The Kids are All Right

 

 

 

CARA STEELE

 

FOURTH OF JULY AT Uncle Boomer’s house in the Old Village.

As the oldest at twenty-nine, I was firmly in charge.

The place was packed to the gills with everyone. When I said everyone I meant all the damn kids. Most of whom were teenagers and no longer kids.

Roxanna, my sis.

JJ, my buddy. Ava and Josie, his sisters.

We had Dan and Monroe and Ruby and Cris and Kate and Skyler.

All of ev-er-y-one of the offspring from Retribution MC and then some, and we’d be in so much trouble if we got busted. But Uncle Boom and Auntie Rayce were the coolest of the cool bunch. You know, since my dad—Brodie—was a hardass, and my mom a freakin’ MPPD detective.

Luckily for us, the “olds” were off on a one-night getaway during the highlight holiday of the summer.

Probably doing team-building exercises.

Probably smoking blunts and playing with sharp knives.

“Now remember”—I stomped across the hardwood floors like a drill sergeant—“unless you’re seventeen, no alcohol.”

“Aw, Cara!” The collective whine made me grin even more.

“Awww, Cara!” Wyatt snuck up behind me, embracing me with his arms around my waist.

He always smelled so good . . . good enough to eat. Good enough to suck. I tilted my face, angling for his lips.

He kissed me slowly, swirling his tongue inside before taking a final nibble of my lower lip.

“Ewwww.” Another collective whine sounded from those who were much younger.

“I agree. Gross.” JJ loomed in the doorway out to the deck. “No one needs to see that.”

Wyatt and I flipped him off in tandem.

We were engaged. Brodie was thrilled to be walking me down the aisle, but his comments when we’d started dating had become legendary. He’d begun by calling me Mrs. Robinson, which I didn’t get at all. But my aunts and uncles—some related by blood, a lot of them not—laughed it up hard every single time.

Oh, and he liked to call me cradle robber.

Har har. Just because Wyatt was a few years younger than me.

Brodie loved teasing, in fact I thought he lived for it, but I didn’t let him get under my skin because I knew he already thought of Wyatt like a son. He had done from the moment he’d met Wyatt so many years ago in Myrtle Beach and given him his first motorcycle ride.

Besides, Wyatt was HOT. Capital H and all the rest. Surfer blond hair. Mega muscles. And he knew what he was doing in bed from the word go.

What I loved about him most, though, was his amazing heart.

He’d gone into medicine, working toward a fellowship in oncology to be exact. His career choice made complete sense, given he was a cancer survivor. I knew all about that from Auntie Shy, but he’d been much younger than she when he’d been diagnosed with leukemia.

Yep, I’d snagged myself a sexy doctor with a Harley. Nothing to complain about there.

Now Shy and Handsome had Crisanto and Kate. I hoped Wyatt and I could start our own family soon, too.

I wasn’t on the police track, like my mom, but I’d gotten my Masters degree in social work. Like Wyatt, I didn’t want to bust balls. I just wanted to give back.

Roxy, my l’il sis who was turning into a knockout at twenty-one and turning heads around the clock, spoke up, “Thank God she doesn’t live at home anymore, so I rarely have to see them rubbing all over each other.”

“Like you do with your string of boyfriends?” I shot back.

Then she laughed, and I laughed, and JJ’s voice boomed above all the others, “Who wants a beer?”

“You’re a bad influence.” But I accepted the bottle he handed me, winking.

JJ and I were good friends. Hell, we’d all grown up together in this great big extended family. Since I wasn’t his actual sister—none of that sibling rivalry, big brother bullshit—we hung out a lot.

Although I was getting ready to settle down, he was completely a manwhore.

“You’re a daddy’s girl.” The tall, dark-haired dude glanced at me over the rim of his bottle.

“My dad, too.” Roxanna smirked, motioning for JJ to hand her a beer.

“Don’t I know it?” He chuckled. “I’m amazed Brodie didn’t ship you two off to a convent when you hit puberty.”

With the party rules sorted, drinks passed out to those who were old enough, sodas for the rest, someone hit the music, and hard rock just like they played at Retribution blasted out over Boomer’s high-end speakers.

Now we just had to be careful not to trash the place, because Uncle Boom was a neat freak about shit like that.

“What are these?” One of the younger girls called out, crouched in front of an open wooden cabinet in the corner of the living room.

“Boomer’s albums.” Wyatt walked over to inspect the collection.

“What’s an album?” Kate asked.

I rolled my eyes. Kids these days.

Ruby and Monroe—twins—gave identical snorts. “Um, records.

“Vinyl,” Ruby answered.

“Our dad’s old music,” Monroe piped up. “C’mon. Let’s break out the record player.” Squatting beside her sister in front of the next cabinet, she started unwinding a cord.

Skyler held up an album, snickering. “How about some Rush?”

Cris and Kate cracked up since Rush was their last name, also Sky’s mom’s maiden name.

“Just because you have a bourbon distillery named after you.” Ava swung her pretty strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Don’t forget the brewery, too.” Cris had started interning at Retribrewtion, while Kate had her eye on the fashion business Shiloh had started from scratch.

“Yeah. But that’s named after the MC.” Dark-eyed Dan Loveland had grown up like a brother to my sis, Roxy.

Dan had started getting into tattoo art at Inksanity downtown.

“We could just get high instead.” Sky shrugged, passing the record over to Ruby who flipped the switch on the turntable, the speakers emitting a low hiss.

I shook my finger at the lot of them. “No weed. Seriously. We texted about that.”

“Awww, Cara.” And that time the deep-voiced complaint came from JJ as he tucked a joint behind his ear.

 

JOSH STONE

 

There was no fucking trip to anywhere. Like we’d leave all those hoodlums—our kids—alone for an entire night. Together. On the biggest holiday of the summer. Talk about a recipe for disaster.

It was Brodie’s idea. Pretty much a huge practical joke.

And Boomer’s place was the perfect setting, because first-time freak show of a dad had kitted his house in nanny cams up the wazoo years and years ago. Fucking remote video and sound.

Sweet.

Coletrane—computer whizz and OG MPPD Detective—had set up the spyware. So now we all convened just down the road at my house, Boomer’s laptop open and hooked up to the huge flatscreen, drinks poured, to sit back and laugh our asses off because the kids thought they were totally getting away with their party-without-the-folks plan.

So not happening.

I sat down next to Leelee, throwing an arm around her shoulders and snuggling her closer to me. “Showtime, y’all.”

Hitting the button on the remote, the screen went live broadcast. The scene opened on a shot of Wyatt—the doctor of the group—wrapping Cara in his embrace and kissing her while the younger children made gagging noises.

“Not sure I wanna see that.” Brodie, badass dad, looked like he wanted to gag, too. “But here’s to Cara and Wyatt.”

He lifted his beer, and we all chimed in with the felicitations.

“She grew up so fast, didn’t she?” Ashe rubbed a hand against Brodie’s chest.

“They both did, as far as I’m concerned.” He took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

“Hell”—Boomer scanned across the large group of kids gathered at his house—“they all did.”

“At least they’ve got a medic on the premises.” Setting my beer on the coffee table, I glanced at the couple about to become mom- and pop-in-law. “If Cara’s the first to get hitched, at least she snagged one of the good ones.”

“I know. How fucking strange is that? I’m gonna walk her down the aisle and shit.” Brodie shook his head, hair still longish, still blondish but with silvery streaks now, irises still the startling pale blue color he shared with Cat and Boomer.

“Are you gonna start weeping now?” Boomer, the proud uncle, sniggered.

Cue Brodie flipping him off, but his eyes were suspiciously bright.

“You still calling her Mrs. Robinson?” Hunter asked.

“What do you think?” Brodie lifted one eyebrow.

“So that’s a yes.” I chuckled.

Everyone did.

Brodie loved Cara like she was his own. The same way Leelee thought about JJ . . . but it was fun as fuck pulling their strings and watching them fume.

I liked to do that with Leelee, because her temper was legendary, just another thing to love about a redheaded woman.

The make-up sex was way worth a few viperish jabs.

“What about JJ though?” Handsome glanced at me.

I barked a laugh. “JJ? Jesus Christ. Don’t get me wrong. The kid’s a whizz at the new garage, but holy crap. He’s a straight up shit-show when it comes to the relationship thing. I swear, if it has tits, legs, and a pussy, he’ll fuck it.”

“Josh!” Leelee aimed her green eyes at me with laser strength.

“Wonder where he got that from,” Nicky dryly commented.

My best friend. The asshole.

“Exactly.” Leelee’s luscious lips pruned up, and she shifted away from me.

“C’mon now. I’m a changed man.” Hugging her back to my side, I kissed her ear. “You reformed me.”

“Well, at least we raised JJ to treat women right.”

I snorted. “Sure. As long as it’s Ava or Josie or his cousins.” I air-quoted. “But, damn, the dude needs to rein it in a bit. Should buy stock in Trojan or somethin’.”

Tucker walked in with my ma on his arm and an unlit stogie between his fingers.

They weren’t as spry as they used to be, but they had each other. They had me and Leelee and JJ and Josie and Ava, not to mention Rayce and Boomer and their girls.

“Anything happen yet?” Tuck asked.

Man, was I glad they’d missed the convo about JJ. Far as I was aware, they knew nothing about his tomcatting ways.

“Nah.” I stood up to shake Tuck’s hand, kiss my ma’s cheek. “Show’s just startin’.”

As I settled back beside Leelee, who was slightly less frosty than before, I heard Boomer, “I don’t even wanna talk about it.”

“No doubt.” Cole echoed. “With twin—”

“Girls,” Boomer nodded.

“Frigging nightmare.” Cole agreed, his and Sinclair’s twins slightly older than Boom and Rayce’s.

I didn’t envy them that, but I already had my hands full with Ava and Josie. Wouldn’t have had it any other way, though.

“Can’t we just pair them all up?” Rayce asked, her hand enfolded in Boomer’s big paw.

“Didn’t you once say this was already all incest-y?” Boom looked at her, the woman who was still one of my top mechanics at the original Stone’s.

“That was Maddy.” She patted his black-stubbled jaw. “Memory failing you, old man?”

“Watch it, princess.”

“I’m not too worried tonight since our house is full of the—how’d you say it way back in that old-timey speak—young’uns.”

Boomer growled, and we all laughed our asses off.

Frankie and Preston filtered into the house, toting fancy food items, wine . . . and the top shelf/possibly illegally imported cigars.

“They set the place on fire yet?” After uncorking a bottle of wine, Frankie handed a glass to his hubby.

“Hey, does Alessandra know where you keep your sword?” Worry suddenly flashed through me.

“Nah. Only Preston knows where I keep my sword, know what I mean?”

I remembered the time when Frankie’d been after my ass, but he’d settled down, gotten married to his man, and they’d had a pretty daughter, via surrogate, who was now twelve years old, already on the fashion track.

Evening wrapped deeply around us, windows cracked just a bit so the sounds of the night surrounded us along with the sounds of our kids as their party went full swing and ours did, too.

At one point they’d discovered Boomer’s record collection, and—hysterically—some of them didn’t even know what the fuck an album was.

“Better not scratch my vinyl,” Boomer grumbled.

“Monroe and Ruby know how to take care of the records,” Rayce soothed him.

There was some drinking, but no one seemed to be getting blotto, and Cara kept a close eye on those deemed way too fucking young to partake.

An hour later, as Cole flicked from one camera to another inside the premises, Tucker squinted hard.

“Wait. Go back to the other camera feed,” Tucker ordered Cole. “What are they up to now?”

“Is that what I think it is?” I pointed at the TV spy-casting our kids.

Tail peered closer at the high-def screen like he had cataracts or something.

“Dude. I think it’s time for bifocals,” I heckled.

And up flew the middle finger in my definition. Then the huge man with the green eyes turned to all of us. “If I know Sky, then that’s definitely what we think it is.”

“Oh. Hell. No.”

“Operation Fuck This Shit Up is a go.”

“Walker would approve of this dark op.” Clasping JB’s hand, Hunter bared his teeth in a wicked smile.

“Too bad we don’t have his flash bang.”

“Who says we don’t?” Hunter’s grin became lethal.

“Hey. Snatch the cooler with the brewskies!” I called out, herding folks from my house.

Handsome swept past me. “We’re good. Delivered a friggin’ pallet of Retribrewtion beers to Boomer’s yesterday.”

“The kids know about it?”

“Not a chance.”

Nice.

Out of the house. On foot. Down the road. Sneaking around the outside of Boomer’s place to infiltrate the brightly lit structure at key points.

 

JJ STONE

 

I walked out onto Boomer’s backyard for a few minutes to light a smoke, not the joint I’d rolled earlier. Cara could be as full of ’tude as her mom, and when she put her foot down, most people complied.

After Cara’d gotten engaged she’d nagged me half to death to get serious and stop sleeping around. Shit, she was almost as bad as Mom and Dad when it came to my sex-life/not-love-life, but with her on the marriage track I thought maybe it might be time to score something other than a one-night stand.

There was one thing I took seriously, though, and that was my job. I was in charge of the new Stone’s Auto Body on this end of Mt. Pleasant, near the Ravenel Bridge. We planned to expand to James Island next year. Pops wasn’t slowing down any, and I was just rearing to go.

And though nobody knew it, I had my eyes on some prime real estate. I wasn’t talkin’ about land or property, either. The woman had started work as the latest mechanic at the new Stone’s. One hot wrench with sass and fire who knew her way around an engine block. Bet she knew her way around a cock, too. I hadn’t asked her out yet—dating had never been my scene, but Liz was different. Ballsy. Gutsy. Gorgeous. She’d be worth settling down for if she’d give me the chance to prove myself.

I hoped she’d give me the chance to prove myself.

One thing I’d definitely never messed with was my might-as-well-be-cousins. All those girls, with pretty moms, had turned out to be killer attractive, but I only noticed their looks in a distanced way. Or when one of them stopped in at the garage for some damn thing or other on their cars, and the grease monkeys made obscene comments when they thought I wasn’t listening. But like my dad I shut that shit right down. Every damn time. Wasn’t about to let anyone talk smack or smut about one of the girls. No way. No how.

That included my baby sisters, Josie and Ava. Who definitely weren’t babies anymore.

Those two could give Dad a heart attack at the drop of a hat. Good thing Mom—Leelee—was there to talk him down. Most times. Shoulda seen Dad the day Josie came home with her first tat. Double standard much? Because he was the one who took me to get mine.

Of course Josie—redhead, temper—threw that right back in his face.

Dad was the only dude in a house full of three women now that I’d moved out, and he didn’t have a leg to stand on.

I thought it was fucking funny.

After I stubbed out my cig and threw it in the bushes, I headed back inside where the party was going full steam ahead.

The kids who were too young to drink seemed mostly under control, until Ruby shouted, “Drinking games!”

Of course she’d suggest it. She was the more outgoing of the Steele twins, and they’d literally just turned seventeen so she was all in.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “And you and you and you”—I pointed at the younger ones—“will be drinking soda.”

“Boooooring.”

“Don’t care. The age is seventeen.” Cara and I had made that rule as soon as she turned legal. It’d worked for me, because by that time I was—you guessed it—seventeen. “Learn it and like it.”

“Seventeen?” Wyatt crossed his tattooed arms. “I had my first drink at fifteen.”

I glanced over at him. “Dude—”

“That’s Doctor Dude to you,” he cut in.

“In that case, Dr. Wyatt, you should be on board. My dad would kill me if he found out about this at all, so them rules are the rules.”

“No fucking kissing games,” Cara clarified, making herself a mixed drink.

“That’d be disgusting.” Roxy shuddered, blonde hair down around her shoulders.

Funny. Sky didn’t look like he was that disgusted by the prospect of potential kissing games. At sixteen the guy was nearly as tall as his dad Tail and he had the same green eyes.

He’d turn out to be one badass motherfucker, and he had a pretty good head on his shoulders.

Or so I thought, until halfway through beer pong he whistled through his teeth, something seriously wicked in his eyes. “Hey. I think I found something over here.”

But he was patting his pocket, not searching through another cabinet for more vinyl by Rush.

Then he pulled out a big fat doobie.

Great idea.

Super bad timing.

I looked at Cara.

She looked at Wyatt.

The others’ eyes lit up.

But we’d said no lighting up the pot.

Right?

Just then, doors banged open all over the house, and suddenly all the damn parents coming at us from every point of entry surrounded us.

So. Fucking. Busted.

Hell, I almost put my hands in the air. I definitely tucked the spliff I’d been carrying behind my ear deftly into a pocket.

What?

Three goddamn detectives in The Family now—Hunter, Ashe, and Cole.

And I was only here to help Cara and Wyatt make sure no one ended up in lockup.

Happy freakin’ Fourth of Joooly.

 

BOOMER STEELE

 

“Hand it over, kid.” Tail’s voice came out like the wrath of God when he commanded Sky to give him the joint.

Groaning, Sky handed over the doobie.

“All of it.” Tail waggled his fingers.

A dime bag appeared, materializing from Skyler’s pocket. He scowled, giving all the maryjane to his dad.

“Nice. We’re set for the night now,” Kinkaid murmured.

We’d gotten up to so much worse at their ages. Jesus. Most of us had committed high crimes . . . all to keep our people safe, but still.

“Have you been watching us the whole time, Dad?” Monroe complained, raising big ice blue eyes to me.

“Yeah.” I folded my arms across my chest, determined not to bend when she hit me with the full force of her pouty face.

I would not let her and Ruby get to me. Not this time.

“How?” Ruby asked, quickly shoving a half-drunk beer behind her back.

“You think I don’t have this house set up with security?”

“Like secret surveillance?” My youngest niece, Roxy, hooked me with her baby blues.

I will not fold.

“Definitely.” Daddy Brodie took point, grinning madly.

“Daaaad!” Monroe and Ruby both stared at me.

Will not fold.

“What?” I said.

Seriously. Things to be expected from an over-protective father. Obviously.

“Girls.” Rayce stepped up beside me, playing the heavy, which always turned me on. “You really think we’re that stupid?”

“So this was all a set-up?” Crisanto curled his upper lip, a habit he got from Handsome.

“Worked. Didn’t it?” Shiloh smiled at her son.

“That’s kind of evil.” Kate, Shy and Handsome’s daughter, glared at her folks who just grinned back.

Evil, but so much fun.

Loosening my stance, I decided to throw them a bone. “Okay. You can still party as long as you have chaperones.”

“Haters,” one of the younger generation grumbled.

“Killing all the fun,” someone else mumbled

“That’s what Cara’s for,” another one wheedled.

“Oh yeah?” Brodie tapped his knuckles bearing the heavy rings on the table where the beer pong action had taken place. “And is she also the one that bought the booze for you underage delinquents?”

Cara’s eyes widened like oh hell no. “I just got the beer. JJ bought the hard liquor.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” Josh peered at his son.

“Fuc—” JJ cut short when Josh glared at him.

Little sis Ava—who wasn’t so little anymore—glared at him too. “Shut up. You’re making it worse. You know how Dad likes to take our cell phones off us.”

“Not me anymore,” JJ said. “Maybe you should try paying your own bill, short stuff.”

Brodie scratched his goatee. “Taking their cell phones away. Nice.”

“Daaaad,” Roxanna wailed.

Ashe nodded. “Paying your own bills. What a novel idea.”

“Uncle Frankie said he’d have our backs,” Skyler spoke up.

“Uncle Frankie’s standing right here.” The big Italian, with murder running through his veins, was surprisingly good at not just being a top-notch tailor, but also raising Alessandra with Preston.

“Oh, shit,” Alessandra muttered.

“That’s about right.” Aaaand Frankie didn’t need to say another damn word, because Alessandra started rattling off something in rapid Italian I couldn’t make heads or tails of, but both Preston’s and Frankie’s brows rose higher and higher like keep diggin’ that hole, girl.

I figured we’d given the kids enough of a shakedown when Ruby whispered at me, “You’re not going to ground me and Monroe, are you? Because you’re the best dad. And we didn’t touch the weed.”

Like that was the worst of my concerns, but my heart melted . . . once again. ’Sides, we knew the kids were mostly responsible, and it was the Fourth of July after all.

“Party. Let’s move it outside.” Holding Rayce near me, I made the announcement.

“Really?” The kids looked incredulous, possibly expecting to spend a night behind bars, considering all the cops in the extended family.

“You think we’re gonna ruin the Fourth?” Nick had an arm around Cat’s shoulder, keeping their son Dan in his crosshairs.

“Yeah, probably.” Dan didn’t look convinced one little bit.

I opened the deck doors, hoping everyone would follow me, because the surprise raid wasn’t the only shock-and-awe in store tonight.

Outside on the lawn, down near the river and dock, I called out, “No drinking if you’re under twenty-one.”

“But Cara and JJ said seventeen!”

“You really want Cole and Ashe to drag you to the pokey? ’Cause I’ll let ’em.”

“Dammit.”

But moments later, my entire backyard was filled with everyone I loved, and they all ooooh’d when I flicked a switch and the Japanese lanterns shined to life. From the sloping lawn, we had a bird’s eye view of the Cooper River and the fireworks going off at Patriot’s Point.

But we had our own fireworks, too, and not just the ones exploding inside my heart.

Down on the dock, three figures stood, and suddenly the sky right in front of us burst with dazzling bright colors just like that New Year’s Eve almost two decades ago. Only this time Walker wasn’t flying solo. As he and Jade ambled up toward us through the smoky cloud—Hunter letting out a loud whoop at the appearance of his friend—more fireworks shot off.

Howahkan, affectionately called Howie—part English, Japanese, and Lakota—manned the explosives display.

Howie was probably gonna cause a lot of drooling and gossip from the girls tonight, since, at six plus something feet tall and with long black hair, he always commanded attention. I’d definitely have to keep an eye on that situation.

Meanwhile, music blared from my house.

Neighbors joined us for dancing and drinking.

All the families were together for one more celebration.

It was too big. This life was too fucking awesome to put into words as the sparkling sizzling display of pyrotechnics shot off above us.

Later, I spotted Ashe and Brodie up on the deck. Possibly getting naked.

And Cat and Nick, under the big oak. Potentially getting horny.

Rayce roamed up to me.

My wife.

The mother of our children.

The love of my life.

“It’s even better than our wedding day.” Her eyes shined too brightly, and I realized she was tearing up.

“You gettin’ nostalgic on me, princess?” I traced a tear that tracked down her cheek.

“Just for a second, old man.” She held onto my arms, wrapped them around her.

And while Howie set off more explosives, I lowered my lips to Rayce’s.

For one kiss.

And the promise of so much more.