chapter SIXTEEN
Charlie stood. “I better go back over there.”
“That sounds like a really bad idea to me.”
She nodded. “It is. I can’t lie, but—”
Berg gripped her arm and she thought he was about to pull her back onto the couch, but he stood and led her to his kitchen. He stopped and grabbed two beers from the refrigerator, then continued to lead her out the back door.
He stopped on the porch, closing the screen door and dropping to the top step. Still holding onto her arm, he guided Charlie until she sat on the step beneath him. He handed her a beer and held onto his own.
Charlie honestly didn’t know what she’d expected after that, but she was totally unprepared for what he did do.
Which was absolutely nothing.
She kept waiting for something. One of those “dude moves” as Max called them. A stroke on the back of her neck. A kiss to her cheek. A massage for her shoulders. But nope. He just drank his beer. Quietly.
Charlie became so anxious, she finally asked, “What are you doing?”
“Me? Nothing.”
“Yeah. Why are you doing nothing?”
“Do you want me to do something?”
“No.”
“Then . . . okay.”
“I guess I’m just used to guys making the move.”
“What guys?”
“Just guys.”
“Full-human guys?”
Charlie sipped her beer. “Yeah. Mostly.”
“Well, most shifter guys aren’t making the move.”
“Why not?”
“We like our faces attached to us rather than on the floor . . . in front of us.”
“You think I’d hurt you?”
“Not on purpose. My sister didn’t mean to nearly tear her high school boyfriend’s arm off when he snuck up behind her and tried to cover her eyes. That was an uncomfortable conversation for my dad with the kid’s parents.”
“So you’re just cautious . . . in general.”
“Yes. I don’t want my arms ripped off.”
Charlie chuckled a little. “I don’t think I could tear those arms off.”
“I’ve seen you in a fight. Yes, you could.”
Britta came around the side of the house carrying a big duffle bag and her hockey stick, several other players with her.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “People are milling. I know there’s drama afoot when people are milling.”
“It’s not a big thing,” Berg said, attempting to protect Charlie from what he couldn’t. The walking embarrassment that was her old man. “Just go to practice.”
Charlie frowned. “I thought you guys were at practice.”
“That was practice with Novikov. Then we come here, get a little snack, and go to the rink a couple of streets over so there’s no sobbing.”
“I couldn’t help it!” one of the players announced, pacing away. “He was really mean to me.”
“See?” Britta asked. “Now what’s going on here?”
“Britta.”
“My father’s here,” Charlie announced, refusing to pretend anything when it came to Freddy MacKilligan. “Being an asshole!”
“Why did he come here?” Britta asked. “Didn’t he steal, like, a hundred mil from his own brother?”
“Britta!”
“What, Berg? Is that a secret?”
“It’s nothing to be announced.”
Charlie shrugged. “Announce away.”
Charlie began stretching out her neck, tensing up at the thought of another confrontation with the idiot.
“I should go over there,” she said again, but even she knew there was no real commitment behind the statement.
“He’s still over there?” Britta demanded.
“My sisters will try to get rid of him, but Stevie’s too nice and I don’t want to see Max in prison, so . . .”
Britta dropped her bag and sticks. “Come on, guys,” she said to the other players before marching off.
Charlie jumped up to block the sow, but Berg placed his hand against her hip and advised, “You’ll never stop her.”
“But she doesn’t have to—”
“It’s not about ‘have to’ for Britta. It’s about her infinite will.”
* * *
Getting blindingly frustrated by her father, Stevie was relieved when she heard the doorbell. She rushed to the front door and yanked it open.
“Yes?” she asked the young man standing there.
He sighed, shook his head. “You still don’t remember me?”
“I should?”
“You just saw me a few hours ago. I’m Cooper.” When she continued to silently stare, he added, “Mr. Needy?”
“Oh! Kyle’s brother.” His gaze rolled up and he took several deep breaths. “Do you need something?” she pushed. “Or do you just want my autograph?”
“At first I felt bad about this, but now . . .”
Gazing directly at her, he reached his arm out and yanked something over.
Kyle.
“Do you mind if he stays with you for a while?”
“Well—”
“Great!” Kyle’s brother shoved Kyle into the house, ignoring the fact that his brother tripped and nearly fell to the floor before he got control of his long legs. “I think the family needs a break from him, and you seemed like a better option than the Motel 6 near LaGuardia.”
Disgusted, Stevie shook her head and chastised, “I don’t believe you people. Kyle Jean-Louis Parker is a genius. And as a fellow genius, I think all of you should treat him much better than you—”
“I can’t!” the overrated pianist yelled out dramatically before stomping back to his waiting limo. “I can’t!” he screamed again before getting in and disappearing down the street.
“Wow,” Stevie said to poor Kyle as she started to close the door. “Your brother has issues. Has he had any psychological tests?”
“Of course not. Although I’ve highly recommended them.”
Stevie nearly had the front door closed when something pushed it open again.
“Hey, Stevie.”
It was casually said. But it was casually said by a bear standing with several other bears and some dogs and cats.
Without thinking, only instinct, Stevie arched her back and jumped back about ten feet. Then she scrambled over a wingback chair and pressed her body into the corner.
Britta gawked at her before stating, “I don’t know what the hell that was. But we’ll not discuss it. I’m here for your father.”
Stevie gasped. “Are you going to eat him?”
Britta started to answer, stopped, headed into the house instead; her friends followed behind her.
“Outstanding specimens,” Kyle noted. “Think they’ll sit for me?”
“Aren’t you worried they’ll eat you?”
“No.”
“Lucky.”
Before Stevie could warn her father about the bears, there was another knock at her front door and a, “Hello?”
“Yes?” she called out, afraid to move.
The Asian male slowly walked inside, looking around.
“What are you doing here?” Kyle asked the man with contempt.
The male grinned when he saw Kyle. “Your sister ordered me here. I’m to stay by your side as long as you’re away from your family. In case anyone tries to kill you. Since you’re just so important.”
“I am important, peasant.”
“Keep calling people peasants, you probably will get killed.”
“Whatever. I’m hungry.” Kyle sniffed the air, and headed toward the kitchen.
“Hi,” the male said, giving Stevie a little wave. “Sorry about this.”
“Kyle should be protected. His brain is very important.”
“If you say so.”
Stevie came around the chair and walked over to the man, holding out her hand. “Stevie MacKilligan.”
“Shen Li. We met. At Livy’s apartment? When your sister tried to kill her cousin and the grizzly.”
“Oh. I do think I remember you.”
Pulling her hand away, she asked, “Are you a bear?”
“Yes. Giant panda.”
“You know”—she put her hand to her chest—“I’m not afraid of you at all.”
“You shouldn’t be.” He grinned. “I’m very nice.”
“And so cute!” She grabbed his cheeks with both hands and twisted. “Like a big stuffed toy!”
“Uh . . .”
“Hey,” Max said from behind her, “Dad’s getting in an argument with some bears. I’m really hoping they kick his—Stevie! What the fuck are you doing?”
“Isn’t he cute?” Stevie demanded, her fingers still on Shen’s face. But then her sister was next to her, slapping her hands down.
* * *
Max didn’t know what her idiot sister was thinking! Not only did the giant panda look confused and irritated, but he was armed. A holstered Sig Sauer attached to his jeans, just barely covered by a light jacket.
He wasn’t as big as the grizzlies and cats that had just stormed into their house. Only six feet or so, but his shoulders were wide as hell and there was nothing but muscles under that black T-shirt and jeans. And unlike Max herself, he didn’t dye his black hair one color, instead letting those black stripes cut through his thick, white strands with pride. Sharp cheekbones accented the black eyes currently staring at Stevie.
“But look at him!” Stevie practically squealed. “He’s just so damn adorable!”
Max didn’t know what her sister was looking at. The man she saw was probably military trained and would have no qualms about hurting people that got too close to those he was trying to protect. But Stevie was acting like he was one of those giant stuffed pandas at the front of a big toy store.
Grabbing her sister’s hands away from the poor guy’s face, she yanked her across the room. She was about to start yelling when Britta came stomping through the house. She had their father caught by his hair, bending him over at the waist so he couldn’t put up a fight. She kept him in front of her, pushing him while her friends backed her up by merely being there.
“Your daughter wants you out, so you’re out,” Britta said to him calmly. “And if you come back, we’ll rip the skin from your bones.”
She led him out of the house, and her friends disappeared with her. The door slammed shut and Max let out a sigh. She didn’t know how Charlie did this on a daily basis. Maintain order. Honestly, it would have been easier just to make a run for it or lay waste to everyone in a five-mile radius. Illegal but easier.
Oh, and . . . yeah . . . morally wrong.
Moving away from Max and Stevie, the panda said, “I’ll be staying here to keep an eye on the kid. Hope you guys don’t mind.”
“Wait . . . that kid’s staying?”
“Just for the night, I’m sure. There was some family drama apparently.”
Well, Max completely understood that.
“He’s my friend,” Stevie said, yanking her arms away from Max. “Kyle can stay for as long as he wants.”
“How old is that kid?”
“Seventeen.”
Max raised an eyebrow and Stevie gasped. “We’re not that kind of friends!”
“You better not be. I’m sure Charlie wouldn’t like that one bit.” She started to return to the kitchen, but she realized that Stevie was heading toward the unsuspecting panda, who had turned away as he put his bag down on the couch.
Terrified at what she might do next, Max rushed over and grabbed her sister around the waist. She lifted her up and carried her out of the living room and into the kitchen down the hall.
Max dropped her and spun Stevie around to face her. “I’m going to say this once: Stay away from the panda.”
Stevie clapped her hands together and crowed, “But he’s just so cute!”
* * *
About fifteen minutes later, Britta returned, looking quite proud of herself.
“All done.”
“Thanks.”
“And just so you can relax, I paid three of the Mueller boys down the street to drive him to Philly. They’ll drop him in the middle of the Southside; he’ll have to fend for himself there.”
Shocked laughter exploded out of Charlie. “You . . .” She gave herself a moment to regain control. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I spent two minutes with that man. Trust me . . . it was a pleasure.”
She retrieved her bag and sticks. “You should stay for a while. I’ll bring dinner back.”
“I don’t want to put you guys out.”
“You’re not. But I know from personal experience, sometimes you need a break from your family. Even the ones you love. Besides, some smart-ass kid is at your house now. You probably don’t want to go back tonight.”
“What smart-ass kid?”
“No idea, but he said he was a genius.” She rolled her eyes. “What. Ever.”
“Name’s Kyle,” one of the other players volunteered.
“Oh.” Charlie nodded. “Yeah. He actually is a genius. But from what my sister tells me, he is a lot of work.”
“See? You don’t want to go home. Stay here. Relax. Watch TV. I’ll bring dinner back.” She motioned to the players. “Come on, bitches.”
Charlie waited until they were all gone before informing Berg, “I love your sister.”
“She has a way. Speaking of which, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”
Looking over her shoulder, she asked the bear, “And if I want to stay?”
“Then you are more than welcome.”
“I don’t want to put you guys out, though.”
“You won’t.”
The screen door opened and closed and Dag stood on the porch, scratching his head and staring at a sheet of paper.
“Where have you been?” his brother asked.
“Taking orders.”
“Who was giving you orders?”
“Uh . . . everybody.” He took a step forward, still staring at the paper. “Charlie, if you are feeling moody and need to bake, there are, um, requests here.”
“Requests?”
“Yes. Mrs. Franklin would like your cinnamon rolls. Mr. Gronbech would like your honey cake with white icing. But Tiny wants your honey-pineapple cake.” Poor Dag scratched his head in frustration. “I can’t read my handwriting here.”
“Dag,” she said, patting his leg. “It’s okay. I’m not in the mood to bake. I’ve had a long day. I just want to do . . . nothing.”
“Oh, okay. Good.” Letting out a relieved breath, he leaned against the railing surrounding most of the porch and stayed there.
Charlie didn’t really think about it until Berg cleared his throat.
“What?” Dag asked his brother.
“Go away.”
Dag’s gaze slowly bounced between Berg and Charlie. “Oh!” he finally said, grinning. “Right. Got stuff to do.” He went back into the house.
“Yeah,” Berg muttered, “lots to do. Like look at porn online.”
“Don’t judge. Sometimes one needs to check out bad homemade porn to feel alive.”
“Big porn fan, are you?”
“Not particularly. Except the Japanese animation stuff.”
“Seriously?” Berg asked, laughing.
“Yeah. If I watch that stuff then I’m not worrying ‘what do her parents think?’ Why don’t I worry? Because the girl getting hardcore fucked while still managing to keep her nurse’s hat on—an actual video by the way—is just animation.”
“That’s amazing logic.”
“Isn’t it, though?”
* * *
As promised, Britta brought dinner back but, thankfully, not her fellow players. Those she’d sent off, so it was just the four of them.
Charlie had checked in on her sisters by texting them and the reply she got back must have been satisfactory because she didn’t run over there to see what might be happening. Instead, she relaxed and hung out. She read the newspaper while Berg fought with his idiot brother about what to watch on TV.
After dinner, she read the current events magazines Britta kept on the coffee table so they looked like they were thoughtful bears while Berg continued to fight with his idiot brother as well as now his obnoxious sister about what to watch on TV.
The fact that the three of them still disagreed and fought like they used to when they were cubs didn’t seem to bother Charlie, and Berg appreciated that. Then again, considering what went on around her at any given time, dealing with the Dunn triplets must have been like a vacation in comparison.
Around midnight, Dag went out after getting a text from a She-cat a few streets over and Britta took her laptop—and whoever she was direct messaging—up to her room. When the door closed behind her, Berg knew she was in for the night.
That left him and Charlie sitting on opposite ends of the couch.
He was just about to move over to be closer to her when the dog suddenly sauntered into the room, climbed over the coffee table, and into the middle of the couch. He stretched out fully so that his back feet nearly touched Berg’s leg. His big head dropped into Charlie’s lap and she immediately began petting him while still reading her magazine.
Berg wouldn’t have been so pissed, though, if his dog hadn’t looked over at him and given what Berg could only guess was a dog smile. Or leer. The bastard was mocking him!
Eventually, Charlie tossed the magazine aside and walked out. He heard the door to the first-floor bathroom close and that’s when Berg tapped the dog on his hind leg and motioned to the floor.
Ignored, Berg tapped the dog again and added, “Get down.”
Now the animal growled at him.
Fed up, Berg went ahead and pushed the dog off the couch. He hit the floor with a heavy thud, but he got up in seconds, turned, and threw himself at Berg.
The two wrestled on the couch until they rolled off and slammed to the floor, their big bodies shoving the coffee table halfway across the room.
“Ahem.”
Berg cringed and glared down at the dog he’d finally pinned to the ground. And there went that rude, toothy dog grin again.
“If you’re going to wrestle him on the floor,” Charlie said, standing over them, “you should really name him.”
“He started it. He wouldn’t move.”
“He’s a two-hundred-pound dog. He doesn’t have to move.”
Getting to his feet, Berg faced Charlie. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“I have a meeting tomorrow with my bitchy aunt. For tea.” She stuck her tongue out. “I hate tea. Then again, I hate my aunt.” She rubbed her forehead. “But I know Stevie’s going to be up all night with Kyle . . . talking about . . . genius shit.”
“You can stay here for the night,” Berg offered and without moving anything else, Charlie lifted her left eyebrow. “On . . . on the couch. Appropriately.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Not at all. Actually, I’ll take the couch and you can take my—”
“I’m not taking your bed,” she cut in. “Although I appreciate the offer.”
“Actually,” Berg said, trying hard not to outwardly cringe, “we have extra bedrooms, so you can have one of those.”
Charlie pushed a loose curl off her forehead before asking with a smile, “You offered me the couch and your bed before one of your extra bedrooms?”
He cleared his throat. “I forgot we had them.”
“You forgot you had extra bedrooms? I didn’t know I was so distracting.”
“Well, ya are,” he snapped back, embarrassed.
Laughing, she said, “I’ll take the couch.”
He frowned. No longer embarrassed but confused. “Why? You’re more than welcome to—”
“Oh, I know.” She placed her hand on his forearm and her fingers were warm and dry and he liked how they felt against his flesh. “But if someone breaks in, I can shoot them . . . legally.”
“You’re talking about your dad, aren’t you?”
“When am I not talking about my dad?” she asked, clearly disgusted. “But, honestly, I wouldn’t put it past him to drag his ass back here and start some shit. And I’d like to ensure he’s greeted properly. So the couch is good.”
With a shrug, Berg went to get Charlie a new toothbrush and toothpaste. While she returned to the bathroom, he went upstairs and grabbed extra pillows and blankets from the closet. He returned to the living room and proceeded to make up her “bed.”
“Blankets?” she asked when she walked back in. “It’s, like, 80 degrees outside.”
“Trust me. In about an hour, Britta will turn the air up. She’s a grizzly and hates the heat.”
“Okay,” Charlie said on a chuckle.
Berg finished and motioned to the couch. “Madam.”
“Thank you. For everything. I really mean it.”
“Any time.”
Charlie stepped close and her arms slipped around his chest. She was hugging him and Berg hugged her back, holding her tight against his body. And for once—for him—it wasn’t an awkward thing because of height differences and not knowing fully what kind of relationship he really had with Charlie. There was no fumbling. No leaning down or stretching up. It was the most comfortable hug Berg had ever experienced with a woman who wasn’t a close relative. And to his bearlike way of thinking, it was because Charlie fit perfectly into his life.
She just didn’t know it yet.
Charlie pulled away first, giving him a wink and smile before dropping onto his couch. She kicked off her sneakers and stretched out, letting out a big yawn as she relaxed into the cushions.
With a nod, Berg forced himself to walk away from her, leaving Charlie alone on that couch. He turned off all the other lights in the living room, letting her handle the one by her head. He was about to go down the hallway to the stairs when he heard Charlie giggle a little.
He looked back and saw that his stupid dog had gotten on the couch with her. He was by her feet now, letting her rest them on his big head.
“Psst.” Berg motioned to the dog to come, but he wouldn’t move. “Psssst.”
“He’s not bothering me,” Charlie said, her back to the room. “You can leave him.”
But Berg didn’t want to leave the bastard! He wanted to be the one that Charlie was putting her feet on. He wanted to be curled up with her on the couch for the night.
Who knew he’d ever see that damn dog as a romantic rival? But here they were!
“Okay, well . . . if he gets on your nerves, feel free to kick him off,” he spit out the last part between clenched teeth, his gaze locked with the dog’s.
“Will do. ’Night, Berg.”
“’Night, Charlie.”
Berg made his way up to his room, sat on his bed, and stared at absolutely nothing until his sister walked in. She wore one of the team hockey shirts, which reached down to her knees.
Smirking, she said, “You dumbass. You left her with the dog?”
Groaning, Berg fell back onto his bed, his sister’s laughter giving him a headache.