When I was finished telling the story, he leaned back against the couch. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Slowly,” I teased. “So, I’m feeding you information in dribbles.”
“Bring your fiancé in here so he and I can have a drink and get some stuff straight between us.”
I stood up. “I’ll bring him in here. But he doesn’t drink.”
“No? He’s an ex-con alcoholic?” he pressed.
“No. And that’s part of his story too.”
I left the two men I loved most in this world in the den to talk.
The entire Powell clan was sitting around the fire circle outside, and I went to join them.
“Your grandfather is a total badass,” Cas said to me as I took a seat. “You realize that, right?”
“What do you mean?” Salem asked.
“His tattoos are from when he was on a UDT team in the navy. They’re the original frogmen,” Cas explained.
“Heh?” Salem said.
“The guys you know as Navy SEALs literally evolved from the stuff Poet’s grandfather did in Vietnam. That guy can kill you with his bare hands, or if you really piss him off, he can just go into your kitchen and make a bomb from the stuff underneath your sink and blow your house up.”
“You guys made him sound like Mr. Rogers,” Declan said.
“Well, what was I supposed to say?” I asked.
“I dunno, maybe like,my grandfather is a fucking living legend.” Declan laughed. “The more you know.”
I looked at Muddy. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she asked.
“For him charging in here, for one. For him fighting with you. For all of it.”
“He didn’t charge in here,” Mr. Powell said. “Though that’s exactly what I was expecting.”
“Yeah, you kind of made it seem like Grampy was going to come in here all shotgun-blazing,” Hadley said. Then she looked at her father. “Oh wait, that’s more your style.”
Salem addressed Jane. “For your sake, I hope you have a boy.”
Mr. Powell settled his hand on Jane’s belly. “Boy or girl, I’ll still be a shotgun-wielding dad.”
I stared up at the night sky. It was cool and the scent of autumn was in the air.
“Is he okay?” Hadley asked. “I mean, are you guys okay?”
“Yeah, I think so,” I said. “It’s a lot. I’ve barely had time to process it. How can I expect him to process it?”
“Where’s he staying?” Muddy asked.
“He hasn’t booked a hotel yet,” I said. “You think The Regal Beagle has a room available?”
“He can stay here,” Muddy said.
I raised my brows. “You’d let him stay here?”
