by Aven Jayce
He leans back and swivels the bar stool, twisting the ring on his finger. “You know, don’t you? That’s what all this is about. The steady stream of nonsense about surprises and why you and Paul married. You know.”
Damn, he’s so fucking dense. I’m talking about my dad and he’s talking about a wedding. “What?” I ask innocently.
He turns toward the entryway, definitely checking for Soph. “Honestly, do you hate surprises that much?”
My hands rise and my jaw drops. “Have you not been listening to me?” I ask sarcastically. “Hello?”
“Mark,” he sighs. “Sophia and I are renewing our vows.”
“What? Horseshit.”
“Why do you think we’re here?”
“Hold on, what?” Damn it.
“Soph asked if we could have a small wedding since she never had one, remember, we got married in the courthouse? Now she wants some old-fashioned, sleigh-ride type, enchanted wedding in the mountains... with her family. You’re it. This is it.” He raises his hands as mine slowly lower. “I agreed, as long as we’re back in St. Louis to celebrate the holiday with my parents. She gets four days here to have a small, but magical wedding, I get to marry my Dove for a second time, and we still get to be in our own home on Christmas morning with the kids.”
“No way,” I moan.
“I don’t want you to ruin this for her just because you hate surprises.” His hand slithers nervously through his hair... the little sly snake... all three of them... snakes.
“Why the fuck didn’t anyone tell me?”
“So you can take control of the entire event? No way. The women wanted to be in charge. Jules is helping put things together. And if you had known, I bet our faces would be plastered on banners all around the hotel, not to mention you’d hire a two hundred-piece orchestra, have choirs in every corridor, and lilies carpeting all the floors.”
“What the hell’s wrong with lilies?”
“And... you would’ve pulled some stunt, like kidnapping your sister and holding her in a room so we couldn’t fuck until our wedding night.”
“True. I still might.” I rub my chin, considering all the ways I could accomplish that.
“Just once, could you let someone else be in charge? Jesus. You’ve teased her since she was a kid and played some evil games with both of us, let her believe she’s finally tricked you, and won.”
“You said Jules is helping with all of this?”
He nods as I send her a text... Sorry, princess. Luv U.
“We couldn’t have done it without her. And what about a date for your wedding? Sophia’s convinced you’ll be married by Easter, but after talking to Jules, my guess is another year.”
Is my ass grass, or not? She responds.
Your ass is a golden ray of sunshine. I kid.
A smiley face appears on my screen. Great, she liked that one. Let’s try something else...
When are we getting married?
“Mark?” Cove nudges my arm. “Mark... fuck, I think I know that guy.”
“Who?” I look up and see Sam sitting on the other side of the bar. A second later, a frowning emoji lights up my cell. Fucking balls, I’ll never get that woman to marry me.
“He’s much older now, but I’m almost positive that’s the embalmer,” he says.
“How’d you know what he does for a living?”
“So you recognize him? I’m right? That’s really him?” He stands and backs away, his face pale while Sam’s eyes are locked on us. “Shit, why’s he here? Does it have something to do with the other guy? Or is he working for you?”
“What?” I ask. “Ho-hold up. What other guy? The one in the lake? Cove, stop. How’d you know her dad’s an embalmer?”
“Whose dad?”
“Jules’.”
“Son of a bitch.” He rubs the tension in his neck and stands wearily next to me. “I thought you no longer worked with guys from the company? Now you’re engaged to the daughter of one of them? That’s not leaving Vegas behind.”
I ignore my ringing cell, tilt my head and wince as my heart plummets. I replay the words, trying to rearrange what he just said so it emerges differently. No luck.
He sees the twitch on my bottom lip, detecting my anger and confusion as I check my gun, making sure it’s in my jacket pocket.
“Didn’t Paul ever take you to Reno?”
My head shakes... my cell rings... my heart shatters.
“You’re being set up if you don’t know.”
I hear a text.
“Dump her,” he says. “Trust me. I don’t get what the fuck’s going on, but something’s rotten if you didn’t know that sick bastard worked for Paul.”
I open the text... another emoji... a blonde-haired, bride.
“Mark, you can’t trust that guy, especially if he hasn’t mentioned he knew your dad. And what about Jules? What the fuck is she hiding?”
Another emoji appears, this time it’s a pair of rings. Fuck, I can’t think straight. What the hell’s going on?
“Get rid of her quickly, before you find yourself on his embalming table.”
I’m fighting my blade... it wants to see the light of day and then the darkness of a gut.
My cell’s ringing incessantly, Cove’s worrying, Sam won’t stop grinning, and Frank Sinatra refuses to shut his goddamn mouth. Fucking feel-good holiday music. Who the hell wants to hear Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas at this moment?
“Say something.” His hand’s on my shoulder. “I can tell you’re about to fly into a rage. Can you get past this one without a winter boat ride?”
“Doubt it.”
“Call it off with her and move on.”
“Fuck, who keeps calling me?” It rings for the third time and I finally take a look, seeing Sophia’s name.
“What?” I answer.
“Get your ass up to our suite ASAP, like now, pronto, you have to take care of something. I’m totally freaking out!”
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t say in front of the boys, just get up here! Quick!”
The call ends... what the hell was that all about? “What’s Soph up to?”
“She’s making cookies tonight with the boys. They got the ingredients from your kitchen staff, why?”
I stare at my cell, studying the texts, wondering if Jules will stab me with the blade I bought her, then I look at Sam’s devilish face, glowing red from the holiday lights, and Cove standing by my side with his arms crossed and legs wide, holding steady, nervous, and waiting.
“I wish I were drunk,” he whispers.
And I think again about Sophia’s frenzied voice, summoning me to the suite... shit, Jack’s up there, unpacking tonight.
“Sometimes I wonder if I’m protecting the right people, or if my family will end up killing me in the end.”
PART SIX
BETSY
“WHAT’S THE PROBLEM?” I ask Sophia, seeing Dax and Xav standing in the kitchen. The boys are wearing matching red turtlenecks, sleeves rolled, and their chests spotted with flour. “You burning down my hotel or what?”
“Uncle Mark!” Xav dashes over with an unbaked cookie twisting in his hand. “Look! What color do you want yours to be?”
“What is that? A penis?”
“Mark!” Sophia scolds. “Xav, go back to the kitchen and finish what you’re doing. Don’t get flour all over the room.”
“I told you they looked like penises!” Daxton yells.
“They’re rockets,” Sophia says, pulling me to the stairwell and pointing toward the main bedroom. “You’ve got a penis to deal with upstairs.”
“What? Damn it. I told him he couldn’t have anyone over. Is it Emma?” I start up the staircase.
“Oh, is that what he calls it? Emma? Just go! I’m shocked by what I saw in that room. I pray that’s not what I have to look forward to with my boys. It’s damn disturbing, Mark. Talk to him!
”
“I’m going, I’m going.”
I can only imagine... I bet it’s another Pop Rocks incident. That would freak her out.
I tap on the door first, not wanting to walk in on some young girl. “Jack. Cover yourself and whoever you’re with.”
“He’s wearing headphones,” Sophia says. “If he didn’t hear me shriek when I walked in, he sure isn’t going to hear you knock on the door.”
“Go back to your cock cookies and let me deal with him alone,” I grunt, irritated with having to hold my jacket over the butter stains. Why can’t I have one night of peace around here?
“Don’t worry,” she throws her hands in the air and walks off mumbling, “I’m not going in there again... never sleeping in that room again either... crazy teenage boys.”
I open the door, but only for a split second, needing to rapidly close it, shocked by the scene.
“Oh, fucking Christ.”
“Told you!” she calls up.
My head rests alongside the wall as I try to talk myself through this. How am I going to stop it? Or maybe I shouldn’t. No, I have to. Fuck, I can’t let him do weird shit.
“You’ve seen worse, Mark. It’s not that bad. He’s just a horny teen,” I whisper. Uhh, why couldn’t it be a sex doll? Why? Why? Anything else, heck, even a pillow hump would be easier to get through than...
I bite the bullet and step inside. My son, Jack Jameson, the little prick, knave, jester, whatever he wants to be called, or should be called, is... it... it’s like one of those scenes from a raunchy teen comedy where a kid fucks a pie, only my son is having sexual relations with a raw turkey that he obviously stole from the kitchen—a goddamn turkey for crying out loud.
“Jack!” I say sharply. The music’s blasting from his headphones, it’s so damn loud he can’t hear me. “Jack!” I yell at the top of my lungs, this time causing him to jump back, covering his waist with a shirt as cranberry sauce drips out of the turkey’s hole.
“No! Dad!”
“Sweet Jesus.” I lean against the dresser, looking at the floor with a hand on my forehead, providing him a minute to wipe off, pull up, and zip. Where do I even begin? How do you start a conversation with your teenage son about... about the suitable way to stuff and baste a turkey?
“I thought you went to dinner!” His voice is flustered, fighting between aggravation and embarrassment. “You’re not supposed to be here!”
“Your Aunt Sophia called me to come over.”
“She saw me? No! I thought all of you were gone tonight? Fuck, fuck! I feel like such a dickweasel.”
“Let’s not think about dicks and weasels. This is bad enough.”
“Don’t turn my life into a joke!” he screams, feeling humiliated. He crosses his arms, turning his back to stare at the wall.
A glob of cranberry sauce slides out of the turkey and onto the desk. At least he thought to lay a towel under the scene of the crime.
“This sucks ass. If I can’t have a woman in my bed, I should at least be able to jack off with a piece of thawed meat. For fuck’s sake, I’m only human. What harm could it do?”
“It may be a form of animal abuse.”
“It’s a carcass! The thing’s dead! It has no head!”
“Calm down and sit,” I direct.
He collapses on the bed like he’s been shot and is surrendering to death, staring at the ceiling with his knees up, feet tapping, and hands over his pants. “So eating it and shitting it out isn’t abusive, but sticking your dick inside of it is?”
“Shut your mouth for a moment so I can think.” I peer under my jacket at the grease stains on my clothing, shaking my head at this family’s shameful antics. I’ve got a lot of crap to take care of tonight with Sam and Jules, and getting into a shouting match over a turkey fuck isn’t my main concern, especially taking my own butter play into consideration. The incident’s absurd, and to some extent, laughable. My rage would be better spent elsewhere, not on this.
“Do you want me to buy you a few, or some, um...” I fidget with my shirt collar, feeling choked by my words. “I can, I’ve got, do you need toys, or lube or something?”
“God, no! I don’t want my dad buying me sex toys! Can you just forget you ever saw this and go away?”
“No,” I sigh. “You’re inquisitive and creative, Jack.”
“Stop it! Please!” He sticks his fingers in his ears. “Mom never would’ve done this... she would’ve left me alone,” he mutters. “She always let me do what ever the fuck I wanted. Always.”
“That’s part of the problem.”
He’s upright in a flash, sharing his middle finger and a pissy scowl.
“Okay, I’m not heading down that road tonight, and you’re not fucking any more meat, do you understand?” I wonder how many times I’m going to repeat that line over the next couple of years.
He hangs his head, displaying a feigned performance of regret. With entwined fingers in his lap, he follows my every move as I pick up the towel and use it to wrap the leftovers and sauce. Then, after cleaning the desk I say, “Sorry, buddy,” with a pat on his shoulder.
“Ah, man. It was fun while it lasted.” He pouts, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye. “Whatever you decide to do with her, make it quick. I can’t bear the thought of Betsy being in pain.”
“Betsy? That’s one of your jokes, right? Cut the act and stand up, it’s time to place you back in your cage for the rest of the night. And don’t mention any of this on our way out, not in front of your cousins. Hang your head low and exit.”
“No apologies?”
“Jesus Christ, no. What would you say? Sorry you walked in and saw me fucking a turkey, Aunt Sophia. Trust me, she’ll be ecstatic never to hear about it again.”
We leave the bedroom, Jack running ahead of me, Betsy under my arm, and my jacket in front of my dick. I’m one hundred percent certain that boy came from my seed. Tonight, he fucked a Butterball while I was lucky enough to get buttered balls. No one else... no one else but the two of us...
Soph holds the door open, shaking her head at the cargo, and shooing us hurriedly away.
“Has your douchebag husband come groveling back yet? When’s he gonna show up and drive you back to St. Louis in his liquor wagon?”
The door’s shut in my face and I’m ignored, left to dispose of the twenty-pound turkey. I wonder how disgusting it would be to take it back to the kitchen and serve it to my guests?
I smirk while walking toward my suite, knowing I’d never do such a thing. Though, I wouldn’t mind force-feeding it to Sam... that motherfucker knew Paul all along and he made up all that bullshit about hiring a detective to find out my background? And what the hell happened between him and Cove?
There’s no doubt in my mind Sam will be the next man to walk down the aisle with my blade.
“I wish you’d stop smiling about this. It will give me a complex. I’m damaged already, ya know? Think about everything you’ve put me through since I arrived. You’re killing me with your shit.”
I nudge him on to continue. “I’m taking notes. Go ahead.”
“That’s a first. Good, listen up, Dad... so I was forced to stitch you up, got my ears cut, cleaned up after your kill, twice, let you hit me, not to mention you drove my woman out of my bed, forced me to smoke weed, and practically tossed me onto that boat.”
“Yes, it’s true. I know you detested all of those things. Especially the dope.”
“Shh, listen,” he scolds. “Now, you take the only thing I have left and you’re going to pitch her in the trash? Your interference is cowshit. One night with a thawed piece of meat would’ve been rejuvenating. And you strut down this corridor, smiling your butt off like you’ve beaten me again. Ha-ha-ha,” his voice deepens, imitating mine. “Son, go to your room.”
My smile widens. “You’re a little ham, aren’t you?”
“Nope. Just being a turkey.” He flashes a grin.
I’m beginning to question many of the arguments we’ve had over the years. Was he genuinely being a shithead, or did I just never catch onto his sense of humor? The kid’s brilliant—a witty beast.
“You get those one-liners from me you know.”
“Good looks and a way with women too,” he laughs, stepping inside the suite and gesturing toward the towel. “How about you let me take her out to the trash?”
“How about you stop trying to con me and you spend the rest of the night doing something rewarding, like reading a book.”
He takes the iPad from the kitchen counter and makes his way up the stairwell, mumbling that he reads a hell of a lot more than I do.
“And Jack... how the fuck did you come up with this idea?” I point to Betsy.
“One of my friends posted a shot of himself doing it to his family’s Thanksgiving turkey the night before it was cooked. He said everyone should try it. He was right, it’s big fun.”
“No iPad tonight!” I call out as he closes the bedroom door. “Stay offline and away from kids posting photos like that! And don’t you dare post any explicit photos of yourself either. It’s a felony! I’ve told you before, I don’t want the cops showing up at my door... and don’t steal any more food from my restaurant!”
I hear him laughing while my bedroom door swings open. Jules walks out, wearing only a robe while brushing her hair. She’s gorgeous, the way Eve conceivably looked as she handed the apple to Adam... deceitful wench.
“What was that all about?” she asks.
I dump the turkey in the kitchen trash and walk upstairs, yanking her by the forearm into the bedroom. The door’s shut and locked. My tie’s off, gun placed in my holster, jacket tossed, shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled, and greasy pants left on the floor. I’m left wearing boxers, an open shirt, and a gun.
“What did Cove say to you?” She frowns. “I can tell by how quiet you’re being and your rapid actions that you’re upset.”