Wargasm (Payne Brothers Romance Book 3)

by Sosie Frost

  Tidus jogged in from the kitchen. “Hey, Sassy—”

  My tattooed, leather bound, bad boy brother took one look at the wriggling baby on the floor and diaper in my hand and crashed into the wall.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  I smiled. “My job. This is Tabby.”

  “I…hadn’t expected to meet that much of her.”

  Mellie was fearless while denigrating her sister. She made a face. “She’s a baby. She wears diapers. You smell like Mommy.”

  He did smell an awful lot like smoke, the bastard. “And that’s Mellie. She just busted you. What did I tell you about smoking?”

  “Needed it for today.”

  “You’ll need your lungs later.”

  I buckled Tabby into a fresh diaper and tucked her into a pair of pink leggings. The diaper wasn’t the only thing mortifying Tidus. He stared at Rem, jaw set.

  “Hey,” Rem said. “Been a while.”

  Tidus groaned, reluctantly shaking his hand. Their matching tattoos practically melded into one.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, man?”

  Mellie and Tabby delighted in the one word they heard so often and were forbidden to repeat.

  “Fuckfuckfuck!” Mellie curtseyed and spun in her princess dance. “Fuckyfuck.”

  Tabby flailed her legs and stomped, bending down to pick up a lost Cheeto. “Fookfookfook.”

  “Great.” I glared at Tidus. “I’m gonna beat your…bottom if you swear in front of the kids one more time.”

  Tidus winked at Mellie. “Why don’t I teach you a new word? It starts with a B and ends with—”

  “My fist in your mouth,” I snapped. “Stop it.”

  “Gotta have some fun today.” Tidus eyed Rem. “God knows we’ll need it.”

  “Hey, what’s burning?” Quint’s footsteps echoed from the hall. He peeked into the living room, bandana around his head, mismatched pot holders on his hands, bearing a casserole dish brimming with a marshmallow encrusted goo. He glanced over the room, grinned when he saw me, and just about shit as his eyes passed over Rem.

  “You!”

  The casserole dish teetered in his hands. Tipped. Fell.

  Tidus dove for it, but the glass was still hot. He shouted as both of his palms bore the brunt of the casserole.

  “Son of a—”

  The dish clattered to the floor, and the kids learned a variety of unique and flavorful words they’d undoubtedly share the next time we met the lady from CPS.

  Molten sweet potatoes splashed everywhere—carpets, drapes, over Quint. He batted at the superheated specks dotting his legs with a yell.

  “Those were my sweet potatoes, you prick!”

  Tabby burst into tears. Mellie, emboldened by the scent of toasted marshmallows and sugary sweetness leapt forward to investigate the mess.

  “Uh-oh,” she said. “Gotta sing the cleanup song!”

  “I didn’t knock over your damn bowl,” Tidus said. “What the hell are you doing with that in here?”

  “I didn’t have room in the kitchen.” Quint swore. “You left your potato peels and bowls all over the counter, asshole.”

  Mellie belted out her song. “Clean up! Everybody clean up!”

  “So move them.”

  Tidus accepted a rag from Rem, but the damage was done. Marshmallow coated his shoes, the carpet, and—he groaned—now hardened on the TV screen.

  “Not my responsibility.” Quint grunted. “Great. Dinner’s ruined.”

  “Time to clean up!”

  “It’s only the sweet potatoes and whatever is burning in the oven,” I said. “I can help you make something else.”

  Tidus snorted. “Open a can. Pour yams in bowl. Smother with sugar. Melt in the oven. Done.”

  “Pick up. Everybody pick up!”

  “What is he doing here?” Quint didn’t even look at Rem. “Why the hell would you bring him?”

  Quint only had about two-and-a-half years on me. Young enough to miss most of the trouble Rem had caused. Didn’t hate him like Jules and Marius, but our family had a decent amount of loyalty, not matter how much they currently despised each other.

  “I wanted to bring him,” I said.

  “You clear it with Farmer Brown?”

  “Who?”

  “Pick up the toys. Put them away!”

  Tidus snickered. “Jules.”

  “I don’t have to clear it with anyone—least of all Jules.” At least, that’s what I’d told Rem. “Jules won’t care. Marius is still overseas, and I don’t think either of you are going to say a damn thing, isn’t that right?”

  Quint still hadn’t looked at Rem. He sucked in a breath. “Whatever. Is that kid all right? The mess is like…distressing her or something.”

  Mellie and Tabby danced, bumbling through the rest of the song. Rem smirked.

  “She’s good,” he said. “Em’s kid.”

  Quint frowned. “Think they’d be used to a mess then.”

  Tidus seemed to understand more than he’d ever told me. “How’s Em?”

  “Getting better,” Rem said.

  I sucked in a breath. “Okay. Where’s Jules? Let’s get this over with.”

  Quint jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Dad’s office. Buying equipment.”

  With what money? Dad’s medical bills didn’t leave much in the farm’s budget for new equipment, buildings, animals, feed, and seeds. Julian couldn’t get a damn tomato to bud. How did he expect to grow money on the trees?

  I guided the kids into the dining room. Mellie strode in first, happy as can be. With no hesitation, she plunked down in the chair right next to an amused Varius, picking at a loaf of his freshly made bread.

  “Hi.” Mellie grinned at him. “Wanna play?”

  Tidus, Quint, and I tensed. For the past two years, Varius had withdrawn from everything—the family, the town, his congregation. Abandoning a life was hard. Abandoning a faith? That changed a man. Hardened a gentle soul.

  Mellie still saw the old Varius. And maybe, for just a moment, in the smile he gave her, Varius had felt like himself too.

  He glanced at Rem. “Come seeking forgiveness?”

  “Only if you’ll give it, Preacher.”

  “I’m not a minister anymore.”

  Rem shrugged. “Got any forgiveness left?”

  “Some.” Varius’s hair had grown longer, brushing over his jaw—more gaunt that chiseled anymore. The Payne family green eyes were lost on him now. Dark and sullen, he’d lost so much of the light that had once brightened his features. “I budget it out for special occasions.”

  “Is today special?” I asked.

  Varius motioned to the stoic figure in the doorway. “We’ll find out.”

  Julian wasn’t pleased with our dinner guest, but was he ever happy anymore? Stress and responsibility and his never-ending quest to seek Dad’s approval from beyond the grave had taken its toll. He ended his phone call and shoved the cell in his pocket.

  “What’s he doing here?” Jules grunted.

  “Eating,” I said.

  “Says who?”

  “Says me.”

  Rem kept his voice low. “That gonna be a problem?”

  A tense moment of silence passed, broken only by Mellie as she crawled beneath the table to retrieve a dropped fork and spoon.

  “Clean up! Everybody clean up!”

  Tidus knew better than to let me and Jules stand-off. We might not have been blood, but we fought like we’d shared the same womb.

  “Just dinner, Jules,” he said.

  Jules was too handsome to frown. He did it anyway, and often. “This is our mom’s dinner.”

  Varius still kept the peace even if a war waged in himself. “And Rem stayed here more than he ever stayed at his home.”

  “What home?” Quint snorted. “It was as broken then as it is now.”

  “Hey.” I stared each of my brothers down. “We gave everyone a home. Mom’s orders. No one goes hungry. No one goes col
d. No one is alone. Ever. Our family is family to everyone. So what’s changed now?”

  Jules got smart with me. “You really gotta ask that question?”

  “Do I really gotta ask you to be forgiving on mom’s birthday?”

  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 broc
coli off on Varius.

  “Cassi?” she said.

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

  She pointed to the table. “Your family?”

  “That’s right.”

  She 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.”