Babyjacked

by Sosie Frost

  A grumble. A pause.

  A truce.

  Guilt was an excellent motivator. Jules backed down, heading into the kitchen with a fire extinguisher to tackle the burnt roast. My other brothers began setting the table. I patted Rem’s arm with a wink.

  “Get the girls washed up?” I asked. “I’ll talk to Jules.”

  “Won’t do much good.”

  “It’ll take time. We knew this.”

  Rem took the kids, shaking his head. “Don’t expect a miracle.”

  I joined Jules in the kitchen and helped load the table with platters of veggies and sides. A feast Mom would have loved—especially since all of her kids, including her surrogate son, Rem—were home to enjoy it.

  So much had changed after she’d died, since Dad had died. Our family had been through hell for the past five years. It had to get better at some point.

  Right?

  The roast had shriveled. Jules attempted to poke it with a fork. I stopped him before it deflated.

  “We’ll…call it blackened.” I crinkled my nose. “Cajun.”

  “Should I add some spice?”

  “Doubt anyone will taste it over the char.”

  “Right.” He nodded. “Gravy then.”

  “About Rem…”

  He interrupted me. “You know the kids are welcome here.”

  “What about the uncle?”

  Jules set his jaw. “What about him?”

  “I’m not asking you to be his friend again.”

  “You’re asking too much.”

  “One dinner.” I followed him to the kitchen as he unsuccessfully searched for the butter. I dislodged it from a chunk of potato peelings and set the lump that remained in the dish. “We just need to talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “There’s so much to talk about. It’s been five years.”

  Jules wasn’t listening. “And you know most of all what those years have been like. What the stress did to Mom and Dad and us.”

  “Tidus is willing to talk. Quint will come around if you do. Varius doesn’t care about anything anymore. And if Marius were home—”

  Jules laughed. “If Marius were home he’d be talking with his rifle.”

  Probably, but that’s why I was almost relieved he was half a world away, doing God knows what in the middle of God knew where.

  “Do this for me,” I said.

  “Why you?” Jules saw right through me. “Don’t get involved with him, Cassi.”

  “It’s not like that,” I lied.

  “He broke your heart.”

  But now he was fixing it. “He did a lot of things that he regrets. Give him a chance.”

  “You moped around this house for weeks. Didn’t eat. Didn’t go out. Didn’t date. You weren’t the same after he left.”

  “But I’m me now, right?” I smiled. “Don’t be so protective.”

  Jules wrapped me in his arms. “I’m your big brother. That’s my job.”

  “You don’t have to do it so well.”

  I dragged him to the table just as Rem returned with the girls. After rummaging in a cabinet, Tidus returned with a mound of Playboy magazines.

  “What…” My head would explode. “What are you doing?”

  “Making a booster seat.”

  “Out of playmates?”

  Quint snickered. “I think that was a centerfold pose last year.”

  Varius pitched a napkin at Quint’s head. Tidus covered the magazines with a cloth napkin and patted the seat for Mellie to climb up.

  Oh, Lord. We were all going to hell before we even ate.

  My brothers took their seats. Rem kept Tabby in his lap, mostly as a human shield. That was fine. Enough sharpened cutlery rested around the table. A long moment of silence passed.

  “Should…” I shrugged. “Should we say grace?”

  We pretended to not look at Varius.

  He said nothing, only shook his head. A no from the man who used to have more faith than all of us combined.

  “Should we say…something?” I offered.

  Mellie took the initiative. The collective asses around the table unclenched.

  “This is a farm?” she asked.

  Some people called it that. “Yep!”

  “Where are the cows?”

  A common misconception. “Well…we don’t have any cows.”

  “No cows?”

  Quint winked. “Got some on your plate.”

  “Hush,” I said.

  Mellie’s eyes widened. “Piggies?”

  “No piggies.”

  “Horseys?”

  Once upon a time. Those days were gone. “Nope, sorry.”

  Mellie pouted, but Jules saved the day.

  “We got a chicken,” he said.

  Varius choked on his beer. “Only cause no one would buy her.”

  “That chicken isn’t for sale!”

  Tidus frowned. “That’s not a chicken.”

  Jules usually kept his temper in check. Not when it came to Helena. “She’s got feathers, don’t she?”

  “She’s no chicken.” Quint pointed to Rem. “Now see he…he’s a chicken. But that bird out there? No eggs, good for nothing.”

  “Good for expense write-offs,” Jules said.

  “Yeah, corn thrives on tax deductions.”

  “Look. The farm needs some maintenance, but we’ll get there. It’s not hard. Dad did it his whole life, and his dad before him.”

  Quint wasn’t convinced. “Just toss a seed in the ground and cover it with dirt, right?”

  “As long as you don’t piss all over it.”

  “See, that’s what you’ve been doing wrong.” Quint didn’t wait for anyone else. He stabbed a hunk of roast beef and tossed it on his plate. “Plant it and then add the salt. That’ll do the trick.”

  “Screw you.”

  “Guys.” I scolded. “There’s kids here. Language?”

  “Oh, Rem can handle it.” Jules fixed a heaping plate for himself. “I’m sure he’s heard worse. Done worse.”

  Rem tensed, saying nothing, but he often turned the other cheek only to parry an incoming blow.

  He was getting pissed.

  And I didn’t have a clue what to do.

  “Can you pass the…” I regretted peeking into the dish. “Neon…green…liquid?”

  Tidus crowded half of his plate with the potatoes, the other half with butter, and pointed to the pitcher of green with a knife. “That’s supposed to be Jello.”

  Varius stared in horror as the liquid attempted to coagulate. “What happened to it?”

  “Nothing. It’s jello.”

  “Why isn’t it set?”

  “Think I added too much vodka.”

  And I moved the little cup of it away from Mellie. “Good job, Tidus.”

  Food smacked the plates. The girls stuffed their faces.

  And conversation ceased.

  I shifted the veggies on my plate, avoiding the ashen roast and bourbon glazed carrots that needed only a tumbler and ice cube to transform into my after-dinner drink. The silence fell, broken only by the clinking of forks against plates. The minutes dragged. My stomach twisted.

  Why was it always so damned hard?

  A lifetime ago, we’d have dinners like this every weekend. Our family. The foster kids we’d take in. Rem. Sometimes Emma. Kids from the town. Friends of my parents. The house was always alive and buzzing and full of…

  What was it?

  Warmth? Family?

  Happiness?

  Whatever it was, it’d ended with Mom.

  I tapped Mellie’s plate and pushed a piece of broccoli towards her. She refused, but at least this was a familiar battle. Mellie, sly as she was, attempted to pawn her broccoli off on Varius.

  “Cassi?” she said.

  I replaced the floret with another. “Yes, sweets.”

  She pointed to the table. “Your family?”

  “That’s right.”

  S
he poked my arm again, a pale hand against my chocolate skin. “You’re different.”

  My brothers never saw those differences. The rest of the town did. Not that it mattered. I smiled at her.

  “Well, they all came from my momma’s tummy, just like you and Tabby came from your mommy’s belly,” I said. “After my mom and dad had so many boys, they wanted a little girl. So they wished and prayed and…” I shrugged at the others. “Paid a tremendous amount of money in fees. And here I am.”

  “Tried to send her back once,” Tidus said. “They’d only give us store credit.”

  Varius winked. “Wouldn’t even replace her with a new model.”

  “Oh, hush.” I pitched my dinner roll at his head, but stopped Mellie before she repeated the motion with the damnable broccoli. “What would you do without me?”

  “You tell us.” Jules was the only one who ate the roast. “You were halfway to Ironfield before you…took your current position.”

  Silence again. Rem tried to break it this time.

  “Food’s good,” he said.

  Jules didn’t miss a beat. “Couldn’t get some of your own at home?”

  I dropped my fork. “I invited him. Can’t you guys just have a civil dinner for once? Give him some credit. He came back here—”

  Rem waved a hand. “Cas, I got it.”

  “No.” Enough was enough. “He’s doing good for himself now. He’s taking care of two little girls, and he’s doing it without complaint, which is more than I can say for the four of you who can’t spend ten minutes together without putting a new hole in the wall.”

  Quint pointed his knife. “We fight because we’re family. And every problem in this family can be traced to him.”

  “That was five years ago!”

  “And it drove Mom to her grave. Dad went after.”

  I couldn’t believe them. “You all spent the last three years avoiding anything and everything that had to do with this family and Dad. Coming home for Christmas doesn’t count. The rest of the year? You guys were nowhere to be seen. Who took care of Dad? Who looked after the farm? Who had to mediate conversations between you guys and our father because you were too pissed off to call him yourself?”

  Varius helped himself to another piece of bread. “Great dinner, guys.”

  Jules agreed. “So, did you bring Rem here just to berate us, or is your contribution to the night a case of indigestion?”

  “Let it go, Cas,” Rem said.

  Jules wasn’t about to peacefully transition into dessert. “We got rid of you once while you were sniffing around Cassi. Now you’re home again. What do you expect out of this…job?”

  Rem didn’t back down. “I needed a nanny.”

  “Is that all you got?”

  For Heaven’s sake. “Enough guys. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Sure, it does,” Jules said. “He hired you. Lured you up to that mountain. Now you’re spending your nights there too. All alone. All isolated.”

  Rem nearly laughed. “I don’t need a mountain cabin to get laid.”

  “No, not when you can fuck a nanny.” Quint scowled. “You hired her to get in her pants. We shouldn’t have let Cassi take the job.”

  Oh, hell no.

  “Let me?” My sharp tone wasn’t nearly the punishment they deserved. “Excuse me, but I am an adult—more than I can say for half of you. I can choose where I want to work, what I want to do, and who I want to sleep with.”

  Silence.

  Uh-oh. That was the wrong thing to say.

  Rem leaned in, his voice low. “Take it back, take it back, take it back.”

  Jules stood. “You slept with him?”

  My stomach flopped. The food didn’t go with it, choosing to evacuate to my throat. “There are kids at the table.”

  That meant nothing to my brother. “You slept with him?”

  I had a split second to either deny everything and reassert my virtue or to sit in awkward silence as inevitably the image of me and Rem together spawned in each of my four brothers’ minds.

  The results were predictable.

  Their chairs scraped against the floor. My brothers stood. Rem clutched Tabby a little closer to his chest.

  But it was Tidus who launched first, thrashing over the table, upending the mashed potatoes, crashing into the gravy, and flinging roast beef against the wall with a gooey slap. Quint dove for Tidus, holding him back before he flung the container of broccoli at Rem.

  “You said it was over with her!” Tidus pointed at him. “Jesus Christ, Rem! You can’t keep it in your pants for a goddamned summer?”

  “Hey!” I grabbed Mellie before her fistful of butter also splattered against the wall. “It’s not a big deal.”

  Wrongo.

  Tidus lunged again. Quint grasped only at his shirt now.

  Rem stepped away from the table, voice low, baby in his arms. “You wouldn’t hit a man with a kid, Tidus.”

  Tidus didn’t blink. “Cassi, take the baby.”

  “Come on.” I pleaded with Varius. “Can’t you calm them down?”

  Nope—not when Varius was equally pissed. “Was this your plan all along, Rem?”

  “The hell do you think I am?” Rem’s jaw tensed—the first time he’d let himself get angry. Mellie crossed to his legs, wrapping her arms around him. He tussled her hair, but even she couldn’t prevent his voice from rising. “You all knew how I felt about Cassi.”

  Tidus scowled. “You said you’d never touched her. I believed you!”

  “I hadn’t.” Rem shrugged at me. “It just…happened. And I’m glad it did. You all know how much I…care about her.”

  “I trusted you,” Tidus said.

  “Yeah…” Rem stared him down. “I think I earned that trust.”

  “Earned the chance to fuck my sister?”

  “I earned a chance to be forgiven!”

  Chaos erupted, and Mellie quickly learned no less than five new vocabulary words that would be sure to prevent her acceptance into any decent preschool. Tabby began to cry, her hands reaching back to the table where her forgotten sippy cup dripped milk onto a mashed potato stained carpet.

  Rem shouted. Tidus yelled back. Quint reluctantly prevented a fistfight. Even Varius couldn’t keep the peace. He resigned himself to picking far-flung peas and bits of yams out of his dinner plate. Above it all, Jules cell rang. And rang. And rang.

  “You don’t deserve forgiveness,” Quint said. “You set the barn on fire. We lost everything. Animals. Feed. Equipment.”

  “I can’t undo what I did.” Rem stared only at a silent and seething Tidus. “But maybe one of you could have a little understanding.”

  “There’s nothing to understand,” Tidus said. “It happened. It’s done. None of us give a fuck about the barn.”

  “Bullshit. That’s what this is all about.”

  “No, this is about you taking advantage of our sister!”

  “Taking advantage?” Now Rem got pissed. “We have feelings for each other. Always have. Always fucking will.”

  “Hey!” Jules shouted, hand over the phone. “Quiet down.”

  “You think you’re good enough for Cassi?” Tidus laughed. “How many drugs did you do as a kid? How many times were you arrested?”

  “You tell me—you were there too.”

  “Guys!” Jules pointed to his cell. “This is important!”

  “But I never pretended to be something I wasn’t.” Tidus growled. “I never pretended I was a good guy. I never took in babies so I could convince myself I wasn’t a sack of shit. I never chased after a girl who was too good, too nice, too sweet for me. I knew better. I thought you did too.”

  “People change,” Rem said.

  “Not men like us. Especially not men like you.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Jules threw a glass against the wall. The crash silenced everyone. He held the phone in his hand, covering the speaker. “Everyone shut up!”

  His face had paled. He clutched the phone, nodd
ing every so often with a grunt.

  “Is he conscious?” he asked.

  My stomach dropped.

  Jules glanced over us, his eyes wide. The question reluctantly drew from his lips. “Is he gonna live?”

  The fight was forgotten. The uneasy quiet turned my stomach.

  And somehow—I knew what Jules was going to say.

  My brother ended the call with a wavering breath. He met my gaze first, heart-broken.

  “It’s Marius. There was a firefight. He was hurt. They’re flying him to a military hospital at a bigger base—couldn’t tell me where. He’s going into surgery.”

  A long pause.

  Heavy, terrible silence.

  Jules answered the question none of us wanted to ask. “They don’t know.”

  The weight of it all crushed us into our seats.

  Another crisis. Another sleepless night.

  We couldn’t handle another fight. Another emergency. Another funeral.

  This family couldn’t survive another death.

  15

  Remington

  “I hate you!”

  Mellie had first declared it at eight o’clock when I’d asked her to go to bed.

  She repeated it at nine o’clock when I physically placed her in said bed.

  When she screamed it at ten o’clock, I gave up.

  Night number seven of complete failure.

  Couldn’t even put the kid to bed at a reasonable time. Couldn’t get her to eat her dinner.

  Couldn’t get her to do anything but tear my heart in half.

  Three little words.

  How the hell did those three little words cut so goddamned deep?

  She was just a kid. A three-year-old didn’t understand hate. Did she?

  So why did it feel like a test…a goddamned Olympic trial.

  On Tuesday, she’d loved eggs. On Wednesday, she wailed, pouted, and threw them to the floor. Took an ice cream sundae to calm her down. Yesterday, she’d liked her bath. Tonight, it was an unrelenting torture, as if I was scrubbing her skin off instead of the dirt.

  How could a little kid grind down every last shred of patience? Mellie was thirty pounds of adorable cuteness and criminal deviant. A master of manipulation with a set of lungs on her that could be heard all the way to Butterpond.

  I was out of options. Out of energy. Out of fucking patience.