Page 16 of Crave

Good smoking was all about prep, timing and careful temperature control throughout the cooking process. Knowing what kind of wood, aged the perfect amount, went best with what cut of meat was as much an art form as a science. There were four of us on staff who usually manned the smokers, and while the other guys were on a rotating schedule that made sure no one had to pull any doubles, on my nights, I pretty much just skipped sleep.

“Hey, man.” Javier, one of my managers and a transfer from the North Austin pack, stuck his head around the corner. “Brody’s on his way over.”

“For frack’s sake,” I mumbled, powering up my phone, which, sure enough, was about to explode from all the missed calls.

“Think he wanted to set up catering for Thursday.”

“No freaking way. We’re booked solid. My brothers have to learn they can’t just call up here at the last second and expect us to drop everything.”

“Uh huh.” Javier smirked. “You gonna tell him?”

I flipped him off, going back to my phone. A selfie of me and Lacey from one of our Sunday barbeques immediately filled the screen. No surprise, I was in my Cowboys apron, and she had on a sky-blue apron with a pair of cartoon lemon and limes that said squeeze me. She was laughing at something I’d said seconds before, swiping a strand of hair off her face, and there was no denying she was absolutely, freaking gorgeous. At twenty-six, she still had that slender runner’s figure. The ponytail was gone in favor of this super-short, edgy cut with side-swept bangs that West said made her look like Jennifer Lawrence. Which, yeah okay, I could see it. Pair smoky gray eyes with those killer cheekbones and she was a complete knockout.

Who’d wanted a bright, shiny future with my brother. Just not with me.

Not bothering with the messages even though, crap, one was from my mom and I’d forgotten to call her back yesterday, I scrolled through the texts.

Brody: Where the hell are you?

Brody: Pick up your g-d phone.

August: Damn. Looks like I got short straw, so…

Me: That’s what she said.

August: Suck it, bro. Headcount is looking like 30 for Thursday. Brody said just the usual. You need anything else?

WTF? Throwing on a blue puffer vest over my white Henley, I dialed Brody, which yeah, I’d been avoiding. My oldest brother sang tenor in the church choir every week, had once managed to scare his own dog under the bed for two hours when August switched karaoke tracks from Jason Aldean to the Spice Girls on game night (the word forfeit was so not in his vocabulary), and could be a total hard-ass like our dad when he put his mind to it.

“Where the hell have you been?” he barked by way of greeting. I rolled my eyes. Like he and most of my family hadn’t been ghosting me the past three weeks.

“Dude. Stalker is not a good look on you.”

There was the sound of a car door slamming and then my brother growled into the phone, “Lemme see if I’ve got this straight. You’re pissed at all of us because you got drunk and dropped your phone in the can. You’ve spent the past month sulking because no one bailed on Ethan’s wedding to comb the streets downtown looking for you. And now when people are worried they can’t get a hold of you, you’re bitching about that, too? You want to know what Dad would tell you if he were here?”

Yeah, right before I ate a mouthful of gravel smothered in tabasco sauce. Climbing into my SUV, I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on.

“What’s up?”

“Got Ethan and Hayden’s formal mating Thursday. Her induction into the pack is afterwards. You gonna pull your head out of your ass and show up this time?”

I mentally flipped my oldest brother off. “Thursday’s Thanksgiving.”

Cranking the engine, I switched things over to hands-free. Stark gray clouds blanketed the sky, the temperature hovering close to freezing. I rolled the tension from my shoulders, watching clumps of sleet streak across the windshield as I pulled out onto the highway towards my parents’ property west of town.

Central Texas loved to play roulette with the weather this time of year, offering up weeks of mild temperatures and sunshine followed by wicked cold fronts where ice and an occasional inch or two of snow shut down the highways and overpasses. Unlike up in Calgary where life cheerily went on despite the harshest of blizzards, the Texas method of dealing with any dip in temperature below thirty-five was to storm your local HEB and stockpile canned goods like the four horsemen of the apocalypse had just tweeted FEMA to order us all down into the bunker.

Just how we rolled, y’all.

“Yeah. And I’m in charge of the lunar calendar.” There was a pause, followed by the crackle of static while Brody called something in to dispatch. “Only got a second here. We sent out invitations to heads of some of the neighboring packs we’re on better terms with, mostly as a courtesy.”

That was standard. Most likely, none of them would show up, but in the event they did, it was a chance to strengthen alliances.

“Yeah, we’re pretty much booked up for catering slots that week, so—”

“Guillermo’s coming.”

“Shut the—” I didn’t realize I’d hit the brakes until some jerk honked and peeled out around me. Cursing, I pulled off onto the shoulder. “Are you kidding me? Why the f—?”