Wild Fire (Chaos #6.5)(72)

Dutch was staring at his mother.

She was glaring at Hound.

But before Georgie could catch Hound’s hand, Keely snapped, “If that book is what I think it is, don’t you take one single step out of this room, Hound Ironside.” Her eyes swung to Georgie. “You either, Georgiana.”

“Woman, this needs to be Black’s,” Hound returned.

Dutch felt his throat close and his arm around Georgie, who was nestled into him in a cuddle chair, tightened.

“Okay, it wasn’t my place—” Georgie started.

“It is absolutely our place. And you were right, it’s high time and was about twenty years ago,” Keely decreed, reached for the book, opened it and lifted her gaze to Hound. “The brothers help with this?”

“Yeah,” he grunted.

She looked down at the opened scrapbook.

And her face got soft.

“Seriously, your father was one good-lookin’ man,” she whispered.

Dutch’s attention shot to Hound.

But he just said, “That brother got all the good pussy.”

“He sure did,” Keely agreed.

Georgie giggled, somewhat nervously, mostly with humor.

“Someone, kill me,” Jagger said. “I mean it. Right now. Kill me dead.”

“Shut up, Jagger, and come sit by your momma,” Keely cooed, flipping through the pages.

“She’s talkin’ to me like I’m Wilder’s age, so, seriously,” Jag was staring at Dutch, “kill me.”

It was then it struck Dutch for the first time that his baby brother was at the age Dutch was when he’d lost his dad.

But Wilder was asleep in his bed, and outside in his living room was a mom and a dad, two brothers, a sister, a ridiculously social cat, and so many presents waiting for him to open up the next morning, it was more than a little insane.

And that was when it occurred to him that God took his dad away so they could have Hound, Wilder and all of this.

Dutch did not know if he’d trade it to have his dad back. He did not know, if his dad knew this was what would happen, if he’d welcome that blade at his throat to give them the precious things that would come to their lives after he was gone.

He just knew his father loved Keely, Dutch, Jagger, Hound, he’d adore Georgie because he’d know Dutch did, as well as Wilder.

So in the end, it didn’t matter.

This was what they had.

And it was beautiful.

And Graham Black would think the same thing.

He pushed Georgie up in front of him then took her hand and guided her down on his lap as he sat beside his mother who had shifted to the middle of the couch.

She didn’t stay seated for long.

Hound pulled her up, sat in her place, then yanked her down on his lap.

Jagger took the other side.

Keely got right down to it, flipping back to the front.

“Okay, this one, I can’t believe it, who remembered this? It had to be Millie. Maybe Rush got it from Naomi, which makes this is the only thing I’d ever thank that woman for, but this is us at the first Chaos hog roast I attended. I met your dad that night.”

On her words, Dutch zeroed in on the first picture in that scrapbook that was just a photo of the two of them standing together. His dad was smiling down at his mom, but in hearing what she said, he could see the flirty way she was standing, and the relaxed, confident line of his father’s frame.

“I played hard-to-get for, oh, I don’t know, all of about two seconds,” she went on.

Dutch tore his eyes from the photo and looked across at Jagger to see Jagger already looking at him.

What he was feeling was in his brother’s eyes.

They had something precious now, in that room, in that house…

And in a scrapbook.

Jag dipped his chin.

Dutch did the same.

“God, you look so much like him, honey. Every time I see it, I think it’s so cool,” Georgie breathed.

It was.

So cool.

His hold on her tightened.

Then he looked again at the book and Dutch settled back, leaning into Hound.

His woman settled, leaning into him.

And his mother kept talking.

He looked and listened.

When Hound came to them, really came to them, and made them a whole family again, Christmases got good again.

It wasn’t that his mom didn’t give good holiday, she did.

It was just that Hound made it a whole lot better.

When they got Wilder, especially when he got old enough to get into it, it got off-the-charts better.

But that Christmas…

Right there…

Before the actual day even got there…

It was the best Dutch could remember.

“Murtagh, don’t eat that ribbon,” Georgie ordered.

“Mwrr.”

“Murtagh, don’t make me come over there,” Georgie snapped.

“Mwrr!” Murtagh fired back, then flounced away from the tree and jumped into Jag’s lap.

“Yeah, it sucks, but we don’t need that comin’ out the other end, dude,” Jag told him, curling him in his arms.

“Murr-ow,” Murtagh replied.

Jag started stroking.

Murtagh started purring.

“Okay, this was the night Boz got so tossed, he challenged every brother to an arm wrestling contest,” his mother said, and Dutch looked down to a photo of his father sitting in a chair, his mom draped over his back with both her arms around him, both of them looking at the same thing, laughing. “He lost. To everyone but Chew. We should have known about Chew right then, shouldn’t we have, baby?” she asked Hound.