Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Briar
I whisk the Béarnaise sauce so vigorously that my arm feels as though it’s going to fall off.
But I can’t stop whisking, not if I want my sauce to survive.
And seriously, what had I been thinking, making a Béarnaise sauce to go with the carefully seared and roasted with lots and lots of butter and garlic and thyme steaks.
Steaks are now resting, cooked to a precise medium rare (thanks, meat thermometer).
Steaks that will accompany the scalloped potatoes.
Oh, and the huge Caesar salad and roasted brussels sprouts that I threw together to accompany Colt’s favorite meal.
And to get some vegetables into my family.
Our arteries will thank us.
Dessert is chilling in the fridge, an intricate chocolate lasagna.
Also Colt’s favorite dessert.
I’ll be serving it with huge hunks of lemon pie.
Colt’s second favorite dessert.
Yeah, I may have gone a bit overboard.
But Atlas is coming to dinner (Lily is on the road), along with Royal and Jade, Banks and Aspen and Maisie, and Willow.
And…Dash.
Mostly because Willow forced him to come.
But also because I asked—or well, made it a Mandatory Sunday Dinner.
Then gave Dash my sad, little sister, puppy dog eyes to get him to agree to attend.
So, everything has to go perfectly.
Because if it doesn’t then my family—
“That looks good.”
I jump as Colt’s voice comes from very near my ear, realize I’ve stopped stirring.
And now my Béarnaise is at risk of breaking.
Shit.
I whisk more vigorously, ignoring Colt when he sweeps the hair off my nape, bending to brush my lips against the now-exposed skin, making me shiver, threatening to break my focus.
“I need to finish this,” I tell him, continuing to stir, but doing it as I’m sidestepping his big, tempting, hard body.
So I can focus.
His hand settles on my waist, and he draws me back against him, lips at my ear now. “Baby—”
I jerk when the timer on the oven goes, sparing one more look at my sauce before pulling it off the heat. It looks perfect, so I exhale a relieved breath, set it aside, turn off the burner, then hurry over to the oven.
“Baby—”
Colt is close again as I open the oven door, both of us getting a face full of steam.
I study the top of the scalloped potatoes, seeing it’s almost perfectly golden brown.
Just a few more minutes.
I bend, check on the asparagus, getting more steam before I study the stalks.
Almost there. I reset the timer.
“Briar, baby—”
I close the oven door, hurry back over to my sauce and start transferring it into the serving dish.
“Briar—”
“Out,” I say, jerking my chin to the hall. “I need to finish before everyone gets here.”
He opens his mouth again, but Frankie beats him to the punch.
And immediately throws me right under the bus.
“Mommy only cooks like this when she’s nervous.”
Ugh.
Why did I have kids?
His eyes come to mine then he crouches, smoothing back Frankie’s hair. “Will you go watch for your aunts and uncles, baby?”
“’Kay!” she agrees for once.
Then again, she loves her aunts and uncles.
I focus on dressing the salad, ignoring Colt’s footsteps as he comes closer again.
“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, hugging me from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder as I add the croutons and parmesan cheese then finish tossing the salad.
“Of course, it’s going to be okay,” I lie.
Unless the men get into a fight and overturn the table, thus ruining the food and injuring Colt when he’s finally almost better.
“Baby.”
The timer goes off and I hurry back over to the scalloped potatoes, the asparagus, then slide in the rolls that just need to be toasted.
He waits until I close the oven then tugs me close again, cupping my jaw and tilting my head up. “Talk to me.”
It’s an order.
But I can tell by his set expression that he’s not going to let this go.
“Dash is coming.”
“I know, baby.”
“He…” I nibble at my bottom lip. “He might not be…welcoming.”
Colt stills.
Then drops his head back and laughs.
It’s loud and beautiful and so much like the Colt I fell in love with as a teenager that I freeze, watching him, soaking it in.
His gaze comes to mine, grin wide, and then he loops an arm around my middle and drops his lips to mine.
“I can handle it, baby,” he says once he’s kissed me senseless.
“Ugh!” I hear from behind him, turning to see Frankie standing in the opening, Banks holding Maisie, Aspen and Jade arm-in-arm, Willow at their side, Atlas and Royal behind them, and…
Dash.
Standing slightly removed, looking ready to murder Colt for daring to touch me, to kiss me, to hold me close.
That’s when the timer for the rolls goes off.
“And that was the end of that,” Colt finishes, the story of him, Dash, and their squadron battling against a goat who was obsessed with a soccer ball of all things.
Frankie laughs, and I’m right there with her.
The image of the goat chasing them all, wanting to get the ball and not afraid to use his horns to make it happen has all of us laughing.
All except Dash.
Who snorts and rolls his eyes, shoving his food around on his plate but not really eating it.
Even though he loves my Béarnaise sauce and seared steak and scalloped potatoes almost as much as Colt does.
Not tonight, though.
I swear he’s barely had a single bite.
“And then what’d you do, Daddy?” Frankie asks. “After the ball popped?”
“Well,” he says, ignoring the way my brother goes ramrod stiff at her use of the name Daddy (something we all take his lead on and do the same), “then your Uncle Dash did what he does best.”
Frankie tilts her head to the side in silent question.
Colt looks at Dash, holding my brother’s gaze for the first time. “He found a way to get over it.”
The table takes a collective breath, bracing.
“Then he helped me fix it.”
Frankie frowns. “But I thought Uncle Atlas’s superpower is fixing things?”
“It is, sweetie,” Jade says.
“Even all of Uncle Atlas’s fixing superpowers couldn’t fix this fucked-up shit,” Dash mutters from next to me.
I toss my napkin down onto my plate, turn to glare at my brother.
Willow steps in before I blow my stack, leaning over and ruffling Frankie’s hair. “Uncle Atlas is great at fixing things. But”—she grins, stage whispering—“Uncle Dash is pretty good at it too.”
“Oh.” She considers that. “He did help me put the batteries in my remote control car.”
“Because her Daddy wasn’t around to help with it.”
Another mutter.
One I hear. One that almost everyone hears.
Except for Frankie, thankfully.
Because she’s gotten up to get her remote control car.
“See?” she exclaims, running back and shoving it in Willow’s face. “It goes really fast.”
Willow smiles, glances over at me, teeth nibbling at her bottom lip. Then she looks at Frankie again. “Will you show me how fast it can go?”
“We gotta do it in the front yard,” Frankie says solemnly. “The grass in the back yard is too thick.”
“Let’s do it,” Willow says. “I need to walk off all that good food anyway to make room for dessert.”
“Yay!” Frankie yells, running out of the room.
Willow follows at a far more sedate pace, pausing only to squeeze my shoulder. “Breathe, honey,” she whispers.
I cover her hand with mine.
Then nod.
She smiles then slips from the room.
I wait until I hear the front door open and close then turn to Dash. “You’re out of line and you need to stop.”
“What you need to do is stop pretending you three are just a happy family,” Dash grits out, spinning in his chair, his angry face close to mine, his hazel eyes flashing.
“We’re not pretending. We’re trying to figure things out and it’s not perfect, but it’s making me and Frankie and Colt happy so you need to deal.”
“You need to protect yourself,” he grits out.
“From what?” I snap, throwing my hands up. “The man who loves me?”
“From when he leaves you again!” he growls. “Because that’s what he does. He fucking leaves and doesn’t give a shit about the fucked-up disaster that he leaves behind!”
I flinch.
Because it’s me he’s talking about.
I’m the fucked-up disaster that was left behind.
Atlas opens his mouth. Banks shifts in his chair. Royal starts to stand.
But Colt is faster than any of them, stabbing his finger in Dash’s direction. “You. Me. Back yard.” A beat. “Now.”