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“Doesn’t matter,” Thatcher drawled, then took a drink of his beer.
“He’s right,” I added. “You go there, and it won’t just be Maeme you have to deal with. Not part of the job.”
“Blaise will be here tomorrow,” Thatcher said. “He might have her moved to Ocala.”
It wasn’t the boss I had been referring to, but I let that go. Wells was too damn close to a motherfucking narcissist himself. I wasn’t about to let another man hurt her. She was vulnerable and nowhere near tough enough to handle Wells. That was all it was. I wanted her safe from other assholes.
“Wilder coming with him?” Wells asked.
Thatcher smirked and cut his eyes toward Wells. “He’s a newlywed. Doubt he’s gonna leave that pussy since he’s been wanting it for more than a decade.”
“Thatch, don’t start shit,” I begged.
We had real things to deal with. Getting Wells all worked up over the past was pointless. Wilder Jones was Wells’s cousin, and Wilder had just married Wells’s first love, Oakley Watson. Not only that, but Wilder had also taken her away from Wells over ten years ago. Wells claimed he was over it, but he and Wilder had never been close again after it happened. Thatcher knew that, and he thrived on conflict.
“What? Wells is over it. Sebastian isn’t here to fuck with,” Thatcher replied, grinning smugly.
Oakley had also dated Sebastian once upon a time. He’d proposed, and she’d broken things off.
Wells shook his head. “That shit doesn’t get to me anymore. Wilder and Oak belong together. She was never good for me.”
“No, you weren’t good for her,” Thatcher replied. “Cheating bastard.”
Storm chuckled, and Wells shot him an annoyed glare.
“I was a fucking kid,” he grumbled.
That much was true. They had been in high school back then. Sebastian, on the other hand, had dated her years later. Yet he seemed to handle the fact Oakley and Wilder were married better than Wells.
“Is the dining room table set?” Dr. Drew asked as he walked into the kitchen.
I straightened from leaning against the sink. “You done?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah. And if Maeme gets up here and that table isn’t set, you’re all getting an earful. Thatcher, take off the damn hat. You know she’s gonna be mad if she sees it on in the house.”
Everyone got into motion. I turned and grabbed the plates. Storm opened the fridge and got out the gallon pitcher of sweet tea. When I headed to the dining room, Thatcher had taken off his hat and was getting the flatware from the drawer, and Wells was carrying the pot of chicken and dumplings.
“I’ll get the collards,” Doc D said, heading to the stove.
We all made at least two trips, getting the rest of the supplies for the meal. I checked the oven and found the cornbread warming in the cast iron skillet and a casserole dish full of mac and cheese.
“I got the cornbread. Someone grab the mac,” I called out and headed back to the dining room.
When I stepped inside, I paused at the sight of Rumor standing there with her damp curls and clean face. Goddamn, the bruising was much worse than I’d assumed. Her swollen, cracked lip looked as if it had some medication on it now. Those sea-green eyes of hers met mine, and she looked almost relieved. As if seeing me was something she needed. Damn, that wasn’t a good thing, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.
Off-limits. For a list of reasons a mile long.
“You ready for those dumplings I told you about?” I asked her while setting the cornbread on the table.
She dropped her gaze, and I saw her eyes widen at the spread. It had been a couple of hours since we’d shared the pizza, and I was starving. I wasn’t so sure about Rumor though. She didn’t look like she ate much.
“All right, boys,” Maeme said, getting everyone’s attention as they made their way back to the dining room. All eyes were on my tiny grandmother, who stood with her hands on her hips. “I expect your best behavior.”
She turned to Rumor then. “This here is Storm,” she told her, waving a hand in his direction. “Then, we have Thatcher.” She paused and looked back at Rumor. “He’s got a dark soul, but he’s still a good boy.” Which was a damn lie. Thatcher was a fucked-up son of a bitch. “You know King.” She gave me a pointed look like she had some things to say to me in private. “That there is Wells.”
Her steely gaze met each of ours. “Boys, this is Rumor. She’s gonna be staying with me for a while. I expect her to be treated like family.”
Everyone nodded and said their, “Yes, ma’am,” but my focus was on Rumor, who looked like her anxiety was on the rise again.
