chapter SEVEN
The front door slammed open and Berg dropped his head so he could focus exclusively on his breakfast. Dag tried to do the same thing, but his plate was already empty. So he tried to make a run for it, but their triplet was already in the kitchen doorway, snarling like an angry sow. Which was exactly what she was at the moment.
“That woman,” she snapped, pushing Dag back into the kitchen. “That obsessive, crazy woman!”
He knew she meant Coop’s oldest sister, Toni Jean-Louis Parker Reed. A jackal that he now realized made a grizzly sow look like a crack-addicted mom, she was so protective of her siblings.
Britta dropped her travel bag and purse to the floor. “She was on my ass from the time I met her at the airport in Milan through dealing with local authorities about the attack, until I was finally able to shake her at JFK. And the whole time she’s freaking out on me!” She pointed an accusing finger at Berg. “And you left me with her!”
“You said you could handle her,” Berg reminded her
“We all know I think highly of myself and think very little of everyone else. But this time I didn’t realize the depths of her crazy!”
She pulled out a chair and dropped hard into the seat. She looked around at the table and reached over to snatch bacon off his plate. He growled in warning.
“Don’t even start with me!” she bellowed.
They ate in silence, and Dag made more bacon and toast for their sister and Berg. After several cups of coffee and the food, his sister’s entire demeanor changed.
Britta relaxed back in her chair, one foot resting on the opposite thigh. “So what are we up to today?”
Amazing what a little food and coffee could do for a grizzly female.
“I’m going over to help out Charlie and her sisters.”
Britta rubbed her nose with the back of her fist. “Who’s Charlie?”
Dag, still eating, poured honey onto a slice of wheat toast. “The woman who almost got him killed.”
“You met her again? How?” Britta leaned forward. “Was she still naked?”
“Sadly, no,” Dag said with a grin.
“Why is she here?” Britta asked. “Did you track her down and bring her here?”
Insulted by even the suggestion, “Of course not!”
“But he did get Tiny to give her the old house across the street so he can easily stalk her.”
Berg glared at his triplet. “Why are you talking?”
Dag wrapped his big hands around an oversized coffee mug. “I just find it fascinating what you’re doing for this woman. It’s so unlike you.”
“I’m helpful,” Berg argued. “I help where I can. I’m beloved.”
Dag and Britta quickly looked away from each other and Berg knew they were trying not to openly laugh in his face. Something he did appreciate.
A sound at the kitchen doorway attracted their attention. They watched as their two-hundred-pound Caucasian Bear dog or Caucasian shepherd—depending on who you asked—stretched and yawned before briefly sitting so he could use his back paw to scratch his neck and jaw.
When he was done, he moved beside Britta, placed his paws on the table, and leaned over until he could grab the entire pile of bacon Dag had made. Then he disappeared into the other room to eat in peace.
The siblings refocused on each other and Britta asked Berg, “You know, you said this woman was a shifter, but you never told me what she is.”
“She’s a hybrid,” he said, trying to keep it simple.
“Hybrid what?”
Berg spun his answer carefully. “She said her mother was wolf.”
“Echhhh.” The entire left side of Britta’s face twisted in annoyance and disgust. Like most bears, she had little tolerance for wolves. Something that should distract his sister for quite a—
“But her father is honey badger,” Dag volunteered.
Britta threw up her hands. “Really?” she asked Berg. Berg, at the same time, threw up his hands. “Really?” he asked Dag.
* * *
Charlie opened the front door and three very large people who looked almost exactly alike stood on her porch. She briefly wondered how that would be. Having siblings who actually looked like each other. She and her sisters each resembled their mothers. Thankfully. Charlie disliked her father so much, she would not like to see his mug staring back at her from the bathroom mirror every day.
“Hi,” she said with a smile. It surprised her that not only was she not unhappy to see Berg, but she was actually glad to see him.
“Hey.” Berg held up a bucket filled with cleaning supplies. “We’ve come to help.”
“Sure. Come on in.” She stepped back and let the trio into her home. The males had to duck to clear the doorway. The female didn’t, but her brown and gold hair nearly got snagged on the doorframe.
Berg walked farthest into the house, pausing in the living room. He stopped. He stared. Then disappeared through the hallway to the kitchen. A few moments later, he came back in and gawked at Charlie.
“What?” she finally asked.
“Where is it?”
“What?”
“The mess. The hoarder mess that Tiny left you with.”
“Oh. That. I cleaned it up. Started yesterday. Worked late into the night. Slept a couple of hours, then got up around three or so and finished. Looks pretty good, too, right? I put all his junk in the garage so he can pick through it at his leisure.”
Max walked into the room, holding a jar of honey. She used a spoon to ladle big gobs into her mouth.
“I don’t understand,” Berg said. “How did you three get this all done so quickly?”
Max gave a short laugh and said around the spoon in her mouth, “Three? This is all her. We didn’t do anything.”
“Not true,” Charlie reminded her. “You two cleaned your bedrooms.”
“So we could go to sleep before you did.”
“So, you cleaned this house by yourself?” Berg asked Charlie.
“Well—”
“But I told you we’d be back today to help. Why didn’t you wait?”
“Uh . . .”
“Yeah, Sis,” Max taunted. “Explain to him why you didn’t wait.”
“Shut up,” Charlie told Max. She didn’t need to yell it. She knew Max understood without yelling. She focused on Berg. “It was just easier—”
“To do it by yourself? Really?”
“I could just get in there and get it done. Easy-peasy.”
“I get it,” the woman said. “If you do it yourself, you get it done the way you want without having to constantly explain or give direction.”
“Yes! Thank you!”
“Because you’re the only one who can do it perfectly. Everyone else is a fuckup.”
“Yes! Wait . . . no.”
Berg shook his head. “Fell into my sister’s trap. This is Britta, by the way. And you remember Dag?”
Feeling stupid, Charlie admitted, “It’s not my fault that people can’t take basic direction. I can tell them. I can write shit out. I can give them diagrams, and they still do it wrong! It’s just easier for me to do it myself. So I do. It’s nothing personal.”
“It’s not?”
“It’s not personal!”
“Did you get to the outside?” Berg asked, probably trying to head off an argument.
“What’s outside?” she asked.
“Trees. Plants. Right now it looks like you live in Grey Gardens.”
“Oh. Uh . . . yeah, you can do that.” Because Charlie didn’t care about what was outside. She’d only said she’d take care of the inside. The outside, in her opinion, was not her problem. “Thank you.”
Chuckling and still sort of shaking his head, Berg walked off through the house, his siblings following after him.
Max, leaning against a wall, her jar of honey nearly finished, began counting, “Five, four, three, two—”
A panicked, hysterical scream, followed by bear growls. Stevie ran into the living room and dove under one of the couches. Where she would stay for . . . most likely a while.
“There are bears!” she screamed from under the couch. “There are bears in our house! Why are there bears in our house?”
Charlie scratched her forehead and faced Max. “Any word on Dad?”
“Not yet.”
“Why do I feel like you’re hiding something from me?”
Max shrugged. “Because I probably am.”
“Is what you’re hiding going to give me a migraine?”
“Yes.”
“Then keep it to yourself for now.”
“That was my plan.”
“Does no one care that there are bears in our house?” Stevie screeched.
Max glanced out one of the windows; Berg walked by on the other side. “How long are we going to stay here anyway?”
“Until we at least know what’s going on. Why? You don’t like it here?”
Max shrugged. “I’d rather be in the city. This is . . . the ’burbs.”
“It’ll be nice. We can live like normal people for once.”
Stevie poked her head out. “Did you hear that? Chittering. There are squirrels in this neighborhood. Squirrels!” She went deeper under the couch.
Max licked the back of her spoon. “Yep. Just like normal people.”
* * *
Berg slapped at the hand rubbing his head from the tree limb above him. “Stop messing around and get back to work.”
“I have been working. For hours! And now I’m tired,” Dag complained. “And hungry.” He patted Berg’s head again.
Fed up, Berg grabbed his brother’s arm and yanked him from the tree, slamming him to the ground. He was about to lay into him when Charlie called out, “You guys hungry?”
Berg ran over his brother’s chest to get to the metal table on the patio right outside the back of the house. There was a plastic, red-checkered tablecloth spread out and fresh food in big aluminum trays. A lot of food.
Berg had almost reached the table when Britta stepped in front of him and shoved him back with her shoulder.
“Me first,” she said, smiling.
“Sit,” Charlie offered, her hand indicating the metal chairs.
“Did you make all this?” Britta asked.
“I made the call that brought all this food here. That’s kind of the same, right?”
Britta, a consummate food orderer herself, laughed and sat down.
Max brought out another platter of food and Charlie glanced back at her, tossing over her shoulder, “You guys go ahead and get start—”
She stopped talking when she saw that the Dunn Bears had already started. Food was piled on their plates, mouths already full, chewing having already commenced.
“Oh.” She blinked a few times. “All right.”
“Sorry,” Berg said around his food.
“No need to apologize.” Charlie sat down on the bench opposite them. “You’ve done so much work, I’m not surprised you’re hungry.”
“The place looks great,” Max said, straddling the bench. “I had no idea we had a pool.”
“All bear homes have a pool. Or a hot tub. Some have both. Most of us really like water.”
“This is a bear home?” She gave a small frown. “You barely cleared the doorways.”
“The house was originally built for black bears. You’ll find a few fox homes down the block . . . I practically have to crawl through their doorways.”
“Where’s Stevie?” Charlie asked.
Max, reaching for a premade honey salmon sandwich, shrugged.
Charlie forced a smile. “Excuse me a moment.”
She went inside and, for a few seconds, there was nothing but silence. Then yelling. Lots of yelling.
Three minutes later, Charlie returned. She had her arms around her sister’s waist and was carrying her like a panicked cat she was trying to take to the vet. Stevie’s arms and legs stuck straight out. And there was hissing.
“Put me down!” Stevie demanded.
“You need to eat.”
“It’s not my diet I’m worried about!”
“You’re being overdramatic. Stop it.”
“I will not stay out here!” Stevie screeched, legs and arms now swinging wildly. “I will not be eaten! My brain is too important for future societies to allow it to be eaten!”
If Max noticed any of what was going on, she didn’t show it, focusing instead on her sandwich and the bag of honey barbecue chips she’d opened. But Berg and his siblings were fascinated.
“Look,” Charlie ordered her sister, aiming the woman at the Dunns. “They already have food. There is no reason to eat you.”
“Are you insane? They’re bears!”
“J’accuse!” Max suddenly announced; then she laughed. Berg got the feeling she was having her own conversation in her head.
“Stevie, I would never let anyone hurt you,” Charlie calmly reminded her sister. “Not now. Not ever. So please. Eat something. You haven’t eaten all day, and I really don’t want to do that intravenous thing again, do you?”
“You sure she took her meds?” Max asked, not even glancing at either sister.
“Stop acting like I hear voices,” Stevie said.
“You don’t?”
“I have a panic disorder, not schizophrenia.”
“Then act like you’ve got some sense and sit down.” Max slid down the bench and Charlie placed Stevie in the open spot.
She was a cute little thing. Not like her sisters at all. Max was petite but powerfully built. And there was something about her that screamed “sex!” He wasn’t sure why. Berg wasn’t attracted to her. To be honest, she scared him a little. The way that she looked at the world . . . it was like watching those full lions on the Serengeti. Like she was an apex predator and the rest of the world was just her available prey.
And Charlie . . . she really seemed less shifter than any of them. If Berg couldn’t smell it on her and hadn’t seen her in action in Milan, he’d never guess that was what she was. She was too calm. Too reasonable. And definitely gorgeous. All those soft brown curls framing her perfectly proportioned face; those dark eyes that looked at everything with curiosity and warmth; and that strong but soft body that he knew could handle all sorts of things . . .
Nope. Nope. He had to stop thinking about all the things her body could possibly do. Especially with his sister and brother sitting on either side of him.
But Stevie wasn’t like either sister. Medium height but so thin. He had the feeling her sisters often had to force her to eat. Was she one of those sad women who worried about their weight constantly? Who flipped out when they ate a whole muffin or counted every calorie, not for health reasons but because, God forbid, they should gain a pound in a world of “thigh gaps” and giant asses that had to be medically enhanced because those women didn’t eat enough to get an ass like that on their own.
Her blond hair reached past her shoulders but she clearly dyed it that color, because the roots were returning to their natural brown, white, and . . . wait, orange? Did she naturally have orange hair? The only breed he knew who had that color hair if they were particularly unlucky were tigers.
Was she part tiger?
Tiger and honey badger together? What did that mean about little Stevie? Frail-looking, easily panicked, but surprisingly sharp-eyed Stevie.
“Want me to ladle out your food for you?” Max asked Stevie.
“I can get my own food, thank you very much.”
“You sure, sweetie?” Max gently patted her sister on the back and Berg could tell it did nothing but irritate Stevie. “I can spoon-feed you, if you’d like. Make plane sounds and everything!”
“I have hated you since I met you!” Stevie screamed in her sister’s face.
“You have no idea what true hate is!”
While the pair screamed, Charlie took it upon herself to put small amounts of food on a paper plate and place it in front of Stevie. The youngest of the sisters began eating while still yelling at Max, unaware that Charlie had put together her meal for her.
“Drinks!” Charlie said, realizing what she’d forgotten. She pointed at a cooler. “I bought a bunch of stuff since I didn’t know what you guys would want. There’s iced tea, bottled water, soda, beer, and wine.”
Dag jumped up and went to the cooler. “Beer!”
“Wine,” Britta said, holding out her hands for Dag to toss her a bottle.
Berg was in the middle of swallowing a big bite of his sandwich, so he didn’t answer right away, assuming he could just get what he wanted once he was sure he wouldn’t choke on the food.
“Don’t you want something to drink?” Charlie pushed, appearing concerned. Did she think he was like her sister and needed someone to put food on his plate? “If there’s nothing you like in there, I can get something else. We have other stuff in the kitchen. Or I can order more stuff. If you want.”
Berg, still chewing, gazed at her. He’d never met a fellow shifter so . . . helpful before. It was as if she couldn’t stop herself.
“Well?” she pushed again when he didn’t answer.
Berg pointed at his mouth, chewed a few more times, and finally swallowed. “Water’s fine.”
She smiled, almost in relief. “I have water. Sparkling and flat.”
“Uhhhh . . .”
Dag slammed a bottle of water in front of Berg’s plate before sitting down in his own spot and getting back to his food.
Berg pointed at the bottle. “This is fine.”
“Okay. Great.”
“Are you going to sit down and eat?” Britta asked, taking her wine opener off her keyring and pulling the cork from the bottle.
“Of course.”
“Then do it,” Berg said. “I want to see you sit down and eat.”
“What? You don’t think I can?”
“No,” the Dunns replied as one.
Max and Stevie had stopped fighting, and now watched their sister, their expressions curious.
Charlie looked from one to the other until she’d examined the entire table. “None of you think I can just sit down and enjoy a meal?”
“No,” they all said. Even her sisters.
She glanced over her shoulder and Berg was guessing she had planned to go back into the house and do something else once she got everybody eating and drinking.
Giving them all one more look, she slowly—oh, so slowly—sat down on the bench beside Stevie.
“Need us to make a plate for you, dear?” Stevie asked.
Narrowed eyes glared. “I can get my own food, thanks.”
They silently watched as Charlie put food on her plate and got up so she could grab a beer from the cooler. She used her bare hand to remove the beer cap and took a swig. But it wasn’t until she took a bite of her steak sandwich that they all went back to eating their own food.
* * *
As Charlie predicted—to herself anyway—Stevie finally relaxed around the bears once she got to know them. Contributing to the conversation just like a person who had an average IQ.
Of course, that’s what Charlie always loved about Stevie. She might be one of the smartest humans in the known universe, but around “the normals” as Max called everyone else, she didn’t act superior. She seemed like anyone else who had a panic disorder and the occasional bout of deep depression that required additional medications.
But Stevie hadn’t had a bout of that depression in quite a while. Thankfully.
“Okay,” Britta said, nursing her third glass of wine. “You’re half wolf and half honey badger. And you’re half tiger and half honey badger?” Stevie nodded. “Really? Because you don’t seem like either.”
“Pray you keep thinking that way,” Max muttered and Charlie looped her arm behind Stevie and smacked their middle sister in the back of the head.
“I think of myself as kind of a liger,” Stevie explained. “Even though ligers are composed of two of the strongest apex predators in the world, they are surprisingly gentle and sweet natured. Despite their enormous size.”
“So the badger and tiger cancel each other out?”
“Mostly,” she replied, which made Max snort.
Again, Charlie slapped her sister in the back of the head.
“But not you?” Britta asked Charlie.
“But not me what?”
“Did your two sides cancel each other out?”
“I wouldn’t say that. It’s more like they found a way to work together.”
“Like uranium and Oppenheimer!” Max crowed.
Stevie pointed her bottle of water at Max, eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do I really have to explain it? To you, I mean.”
“So you’re all bears,” Charlie quickly interjected before her sisters could expand their bickering to a full-blown knife fight with the plastic cutlery.
Britta smirked because she understood exactly what Charlie was doing, but the two males frowned at her.
“Uh . . . yeah. We’re bears,” Berg said.
“And triplets. That’s rare, isn’t it?”
“For bears . . . or people?”
Charlie thought a moment before replying, “Both, I guess.”
“Triplets are very rare for both,” Stevie said while eating her salad. “Unless your mother had in vitro fertilization.”
The triplets shook their heads.
“Then, yes,” Stevie went on. “Very rare. In fact, statistically—”
“I don’t want to hear statistics,” Max rudely cut in.
Stevie’s right eye twitched. “Maybe everyone else does.”
“They don’t.”
And boom. They started yelling at each other again, but it was so hysterical and stupid that Charlie couldn’t even make out what they were saying.
“Any sign of your father?” Berg suddenly asked when there was a brief pause in the yelling, and Charlie wanted to kiss him. Because if anything could waylay a Stevie-Max fight, it was their idiot father.
Charlie shook her head and went to the cooler to get another beer. “Unfortunately, no.”
“He’s a true weasel,” Max stated. “I’ve never met anyone who can weasel their way out of more bad situations than our father.”
“I couldn’t believe he wasn’t in that morgue,” Charlie said, sitting back down in her spot. “I was so disappointed.”
Stevie let out a small sigh. “Me, too.”
“Is he really that bad?”
“Britta,” Berg said low, shaking his head at his sister.
“What? It was just a question. I’m curious.”
“Don’t be. It’s none of our business.”
“Charlie doesn’t mind talking shit about our father.” Max opened ajar of honey-covered peanuts. “It’s like a pastime for her.”
“I don’t go out of my way to talk about him.” She closed her eyes as that angry feeling washed over her. “But he makes me so crazy!” She pointed her finger at the three bears. “And I refuse to live a codependent existence with that man.”
Max snorted. “She learned that word in ninth grade and she hasn’t let it go since.”
“I haven’t let it go because it perfectly explains why he is the way he is. Everyone has a codependent relationship with that idiot and that’s how he keeps starting shit. And getting into shit. And I refuse to be a party to that. And I’m not letting you two be a party to that. And the way to avoid it is honesty. People ask me what my dad’s like, and I tell them, ‘He’s a scumbag.’ ”
“We all have issues with our parents. Don’t get me started on my mother—”
“Please don’t,” Berg suddenly begged, both he and Dag imploring Britta with their eyes.
Britta nodded. “Fine. But what terrible thing, exactly, has your father done to you guys?”
“Everything,” the sisters said in unison.
“Oh, come on. You’ve gotta be more specific than that.”
“Britta,” Berg growled as Dag reached over and took the wine bottle away from her.
“I wasn’t done with that,” she complained.
“Yes, you are,” Berg muttered.
“You want to know what my father’s done?” Charlie asked.
Berg shook his head. “You don’t have to say—”
But she didn’t let him finish, instead flipping her hand over, palm up, and gesturing to Stevie.
Her baby sister shrugged. “He ruined my credit by the time I was six.”
Britta cringed. “Oh. Okay that’s—”
“When my mom died,” Charlie explained, “she left each of us some insurance money. Mine was for college. Dad asked to borrow it . . . I never went to college. Not even community.”
“Well—”
“He used my baby picture,” Max announced, “to sell nonexistent Asian babies to infertile couples desperate to adopt.”
“Oh!” Britta’s expression became even more horrified. “Oh, my God!”
“He’s the reason Max’s mom is in prison,” Charlie tossed in.
Stevie took another sip of water. “As my legal guardian—”
“Which he wasn’t,” Charlie added.
“—he sold all the rights to my early music. Music that is now worth millions and millions of dollars. I haven’t seen a cent from any of it.”
Max popped more peanuts into her mouth before noting, “You hear her music in expensive car commercials all the time.”
“And he sold it for . . . what was it, Charlie?”
“Fifty grand.”
“Right. Fifty grand. Fifty grand that I never saw a cent from.”
“Because he was going to pay it back to you after he got his business off the ground,” Charlie reminded her.
“Oh, yes. The can’t-fail business that turned out to be a pyramid scheme that also bilked the elderly out of a few million.”
“None of which he managed to make any money from,” Charlie added.
“But he also managed not to get any prison time.” Max chuckled. “Everybody else went to jail but him.”
“Yeah,” Britta finally agreed. “That is definitely the worst—”
“And remember that time he ‘accidentally’”—Max asked her sisters, making air quotes with her fingers—“sold me into domestic slavery?”
“How the fuck did he do that accidentally?” Dag demanded.
“How did he put it again, Charlie?”
“Uh . . . that he thought he was just hiring you out as a playmate for their children.”
“Yeah, like they were fourteenth-century Russian princes,” Stevie replied.
“But,” Max continued, “as soon as he dropped me off at the family’s house, they handed me an iron, a basket full of clothes, and told me to get to work.”
“You poor thing.” Britta shook her head. “How long before someone got you?”
“No one came to get me.”
“Wait.” Charlie raised her hand. “Let’s be clear here . . . we didn’t have time to get you.”
“That’s true,” Max admitted with a smile. “As soon as they handed me that iron, I beat the husband with it, and then proceeded to tear the wife’s face off with my claws. I left them crying, screaming, and bleeding with the kids trying to call the cops.”
Berg and his siblings stared at Max until Berg asked, “How old were you?”
“Twelve. Right?”
“Eleven,” corrected Stevie, the keeper of all specifics. Not hard with her brain.
“I went through puberty a little early,” Max added to explain an eleven-year-old shifter with claws.
“What happened after you got away?”
Max shrugged. “No idea. Dad took off with the thirty grand he got for me and I walked back to the Pack house in Wisconsin.”
“Where was this family?”
“Utah.”
“You walked back by yourself?” Britta asked.
“It wasn’t the first time.”
But Charlie didn’t want to talk about that long-ago incident. That was one story the three sisters didn’t really discuss with anyone but each other. The story about her mom’s death. Not now. Not ever. It was too close to their hearts.
“And yet,” Charlie pointed out to change the subject, “our father is the only con I know who never makes any money from his cons.”
“How is that possible?” Berg asked.
“Because he’s an idiot. I thought we made that clear.”
“But what about the money he stole from you guys?”
“Well, that thirty grand he got for me only lasted him about a week,” Max said. “I think he blew it at the greyhound track in Florida. And probably on some hookers.”
“He does love prostitutes,” Charlie sighed.
“And the money he got for the adoption scam . . . dear old Freddy got scammed out of that by the woman he was working with.” Max sighed. “Because he is that stupid.”
“Plus, because of that particular scam, he’s no longer allowed in Florida,” Charlie said, trying to remember.
“You can be banned from a state?” Britta asked.
“Don’t know. But when you have enough warrants for your arrest and enough loan sharks desperate to see you dead . . . I’d say you’re not allowed back into a particular state.”
“He’s also not allowed in Budapest, or France, or Germany,” Stevie added.
“God, Budapest.” Max shook her head. “That turned into an international incident.”
“And, yet,” Charlie said, throwing her hands up, “he still managed not to make any money.”
* * *
Max and Stevie eventually wandered off and Dag and Britta went back to bagging the rest of the dead plants and clippings from the yard.
Berg stayed behind and helped Charlie clear off the picnic table and put the few extras left in the refrigerator.
“I thought there’d be more left,” she said, gazing at the near-empty containers on her kitchen table.
“You just fed bears. You’re lucky you have your arms.”
She smiled. “I know you’re teasing, but you may want to keep those jokes to yourself when Stevie’s around.”
“Is she really afraid of us?”
“My Stevie’s afraid of all sorts of things. She can’t help it. She’s been through a lot.”
“What kind of music did she write?”
“Music? ”
“She said something about your father selling her music.”
“Oh. Yeah. She was a music prodigy when she was young. Taught herself piano by the time she was . . . three, I think. Wrote a full symphony by the time she was six and conducted the St. Petersburg Orchestra by the time she was seven.”
“That’s amazing. That’s why Coop knew her.”
“Yeah. But she gave it all up a long time ago.”
“Because of her father?”
“Surprisingly, no. Too much pressure,” Charlie said, taking the leftovers he handed her and placing them in the refrigerator. “All that performing. All those demands. She lost her love of music. So she went into something a little . . . easier.”
“What’s that?”
“Physics and math. Turns out she’s a prodigy in that, too. I, however, barely passed algebra and Max’s biology teacher threw one of those dead dissection frogs at her.”
Berg opened his mouth to ask why her teacher would do that, but what came out was, “Wanna go out sometime?”
Frowning, Charlie turned from the refrigerator and faced him. “Huh?”
“You know . . . a date. Dinner. Maybe a movie. Without our siblings.”
Charlie’s frown deepened and she asked, “Why?”
Now it was Berg’s turn to frown. “You don’t seem . . . insecure.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why are you asking why?”
“If we didn’t know each other, I would totally get why you’d ask me out. I mean, there’s a definite spark between us. On some weird level, we do get each other. But you do know me.”
“Yeah . . . and?”
“And why would you want to get involved with me? I’m cursed.”
Berg straightened up. “Pardon?”
“I’m cursed. Some think the whole family is cursed, but I’m sure it’s just my father. And his curse was passed down to his daughters.”
Berg chuckled. “You don’t really believe that.” She stared at him, so he guessed, “You do really believe that.”
“It explains everything. We’re basically nice people—well . . . me and Stevie—and yet, you met me when I was running for my life. And, just so we’re clear, I’ve run for my life more than once.”
“But it sounds like maybe that’s all your father’s fault. That doesn’t mean you’re cursed.”
“Doesn’t it?” She pressed her hand against his arm. “Look, you are such a sweet guy, and your siblings are awesome. There’s no way I’d infect you with the family curse.”
“So, you don’t date?”
“Oh, I date. But only men I can barely stand. That way if bad things happen to them, I won’t care. You . . . I’d care. And I wouldn’t want to risk triplets becoming twins because you have questionable taste in women.”
Not knowing how to respond to that, Berg just stood there. Staring at a closed refrigerator. He didn’t even realize that Charlie had gone until the cabinet over the refrigerator opened up and Stevie waved at him.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I was trying to nap.”
“A bed was not an option?”
“That’s for when I sleep. Not nap.”
Berg blew out a breath. “I don’t know how to respond to that either.”
“She shot you down, huh?” Stevie asked, even though they both knew the answer.
“Like an allied plane over Germany.”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but it just means she really likes you. No, seriously,” she insisted when Berg snorted.
“What’s serious?” Max asked, walking into the room with her face again covered in bees and honey.
“I thought Tiny said no stealing from hives,” Berg reminded her.
“Who said I stole anything?”
“Charlie shot him down,” Stevie whispered. Loudly.
“I saw that coming.” Max slapped her face, killing several bees in the process. “She doesn’t want to pass on the curse.”
“There is no curse,” Berg insisted.
“It’s really hard to look at our lives and not think there’s a curse.”
“I’m not saying you guys haven’t had some hard luck, but curses? Seriously? It’s more like your father is just an asshole.”
“He’s definitely an asshole.” Max walked to the sink and washed the bees off her face. “But our sister also believes she’s cursed, and no one is going to change her mind just by telling her she’s not being logical. She’s never logical when it comes to our father.”
Max dried off her face with a paper towel but when she turned around, Berg had to look away.
“Don’t worry,” she promised. “The swelling goes down in no time.”
“Good to know.”
“Look,” Max said, “our sister has a lot going on. And that’s been her life since birth. She takes care of everybody. That’s what she does. But we want her to know what it’s like to be normal.”
“Because she’s too involved in your lives?”
“Oh, God no. We thank every deity that exists for each other. Charlie’s the reason I’m not doing hard time in a federal prison.”
“And I’m not making meth because of her.” Berg looked up into the cabinet Stevie was still ensconced in, and she explained, “My father once sold me to a Peruvian drug lord because, and I’m quoting, ‘You’re good with science.’ But thankfully Charlie didn’t let that happen.”
“And somewhere there’s a Peruvian drug lord who wishes he still had two hands,” Max muttered; then she laughed. When Berg didn’t join in, she went on. “We just want the best for our sister. She clearly likes you because she doesn’t want you cursed—”
“There is no curse,” Berg said again.
“And you seem refreshingly normal. You have siblings that haven’t actively tried to have you killed. Your sister complains about her mom in that cute, normal way. Without malice or the desire to track her down and kill her. You could be really good for her.”
“And she’ll be the best thing that’s ever come into your life,” Stevie told him plainly.
“But you guys make me sound so boring.”
“Yes,” Max said flatly. “Very boring is a man who can shift to a fifteen-hundred-pound bear.”
“It’s only a thousand pounds. Polar bears shift to fifteen hundred.”
Max gazed at him a long moment before stating, “Well, that proves your point.”
“Normal is not dull,” Stevie said. “I’ve had whole days that were normal. I go to work, I come home, I order in some Chinese. . . normal.” She closed her eyes and let out a big sigh. “It’s awesome.”
“Yeah,” Max said. “I really don’t have normal. But I’ve come to accept that I won’t. But my sister . . . she wants us to have normal. To be happy. To not be in prison.”
“To not be serving any drug lords.”
“And she’s sacrificed a lot to help us with that. So I think you should spend some time with her and find out if you really like her.”
“But she clearly told me no, she wasn’t going to date me.”
“Date?” Max sneered. “Dude, you’re a shifter. You don’t date. You just hang around until before you know it, you’re part of her life and she can’t bring herself to get rid of you.”
“You mean like a stray dog?”
“Or a stray cat. Either one would do us fine. If it turns out you spend some time with her and she’s not really for you, or vice versa . . . you walk away. Like normal people do. Not like my dad, who has set a house or two on fire when he’s been kicked out on his ass.” Max walked around the kitchen table until she stood next to Berg. “But if you do like our sister, then you dig in there, Fido.”
“I am not a dog.”
“No,” Stevie noted, “but dogs and bears are very similar genetically.”
Berg faced the badger-tiger mix, his arms crossed. He was tall enough that he didn’t even have to look up at her. He stared her right in the eyes.
After a full minute, she reached out and grabbed the cabinet door and slowly closed it.
“Just give it a shot,” Max said.
“Well . . .”
Charlie walked into the kitchen and held her phone up. “Why is Aunt Bernice calling me?”
Max shook her head. “I have no idea.” She paused. “Unless she knows . . .”
“Unless she knows what?”
“Nothing.”
Charlie sighed. “What did he do?”
“Charlie—”
“Just tell me,” Charlie ordered, her hand gesturing. “Do it. Just tell me what he did.”
Max let out a breath, then announced, “Our father hacked into our uncle’s bank account and stole a hundred million British sterling.”
Charlie gazed at her sister as long as Berg had stared at Stevie. Finally, she asked, “Which uncle?”
“Charlie—”
“Which. Uncle?”
“Will.”
“He stole from Uncle Will?”
“Yes.”
Charlie’s shoulders slumped and her head dropped. For a long moment, Berg thought maybe she was crying.
Until Charlie’s head snapped up and she bellowed, “Everybody out! I need to bake!”
Stevie scrambled out of the cabinet, climbing on Berg’s shoulders and down his back so she could run out the back door. Max simply sauntered out. She acted like she had all the time in the world, but she still left. And without saying a word or making a joke.
That just left Charlie and Berg.
“Why are you still here?” she asked him.
“I just wanted to let you know I’m here if you need me.”
“Oh, really,” she said with a huge amount of sarcasm. “You just happen to have a hundred million British sterling lying around your house somewhere so I can pay back my psychotic uncle who’s a gangster? Is that what you mean?”
“Um . . . no. But I really like baked goods, and I’m willing to test your food for you.”
Charlie blinked, appearing stunned, before one side of her mouth curled the tiniest bit.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she promised before motioning him away with her hands.
“And I’m always hungry,” he teasingly added before walking out the back door. He smiled a little when he heard her give a small chuckle.
But as soon as he stepped around the side of the house, Stevie jumped in front of him. He took a step back, startled by her sudden appearance.
“Did . . .” She glanced at the house and back at Berg. “Did I just hear my sister . . . laugh?”
“Yeah. A little one.”
“Laugh? Now? After hearing what my father did? And knowing how bad this is going to be? And you made her laugh?”
“It wasn’t a guffaw or anything. It was more a light chuckle, but . . . yeah. I guess. Why?”
Stevie abruptly grabbed Berg’s T-shirt and brutally ordered, “You stray-dog this, Berg. You stray-dog this!”
“Uhhhhh . . . okay.”
Then she was gone . . . into a nearby tree. Because that was normal.
Britta moved over to his side. “Everything all right?” she asked.
“Weird but . . . all right.” Then Berg felt the need to add, “Although that just applies to us. For them . . . it’s weird and bad.”
“How bad?”
“A hundred million British sterling bad.”
Britta’s mouth dropped open. “How is that even possible?”
“Apparently their father has a way.” He motioned toward their house with a jerk of his head. “Do me a favor, Sis . . . look into it.”