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“Remember that summer that she pulled her pistol out and threatened the next one who spilled their iced tea,” Annette said, pressing her lips together to hold in a laugh.
Rumor looked at me, wide-eyed. “Seems we missed some action back in the day.”
“You have no idea,” Maeme said from the end of the table. “I was fit to be tied more times than not when Sunday breakfast was over. Thank the good Lord they started reproducing because babies seemed to be the only thing that calmed the bunch down.”
Nailyah came walking into the dining room from the kitchen with her hands on her hips. “Momma, didn’t you say I could move in with Lela this fall?”
Annette glanced at Barrett, then back at her daughter. “I think that depends heavily on your sister. Let’s not discuss that over breakfast.”
“But Teller doesn’t believe me,” she whined. “And you did say I could.”
Annette waved a hand at her. “Go on back to the kitchen. This is not the time.”
Nailyah sighed dramatically and spun around to leave.
“Have you spoken to Thatcher?” Stellan then asked, his gaze directed at King.
King shook his head.
“He wasn’t in his room this morning,” Sebastian said. “Not in the big house or the stables.”
Stellan scowled. “Do you know where he went last night?”
“Does anyone ever know where he goes?” Sebastian replied.
Birdie came running into the dining room, directly to her momma. “If Nailyah gets to move to Atlanta, I do too!” she announced loudly.
“I’ll get you all packed up as soon as we get home,” Jupiter informed her.
“You can’t go to Atlanta,” King told his little sister. “Who is gonna babysit Cosi?”
Birdie frowned, as if she hadn’t thought of that. “Oh. I guess I don’t want to move away from Cosi.”
“But you can move away from me?” her mother asked her.
Birdie shrugged. “I gotta grow up sometime.”
“Why don’t we wait until you’re at least ten to discuss that?” Jupiter told her.
A door slammed, and the room quieted. Everyone turned their heads toward the sound, and Storm’s hand tightened its grip on my thigh.
“Go check that out,” Stellan told King, who was closest to the door.
King pushed his chair back and stood just as Thatcher appeared in the doorway. His clothing looked like he’d slept in it as he strode inside. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone, but walked over beside where King had been sitting and leaned across the table to get a waffle from the platter.
“You smell like a bar.” Stellan’s tone sounded annoyed.
“Thanks,” Thatcher replied, standing back up.
“Where have you been?” his father then asked.
Thatcher leaned back against the wall and smirked. “Here and there.”
Stellan’s disapproving glare darkened. “You don’t come into Maeme’s for Sunday breakfast late and reeking. You’re a grown-ass man.”
Thatcher cocked an eyebrow, then took a bite of the waffle he was holding.
“Let it be, Stellan,” Maeme said sternly.
Stellan swung his gaze to Maeme, who gave him a warning look. I wasn’t sure if Maeme was afraid of what Thatcher would do if pushed or if she simply didn’t want a scene at her breakfast table.
Thatcher’s gaze found mine. “Finally brought you to breakfast.”
I nodded.
He shoved off the wall and sauntered into the kitchen.
Annette cleared her throat and reached for her glass of water while everyone else began eating again instead of watching to see what Thatcher was going to do.
“He’s got some sh—stuff going on,” Sebastian said in a low voice as he looked over at his father.
“I’ve noticed he’s been more on edge lately,” Stellan agreed.
“Last two, uh, jobs we handled were more violent than necessary,” Storm said, shifting his gaze from Stellan to King.
“Yeah,” King agreed. “Something is off. I mean, more so than his regular crazy.”
Ronan looked at King. “Find out what it is. You’re the closest one to him.”
King didn’t look so sure about that. “No one is close to him.”
“He’s too much like my father,” Mandilyn said, shaking her head with an exasperated look.
Storm rubbed his chin as he studied Sebastian for a moment. Sebastian nodded at him, and then Storm turned to look at Stellan.
“It might have something—”
“If you’re gonna talk about me, at least wait until I’m back in the room so I can join in,” Thatcher drawled as he stepped back into the dining room, holding a cup of coffee.
Storm swung his gaze over to Thatcher, and I shifted in my seat as the tension in the room began to get thicker. No one seemed comfortable with Thatcher.
Thatcher pointed his cup at Storm. “Go on. Please share with us what’s wrong with me. We’ve all be dying to know for years.”
Storm shook his head and picked up his glass of juice.
“That’s enough. It’s Sunday morning breakfast, and we are family. No need to pick on Thatcher,” Maeme said. “Eat. Talk. Visit.”
Thatcher let out a deep, sadistic chuckle. “It’s not like I’m the only unhinged one anymore. Storm’s the fucking stalker.”
