took her out to dinner and then he took her home and
right to bed.
It would be the next day, Sunday, when Georgie won a round
and talked Dutch into letting her be the one to get up and get them coffee.
And while it was brewing, she went and grabbed the books
from the mudroom and stowed them on one of Dutch’s many shelves.
By the picture of his dad.