When you know there’s a storm coming you do everything you can to prepare yourself, but when you’re the storm? When you’re the one causing all that damage? It sucks. People talk about the after effects of the storm, but they never talk about the before… the before is worse. After all, anticipation is always worse than the actual outcome.
I had to believe that there was a light at the end of the tunnel and if there wasn’t, well I was screwed.
Whistling, I pulled open the door to the house and walked into the kitchen. Chase was standing there shirtless, sweat pouring down his chest as he devoured a cinnamon roll and cup of coffee. My stomach growled at the smell of fresh rolls.
“I made the rolls.” Chase’s eyes narrowed over his steaming cup of coffee. “After I punched a bag with your face on it.”
“How’d my face turn out?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Wouldn’t know.” Chase shrugged. “I got tired of punching and eventually pulled out my gun. I’ll buy Nixon another punching bag tomorrow.”
“Hmm, got a little rage, Chase?”
“I don’t know Tex, care to sucker punch me again and find out?”
“Ladies.” Nixon stormed into the room. “Tuck those ovaries back into your pants and grow some balls—nobody’s punching anyone.”
“Says who?” I snorted bracing my hands on the counter top.
“Says the guy who’s going to put a bullet in your head if you as much as hint as disrespecting me in my own home.” Nixon yawned and reached for a cup, then offered me one. “Coffee?”
“Probably time to retire when threatening your friends over coffee seems normal, Nixon.” I took the cup. “Just saying.”
“Probably time to take Xanax if you’re punching your best friend in the face for breathing.” Chase lifted his cup mockingly into the air. “Just sayin’.”
“Fair.” I seriously had to fight the urge to laugh as Chase’s bruised cheek flashed under the kitchen lights. Phoenix had said to change the tables, be unpredictable. Punching Chase was the only way I could think to shake things up without actually shooting someone. It raised suspicion, but still kept me in the house until it was time.
“I hate mornings.” Trace shuffled into the kitchen, her hair in a ponytail and eyes barely open. “Coffee me.”
Chase handed her his own cup and got another one for himself. “Sleep well?”
“I’m sorry, are you actually talking to me right now? Before I even take a sip?” Her eyes widened as she leaned in towards Chase.
Note to self, coffee first, chat later.
Chase grinned patronizingly and patted her head. “Aw, you’re so feisty, like a little… mouse.”
“Name calling gets you nowhere,” Trace fired back.
Chase smirked. “That’s not what Mil says.”
“Mil says her husband needs to stop picking fights with people smaller than him.” Mil announced walking into the room.
Chase’s entire face lit up.
I looked away. I didn’t want to see everyone happy and together, not when my own freaking life was such a mess. Not when I had to do what I was going to do. Damn, I couldn’t even look into their eyes without feeling guilt slice through me.
I grabbed the newspaper just as the entire room fell silent and tense as hell. I knew it was Mo. I could tell from the way the air shifted, from the way my body heated by just having her near. With slow movements I lifted my head over the paper and stared.
What I saw had me reaching for my gun.
Sergio was whispering something in her ear as he poured her a cup of coffee. Holy shit, I was going to break his hand.
He snaked his other arm around her and touched her shoulder. Just kidding I was going to break both his hands and stuff them into his mouth.
Mo smiled at him.
I gripped the table with my left hand, my fingers digging into the wood.
“Easy,” Nixon whispered from next to me. “We don’t want to have to buy a new one.”
“A new Sergio or a new table?” I said through clenched teeth.
“One’s irreplaceable.”
“What?” I looked down. “This is an antique?”
Nixon smirked. “I mean Sergio, you jackass.”
I shrugged and went back to my paper and read, you know if reading meant I stared at the same sentence while trying to eavesdrop on Mo and Sergio’s conversation.
“Family dinner.” Chase announced sitting down next to me. I scooted away towards Nixon and crossed my arms.
Pissed. I had to look pissed.
And ready to kill them.
All of them.
“Family dinner.” Nixon repeated, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll have Luca and Frank let everyone know. Most the Alferos are in town, The Nicolasis just flew in this morning, so we’ll plan for something around five.”
Chase cracked his knuckles. “I’ll have Mil help me cook.”
“You sure about that?” Phoenix stumbled into the kitchen took one look at me and glanced away—no recognition. No emotion. Damn he was good. “Last time I ate something she cooked, I got food poisoning.”
“I was five.” Mil rolled her eyes. “And it was cookie dough, I blame the raw egg.”
“Note she said raw.” Phoenix plopped down on his chair. “I’ll be helping Luca and Frank today.”
“Great.” Nixon sniffed and stole part of my paper. “Just make sure nobody shoots anyone on the way here.”