“I called Sash,” I defended.
“To look after a dog,” Matt returned.
“Hmm…” I hummed.
“Matt, lay off. Coco is dealing with a lot and you’re being a meanie,” Sasha reprimanded.
“Jesus, did you just say meanie?” Matt asked her.
“I was shying away from asshole,” she retorted.
I burst out laughing and felt both of them look at me.
Matt pulled us tighter together.
Sasha reciprocated.
So I did the same thing.
“Never again,” Matt whispered.
Oh God.
I loved my brother.
I looked him in the eye, then Sasha. “Never again.”
Sasha’s eyes were bright with tears and her voice was husky when she said, “Never again.” And went on, “Coco, I’m so sorry. It was so—”
“Stop it. You apologized. I accepted. Done.”
“I’m dealing with some stuff,” she blurted.
Matt and I both stilled.
So he saw it too.
“When I wrap my head around it, I’ll, like, talk to you. Both of you guys,” she said.
“Promise,” I demanded.
“Promise,” she replied.
“Swear,” Matt, being Matt, didn’t let it go.
“I swear. God, Matt, you’re always so pushy.”
Her saying he was “always” so anything hit me, soft and warm.
He was pushy.
When it was something like this.
Important.
Sure, it could be annoying when he was that way.
But it was meant to be loving.
“If my children would quit having a highly impolite whispered conversation away from the rest of the family, their mother would very much appreciate it,” Mom called.
Sash rolled her eyes.
Matt grinned.
I gave them both a squeeze and we broke apart.
When I turned, Judge’s eyes were locked to me.
I gave him a smile.
His face got soft.
I moved his way.
And heard Jamie’s voice saying, “Yes, please repeat the order I placed an hour ago and bring six orders of truffle fries along with it this time.”
“Truffle fries, sah-weet,” Gage praised. “I could eat a horse.”
Judge claimed me.
Dad gave me a You okay? look.
I gave him an Absolutely reply.
Rix and Sully pulled in armchairs from the bedrooms, and we all found our places.
It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as lying with my head on Judge’s thigh.
But curled into him instead, seeing he did not hide he was touched at the dramatic gesture of my family—a family that I knew in my heart would someday officially be his—not to mention he and Jamie now had other, better things to occupy their minds, I didn’t care Judge and I didn’t have a full couch all to ourselves.
We had everything else.
Everything else we needed.
Family.
* * *
“I’m glad Matt put a line under it and you three are moving on,” Judge said.
It was later.
The rest of our family had gone their separate ways (though, all of those were in the same hotel).
I was sitting cross legged in bed.
Judge’s long body was lounged on its side across the foot, head in his hand.
And I was done with laying his worries to rest about me and my issues.
We needed to dive into his.
“What’s the gulch?” I asked.
His lips quirked.
Then he asked in return, “How hard was it to hold that question in for the length of time it took after everyone said goodbye, Matt, Sul, Gage and Rix headed down to the bar to go on the prowl, and we put on our pajamas?”
I refused to answer as to that particular difficulty being extreme and repeated, “What’s the gulch?”
He let out an amused sigh and answered, “Oakbilly Gulch. Apparently, working toward a massive ‘Fuck you, Dad’ is an Oakley family trait. I know this because of what Dad shared at the funeral home. I also know it from knowing the family lore behind the Gulch since I could form a coherent thought.”
“And this lore is?” I prompted when he didn’t continue.
I got another lip quirk before he launched in.
“Well, one thing it’s not is a gulch. It’s a nineteen-thousand-square-foot mansion sitting on fifteen thousand acres that has cattle, horses, a swimming pool, a tennis court, and an indoor theater and bowling alley. The main structure, which began as only eight thousand square feet, another Oakley tradition is for each generation to add on in order to make it more ostentatious, was built by my great grandfather. It was his middle finger to his dad who told him, if he left West Virginia, and their other family tradition of letting the coal mines kill the men early, and he went off wildcatting, he could never come home again. He left. He struck black gold. And he built that mansion and called it Oakbilly Gulch as a take on the family names and his way not to be mistaken since his people lived next to a dried-up gulch in West Virginia. A gulch that regularly flooded with rain, trapping them across the water, and even on occasion washing out their home. But the men of the family were so stubborn, they rebuilt right there, living on that spot for generations and never moving.”
“This is a rather troubling story, chéri,” I noted.