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And if I saw her in that kimono again, I was going to bend her over the nearest surface and fuck her until she couldn’t move.
I circled the corner of my street, after having run through my development approximately sixteen times in a vain attempt to try to work off some of my energy. Evidently, it hadn’t worked, since the sight of my mother’s car in my driveway set me off. It was parked behind Grace’s car, which was also new. She’d obviously had some help to retrieve it from the Marblehead house. She hadn’t asked me to drive her over there, so maybe her good buddy Jack had helped her out.
She must’ve told him that she was staying with me. Strange I hadn’t gotten a call. Unless he didn’t want to bring up any potentially problematic subjects.
Such as the reason she was in my house in the first place. Guns and blood and break-ins and
all, her illegal squatting in the Marblehead house notwithstanding.
And I still had to deal with my mother and her boy toy.
They weren’t outside, so I had to assume Grace had let them in. Why not? She was playing house anyway. Might as well cozy up to my parental unit and her con artist boyfriend while she was it, right?
I entered the house to the sound of music and laughter. Someone was cooking. The smell of bacon permeated the air, and I followed my growling stomach to the kitchen where my mother and Brant were seated at the granite counter. Grace was stationed in front of the stove, wearing an apron and deftly wielding a spatula as she flipped bacon.
“You can cook?”
Grace glanced at me, her smile faltering. I hated that I did that to her. Jack made her light up like a damn marquee. Me, I caused her to dim faster than pulling a plug.
“A little. I can make BLTs.” She nodded at the pan in front of her, and the one on the other burner that contained thick slabs of sourdough bread soaked in butter. “These are probably the closest thing to a heart attack on a plate, but eh, only live once, right?”
“Not according to Sebastian,” I muttered, bristling as my mother shot off her stool and hurried over to give me a kiss. She was about a foot shorter than me and had to yank me down to get the job done, but she made up for height with enthusiasm. “Mother.” I glanced past her to the man at the counter. “Brant. You finally found someone to make you a meal while you’re under my roof. Fortunate for you.”
An awkward silence descended. Something I was exceptionally good at causing. I’d call it a skill, if I hadn’t felt the most awkward of all.
I didn’t do family scenes. Not even stilted, fucked-up ones like this.
“We decided to surprise you.” My mother gripped my wrist, and in her hold was a warning. She expected me to play the role of doting son for her new man of the month. We rarely saw each other, so I could do that much. Except I was playing entirely too much lately, and I was on the verge of dropping my veneer of civility entirely.
In every direction.
I flashed a grim smile. “Surprise.”
“We were the ones surprised. Why didn’t you tell us you had a girlfriend?” My mother bustled over to Grace’s side and hugged her like they were old friends. “Such a beautiful and sweet one, no less.”
Oh hell no.
Grace frowned and set down her spatula. “I didn’t—”
“Grace is most certainly beautiful and sweet, but she is not my girlfriend. I haven’t had one of those since ninth grade. When it comes to women, I have friends and I have lovers. I also have exes of both.”
Brant chuckled and shifted on his stool, opening the button on his sport coat. “Well, now, son, don’t sugarcoat it for us.”
“I’m not your son. I believe I told you that once already.” I glanced toward the stove and glimpsed Grace’s wounded eyes before she turned her head and picked up the spatula again. Regret burned through my stomach lining like acid. “I’m going to go take a shower. I’ll—” My eyes sharpened on Brant’s shoulder, and the extra bulk under his sport coat. “What’s that?”
He stared at me for a moment without moving. Then he gave me an easy smile and patted his shoulder, wincing a bit as he did so. “Oh, this old thing? Just a recurring football injury. I’m not as young as I used to be and it doesn’t take much to aggravate my aches and pains. So that means a weekend with a hot patch.” His smile turned pinched at the corners. “Rather embarrassing really, but they do the job.”
I moved closer, my smile as easy as his as I leaned on the counter. “That must be some pad. It looks awfully thick. I didn’t realize they made them that way.”
“Gotta have the right connections.” He winked at me and I swear, it was a miracle I didn’t haul off and punch him right in the mouth.
He’d need a whole new covering soon enough if my suspicions were even close to right. And this one would zip up and encompass his whole body.
“I’ll be right back,” I told them before heading upstairs. I needed some cold water to cool me down—quick.
I also needed to develop a strategy. There were entirely too many loose ends right now, and it was time to start tying some off.
What better way to accomplish that then to Agatha Christie the shit out of this situation and get all the possible suspects in one room?
