“I’m Camdyn. How has my brother been treating you?”
I have to remind myself that I can break his young ass in half. Though he’s not a small build, he’s a good kind of bulky, but there’s no hair on his square jaw. Possibly no hair on his chest. Yeah, a baby—a baby who’s taller than I am. When he paws the back of my hand, I reinforce said reminder instead of playing into his smooth seduction.
“I’m Ju—” Yes, dummy, he said you’re Justice. “I’m . . . just . . . fine. Brody’s treating me well.”
Chevelle slinks an arm over Camdyn’s shoulder. “Justice, don’t look into his eyes. This boy is trouble. Fast cars, faster girls.”
Camdyn reaches over, capturing her chin, and smacks her on the cheek with his lips.
“American,” Leith growls. “That’s my fecking wife, ye bawbag!”
“American?” I cock a brow.
“Yes,” Camdyn says, “because I’m civilized. My two older brothers gave me the name. I do believe Brody said it first as an insult.” Camdyn flashes a smile, rubbing his hands together. “I’m making omelets. What kind would you like?”
Nan rises from her chair. “He’s only making omelets because I gave ‘em a good smack for the—”
“Mom, would I smoke weed under your roof? It’s cologne.”
“Ya may have a four point—”
“Three,” Leith pipes up. He tosses a piece of toast as a frisbee to four younger brothers at the breakfast nook. “He’s a 4.3 GPA. They’re gonna tell ya that a hunner times, Justice. Mam and the American love each other, lots.”
“Place yer order, sweetheart. Pop a squat,” Nan says, gesturing around the room for any available seat. “Aye, Camdyn’s my favorite seventeen-year-old son.” She gestures toward the breakfast nook. “Mia’s my favorite grand. But there’s Jake, my favorite nine-year-old. And Lachlan’s my favorite thirteen-year-old. I have a favorite eleven-year-old, Rory.”
Another son lifts his small head.
“Jamie’s my favorite fifteen-year-old.” She points to the biggest, and also extremely handsome, kid at the table. Unlike the others, this momma’s boy’s cheeks burn. “He’s my sweet bairn. Leith, how old are ye? Catch my drift, son?”
The family interaction warms my chest and hollows my heart for my family. Camdyn, the refined version of Brody, draws my attention to the stove. I’m telling Camdyn my order for an omelet while he seamlessly alternates from a spatula and copper skillet to fiddling with his phone. I ask, “You getting all that?”
“4.3, beautiful, remember that. I don’t forget shit.” He cracks an egg while oozing charisma.
Chevelle’s at the island, kissing Leith on the temple. He stands, saying, “Here, Justice, sit next to yer crony.”
I thank him for the spot and claim it. Chevelle offers me a one-armed hug. Her eyes lift to watch Leith as he paws Mia’s cheek and gives her more Fruit Loops.
The entire room is filled with approachable side-bar conversations that I can jump in with ease. I lower my voice to Chevelle. “So, the two of you’re doing better?”
“What did Brody tell you?” She groans.
“Nothing.”
“Good. I’ll tell ya.” Chevelle tosses her long hair back, embarrassment creeping across her cheeks. “I tried to kill my husband two days ago in the presence of, well, pretty much everyone in the room.”
“In front of his mother,” I whisper.
“Um-hmmm.”
When we met, I had a chip on my shoulder the size of Jupiter. Chevelle was unicorns and glitter behind the bar. I had anticipated her backstory would be a fairytale, not like mine. I had unresolved anger and depression from Lance’s suicide. Come to find out, she’d an impeccable poker face.
“Long story short,” Chevelle says, “Leith has been running around, hacking people—I mean literally. As in, MIT gave him the proper computer skills, and his family gave him the physical skills.”
“I heard you had a samurai sword from Michie. So, hacking people, hmmm.”
She chortles, forking up her own eggs. “Humph, so Brody told you something?”
“He’s all grunts and few words.” The only man on God’s green earth that I have nothing in common with and still want to jump him. An angry fuck would do miracles for both of us. His schemes. My urges. One angry fuck.