It was Carmen who brought Alex back to the moment at hand when she righteously proclaimed in an unambiguous bark that she most certainly had seen to it that Doña Meghan was eating, as she should. Without saying the words, she’d just informed him that she knew damn well the Marquez bride was knocked up and should be eating for two.
Speaking softly to his wife he said, “Why don’t you grab a bowl of fruit and some of that yogurt I hear you ladies prattling on about and join me upstairs? I need a shower and a quick shave before dinner.”
Meghan’s amused, honeyed voice was music to his ears. “Yes to the fruit, yogurt and shower. No to the shaving. She reached for him and scrubbed her knuckles on his stubble-covered cheeks. “Zorro has a mustache. Right, Carmen?”
“TV Zorro, yes,” Carmen laughed with real enthusiasm. “But movie Zorro? Pfft. Babyface.”
Two against one. Looked like he wasn’t shaving.
“No mustache,” he grumbled. “I’d look like a fucking dork. But if scruffy turns you on, I suppose for you, I won’t shave.”
“Dork?” Carmen looked genuinely confused.
Meghan giggled. “El menso,” she said gravely.
Oh great. Just what he needed! Alex should have known it wouldn’t be long before his Irish wife felt confident enough to sprinkle her speech with Spanish. But then again, it would be cool to teach his kid the language of his ancestors.
On impulse, he grabbed his wife by the hips and nearly yanked her off the high stool so he could part her thighs and step closer. “We’re going to renegotiate your understanding of what you can and cannot say to your master.”
“Dominar,” she murmured. “I like that.” She was all but purring. “Carmen says it means to master or subdue.”
“Cállate,” Carmen roared with teasing humor before shaking her head at them and melting into the woodwork.
His wife’s flushed cheeks made her beauty luminous. They snickered in unison at the housekeeper’s snarky final word.
“Dominar,” he growled. “I like it, but are you using the word properly?”
Meghan grinned. “Don’t care. Dominar it is,” she cooed. “Oh, and you may add Carmen’s forbidden ‘shut up’ to my tally.”
Someone was so going to get her ass pinked.
2
Standing in front of the doublewide bank of windows in the dining nook of his two-story condo, Finn focused on the southwestern landscape as he went about his brutal workout. Gripping heavy weights, he grunted through a double round of seated shoulder presses in the gym he’d cleverly improvised.
He needed a breakfast nook like he needed a sewing room. There were stools at the kitchen island and a dining table for six in the great room. As far as he was concerned, that was good enough. He didn’t plan on doing much home entertaining. So his gym nook took shape in the unusual pocket off the kitchen. Small, but not too small, the wide archway and deep half-moon of high-ceilinged space suited his needs perfectly. And the view wasn’t all that bad.
His shoulders on fire, he ended the workout and struggled not to let the heavy dumbbells crash to the floor. Once his hands were free, Finn peeled off a pair of wrist-wrap gloves and flexed his fingers.
Every so often his eyes drifted back to the view from his window. Reaching for a nearby towel, he wiped down then drank from his water bottle.
It sure as shit is different here, he thought. Having nothing but the seaport city of Boston in a state with an overabundance of seventeen hundred years of history as his frame of reference, the vast open spaces, bright sunny days and soft, warm nights of the American Southwest seemed like a different planet.
He picked up the low hum of his current ringtone and smirked. Paradise City. The guitar intro. Slash would always be Finn’s hard-to-explain alter ego.
Jumping up, he ran and grabbed the phone before the call got dumped to voicemail. He hated voicemail.
Barry’s name was on the screen. They were supposed to meet up later. Finn wondered if there was a change in plans.
“Dude,” he chuckled amiably. “You changing this rippah to another night?”
“Aw, jeez. Hold the fuck on while I get out my Bah-stin to English translator. Rippah?” Barry’s voice rippled with dry, good humor and brought a grin to Finn’s face.
“Seriously?” he snorted. “Shelly’s domesticity plan must be working if you can’t identify a relatively well-known term for partying. What the hell, man! Come on! Rippah! Like a beer fest. A kegger. Time to party down? Get our drunk on. No?”
He enjoyed the easy give-and-take of this new friendship. Barry Grant was a business-smart and life-savvy guy, despite the outward hipster appearance that blended effortlessly with what Finn termed cowboy comfort.
A rumbling hoot of laughter sounded through the phone. “Speaking of Shelly,” Barry said in an amused drawl, “she’s blonde again. Says this is it. Blonde from now on.”
“California blonde or suburban mom blonde?”
“What the hell’s the difference?”
“Well,” Finn snickered. “One says let’s pick out curtains and the other says your days are numbered.”
His new friend’s boisterous laugh boomed loudly, making Finn pull the phone away from his ear.
“O’Brien, you are a piece of work. I tell you my lady has a new hair color, and that’s your comment? Unbelievable.”
Finn imagined Barry’s head shaking in mock disbelief as he stroked his dark brown beard. He wondered briefly what color flannel shirt the guy was wearing today.
“Hey man, what the hell do I know about females and their constantly changing hair? My last girlfriend butchered the shit out of her hair without any lead-up. One day long and the next I was having dinner with Miss Buzz Cut 2016.”
Barry’s laughing response was joking and hearty and hit much closer to the mark than the guy knew.
“What the shitting fuck did you do to end up on the receiving end of such a dramatic makeover?”
Damn good question, he thought with a peeved scowl. What a holy mess that had been. A mess he barely escaped.
“Played the chump, my friend. That’s what I did. Let her sell me a raft of shit and once she got what she wanted, her true colors came out.”
“Did these true colors resemble her scalp with no hair?”
“Something like that.”
There was a silent pause in the conversation. Finn hadn’t intended to get serious. Especially not talking about something he was trying real hard to forget. Barry’s silence felt thoughtful. When guys communicate, mute sidesteps are inevitable.
“Shelly and me have an agreement. I won’t get any more tattoos, and she won’t cut her hair.”
Switching the phone to speaker, he dropped it on the kitchen counter and reached for a glass left in the dish drainer. “Are you serious or yanking my chain?”
“Ah, god. Totally serious, man. Relationships need compromise. She’s kind of over the ink thing. The dragon on my shoulder blade was the last straw. I’m cool with respecting her opinion. And I’m okay with the weird hair color choices. Don’t care what color it is as long as I can grab a good handful. Compromise.”
Hmph. Finn half-filled the glass from the tap and poured the water into a small dish garden Shelly made him buy for the kitchen windowsill. He liked the easy-going vibe Barry and his girl put off.
An unlikely pair, Shelly was half quirky freak and half smart lady with a lot on the ball. A dental assistant, she spent her days in blue medical scrubs. Finn just assumed the pink hair and oddball accessories were her way of adding interest to a bland world. A little on the hyper side, she was a good match for the typically laid back Barry. He was the steady type who kept the ship from rocking while she danced the night away.
“So what prompted the change to permanent blonde?”
“That’s why I called. Do you mind keeping an eye on the new guy? He’ll have to handle the lunch crowd solo. I’m gonna be late, sorry.”
“Barry. Jesus. Throw me a lifeline, would you
? If why you called had something to do with Shell’s hair color, how the hell does that connect to you being late and Grey handling the bar by himself?”
Greyson Turner was their newest hire. He was a down-on-his-luck divorced dad with two kids and a little sister, living in a shitty trailer on the outskirts of Bendover. After trying every job possible from car salesman to day trading, he decided to get his ass in school to learn a trade so he could lift his struggling family up and get them moving in the right direction.
He and Barry couldn’t believe their good luck when Grey strolled into Pete’s one afternoon looking for a job. Going to school, plus taking care of his kids and sister, made the guy’s schedule look like a patchwork quilt. But he had mad skills behind the bar, was a hard worker with a hellacious sense of dry humor, and deserved to catch a break. They hired him on the spot.
Barry was laughing. “I know, man. Suck at telling stories. Shelly always says I can’t explain my way across the street. God, I love that girl. She’s a pretty big handful, but she gets a permanent pass for putting up with my bullshit.”
“Word.”
“So anyway, she’s been making her way through the ranks at work. Started out as an assistant doing the grunt stuff. Then she got certified to be a hygienist. Not long ago a bang position opened up. Office manager. She wanted it bad—so, move aside eccentric Shelly and say hello to the new and improved version because we just found out the promotion is hers. She says we’re getting ahead in life.” Barry grunted. It sounded equal parts agreement and wonder. “Buying Pete’s was a huge step. Like a lunar landing giant leap. And now Shell getting a management gig. Damn. I can hardly believe it.”
Finn considered this from-left-field development and broke into a wide smile.
“Barry—my man. That is too fucking cool. Tell your lady I said congrats. It looks like we’re all finally card-carrying adults.”
“I know, right? She’s gonna come by the bar after work so we can celebrate. That’s why I’ll be late. Want to run into town and pick up a few things. Make it special.”
He heard something in the other man’s tone and if he was right, Shelly was in for more than congratulations and a champagne cork.
“And uh, listen,” Barry added. “While you’re keeping an eye on Grey, you might want to stop being a whiny cock gobbler and set up the damn meeting with your in-law and Parker Sullivan. I know you’ve got issues, Finn, but no shit man. Desert Thunder is important to Pete’s. When those guys take the stage, the house is packed, and there’s rarely any fuckery going down in the crowd because Justice doesn’t like that shit.”
Fuck. Sighing, he gripped the back of his neck and gave a squeeze. It had been weeks since he and Meghan had their welcome home blowout. Almost immediately Finn regretted what he’d thrown at her. And not just because it wasn’t pleasant. Hearing the shit trapped in his head spoken out loud triggered a shift in his thinking. It wasn’t as bad as he made it sound, and to his uncomfortable shame he knew he’d gone way too far with his sister.
Things were better thanks in large measure to his brother-in-law. Major Zorro. They still had a long way to go, but he was glad for the chance to calm things down and find common ground. Parker’s band and Alex’s role as his kick ass drummer turned out to be neutral territory.
His brother-in-law was a shrewd and calculating operator. Finn had to give it to him, because the guy had scary smart talents when it came to moving pieces on a chessboard. No wonder he’d been a commanding officer. Alex didn’t so much manipulate as foster and encourage. He was starting to like the guy, although begrudgingly.
Barry was completely capable of working out a deal with Parker and Desert Thunder. After all, the entertainment was more a bar thing than a restaurant matter. But fucking Zorro had his Major hat on and was subtly avoiding the whole matter—unless he, Finn, handled the details.
Motherfucker.
“Look, man,” Barry grumbled when Finn had been quiet too long, “why don’t you take that glorified crotch rocket you bought and go for a ride in the desert. Seriously. You gotta clear your head, Finn.”
“Yeah, I know. I'm my own worst enemy.”
“Glad you see it that way. You have a chance to make things better with your family. Listen to me, dude. Take it from someone who knows. By all that’s holy Finn O’Brien, you have to ball up and grab the opportunity. Neither of us is kids anymore. Time to start doing the adult thing the right way.”
The guy had a valid point.
Going out on a limb because talking about feelings and shit wasn’t exactly his forte, Finn cautiously dropped a little truth bomb just to see what Barry would say.
“She didn’t go running to the folks. Talked to my ma the other day and she told me she’d only spoken to Meggie once since they visited in Washington. How come she didn’t run her mouth right away?”
He’d told Barry what happened. His new friend hadn’t taken sides. He listened respectfully and even commiserated with Finn on some of the finer points of fucked up family dynamics—something Barry knew quite a bit about from his own life.
But he also hadn’t given Finn a pass when it came to verbally beating up on his siblings, especially Meghan. In fact, he was a broken record on the subject of sisters and strong women.
“Is that a real question? Do you seriously not know why she’s not saying anything?”
“Obviously you dumbshit,” he snorted dryly, “I’m asking a real question because I’m interested in your answer.”
Finn grabbed a bagel, tore it open, shoved it into the toaster oven and pressed start as Barry’s amused chuckle came through the phone.
“Well the answer my friend, as I see it, is this—she’s putting her relationship with you first. That’s what matters to Meghan, Finn. You. She’s not tattling to your parents because her love for you is more important than sending the ‘rents a status update.”
Hmph. Crossing his arms, he leaned against a counter and shook his head in silent agreement. That’s what he thought too. Was what he hoped.
“But that doesn’t mean,” Barry scolded, “that you aren't a huge dick by not telling your father what the fuck is going on. Don’t you think it’s time to let them know you won’t be going back to Beantown?”
Finn’s brain lit up with a thousand thoughts and a million vivid images. He knew what needed to happen.
“I’m on it, buddy. For real. And I’ll handle Desert Thunder. You go do your thing, and I’ll take care of work. I’ve got this, man.”
“Never doubted it for a second.”
The toaster oven dinged just as Finn broke out in a huge grin. “And my advice to you oh bearded one is to ditch the flannel tonight for something that’ll look nice in photos.”
“Huh? Pictures? What the shit are you talking about?”
A hearty laugh shook him as he pushed off the counter and reached for the phone so he could say one more thing.
“Dude!” he snickered. “Drop the hipster Sasquatch look. Don’t want pretty blonde Shelly looking back on the night you two got engaged to see nothing but lumberjack Lou and some tired-ass flannel.”
“Did you seriously just get Sasquatch, lumberjack and engaged all in one sentence?”
“I did,” Finn chuckled. “Now pick your jaw up off the floor and get your ass in gear. I’ll catch up with you later.”
The call ended, and after sloppily spreading a glob of peanut butter on both sides of the bagel, Finn cradled the gooey mess in a paper towel and stared out the kitchen window as he ate.
Knowing he would be calling home later to have a man-to-man with his father, he decided not to overthink the conversation in advance. For a hundred reasons, Da had been right to banish Finn with the command to, ‘Sort his shit out.’ When it came time to talk, a rehearsed speech wasn’t the way to go.
So his mind wandered around to Meghan. He’d been so peeved with her for so long that he hadn’t noticed how much she’d changed. His bruised ego clouded a lot he’d concluded during a parti
cularly reflective ride on his new dirt bike. Heading out to the desert by way of a well-worn path he discovered in the hills behind his condo, he’d come to see smart-ass Meggie through new eyes. She was a married woman now and though still a bad ass Boston bitch, there was something different about her. Something surprising.
There was no denying his sister was a female powerhouse. She could be as fierce as she could be loving. Meghan was one of those full throttle types. Not so much all or nothing—more like half-assed anything being not acceptable.
He recalled one time when she’d been her usual bossy self, taunting and teasing him because swimming was not high on his list of summertime fun. Eventually, her needling led to him being a sullen prick about the whole thing.
Her idea of winning the argument resulted in him being dragged into the water in some fucked up sibling tough love maneuver. In the ensuing fracas, a splash fest and multiple attempts to force each other underwater broke out. Because his gym teacher sister was a goddamn mermaid too, she’d gotten the upper hand. He was flailing frantically and struggling not to inhale any water when Deval showed up, and all hell broke loose.
Dev was furious at Meggie. Scowling as he berated her for being a shithead, he’d fished Finn out of the pool and wrapped him in a towel. The memory was a wake-up call. His older brother coming to his aid and defending him against their sister made a lie of much of the invisible little brother accusation he’d thrown at Meghan.
That was when a clearer, less stubborn and affronted view of the past appeared through the haze of bitterness he’d been carrying for so long.
Seeing how her love for Major Zorro softened his sister and brought out all her best qualities gave Finn cause to take a step back. He’d seen them together enough in recent weeks to realize just how much she’d changed. And Alex was more than just part of the reason. They had an unusual dynamic, those two. A dynamic he found intriguing.
His eyes moved across the scenery. It was always so bright and sunny here. Each day felt entirely new. And different. Not the lather-rinse-repeat that drowned him in Boston.
Unforgettable (Family Justice Book 5) Page 2
