“Nae, ye asked for cement,” she snaps, matching my aggression. “But ye did ask me to watch the girls while ye’re away. Seems someone should’ve watched ye instead.”
I run a hand through my hair. “Chevelle will have my feckin’ arse if she learns wit I did. Okay?”
Erika lifts her hands, imitating a calming exercise, then she pats my shoulders. “All I’m saying, Leith, is I’ll help. Yer clan’s mine too. I can do more than provide cement—I’m not friggin Lowes or The Home Depot. Wit’s yer plan?”
“Hmm, let’s see. There’s a bloody ocean in my backyard. Ye figure it out, Erika. Now, shut yer geggie ‘bout my business!”
Erika shuts her mouth, then mimes zipping her lips, and I let her inside. On our way into the dining room, I clamp Erika’s shoulder. I bring her scrawny arse by the kitchen so as not to surprise Chevelle with her presence. Erika’s father would take a bullet for mine, same situation was it reversed. But my wife doesn’t understand certain aspects when it comes to the clan way. So, all I can do is my best.
Mam’s smashing tatties, and my wife is pulling milk from the fridge. Chevelle turns, giving Erika a once-over. She eyes Erika’s wee tits, barely concealed under the tiny top. Tits I’d never touch. Then Chevelle’s eyeing me, hard.
Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t. Best bloody American saying I’ve ever heard about marriage.
In the gloaming with the stars twinkling, we all settle outside at the table. Though it’s warm, Chevelle keeps offering Mia a jacket. My lassie has scooted into Da’s lap.
Camdyn complains about the forks he’d set on the dining room table. Irritated, the teen tries to get our little brathairs, who stashed them, to pass them back out as Little Brody tosses plastic forks from the to-go bag across the area.
“Camdyn, shut up, ye crabbit.”
Camdyn argues about how he’s not moaning, and how he rarely voices his opinion. He does have a point. Our wee brathairs like to play tricks.
“I’ll shove yer opinion up yer arse,” I snap.
Mam threatens us all.
I lift a brow. “Wit I do? I’m on yer side, Mam.”
“So? The whole lot of ya are me bairns! Can’t give these ingrates a skelpit lug,” she refers to popping our ears, “without including ye!”
With that, my wee brathairs chuckle, pulling the missing silverware out of their pockets. Camdyn grumbles again about setting the table just right, and Brody stops tossing plastic forks.
My wife starts back into the house. Erika pops up. “I’ll help ye, Chevelle. If this big brute takes out my eye with a plastic spork, Nan won’t be able to save him.”
Brody laughs boisterously, putting his feet up in the chair she just left, middle finger in her direction. I glare at him.
“Ye’re too auld, Brody,” our da warns.
With a twinkle of mischief in eyes that resemble my own, Brody clicks his tongue. “Aye, but I’m just missing my wee brathair. Leith’s a bloody smart lad. Doesn’t work with the clan. Wit ye been up to?”
I laugh under my breath, calling him a hairy cow.
“Och! ye too,” Da says. “Brody, ye are my namesake. Would it kill ye to show a little compassion to yer brathair?”
“Da,” I begin, so he’ll drop the subject. Brody and I get along all right. My older brathair just expected me to come crawling back to the family. Now, he thinks an opportunity may have presented itself. He’s baiting me. His main reason for wanting me around is to have his back in dangerous situations. Never gonna happen. The bastard is sitting on the fruits of my labor, eating the food I bought. My success is all around Brody, and my feckin’ smug face says as much.
While they stack money by way of brawns, I’ve got myself a pile of golden nuggets from my brains.
Da sighs. “I’m proud of ye, Leith. Though yer mam had to go and name ye something fancy after the harbor we fled to for holiday—first time in a long bloody time. I made love to yer mam the entire week. That’s how ye’re the good lookin’ one outta the lot. Got yer mam’s bonny reddish-blond hair too.”
“Aye, boke, Da! Cam’s hair is ‘bout the same too,” I mutter, ignoring Da when he cheers about his hairy baws and Mam’s . . . unmentionable . . . until he calls me different. Different from my brathairs. It’s