About That Night. Beth Andrews
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officially, the hostess of this little shindig for her father and his fiancée. “They’re very...festive.”
“They’re supposed to be romantic!” she wailed loudly enough to make several of the bar patrons glance their way.
He put his arm around her shoulders. Squeezed. “Hey now, you know I’m clueless about decorating.”
She sniffed and shrugged him off. “It’s not just that.”
He glanced around, but no one was there to explain what the hell he’d said wrong. “Then what is it?” he asked, not sure he really wanted to know.
“You don’t even want to be here.”
He’d flown halfway across the country, left the civilized world of Houston—where he had work, work and more work—to be in this small town thirty miles south of Pittsburgh to celebrate his brother’s engagement. A brother he’d barely spoken to in the past fifteen years. An engagement C.J. highly doubted would make it to the altar.
Hell no, he didn’t want to be here. But he was. He always put his family first. Didn’t that count for anything?
“What I want doesn’t matter,” he told her.
“It’s just—” she threw her hands into the air, beseeching the heavens to help her cope with the disappointment “—I tried so hard to make this party special for Daddy and Charlotte, but it’s a disaster. First Uncle Zach texted me that he wasn’t coming and then you were late. Granddad’s been an absolute grump all night, making angry noises and thumping his good hand. I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t want to be here or because Carrie’s drunk and been hanging on Uncle Oakes. Then there’s Grandma...” Estelle shivered dramatically. “Well, you’re going to have to see that for yourself.” Her eyes welled. “I just wanted everything to be perfect, and instead, it’s ruined.”
He sighed. Hung his head. Women. Care about one of them too much and they’d get their hooks into you—either by the balls or by the gut. Either way, once they had you, you were never free.
He hoped like hell that, if he ever had children, he followed in his father’s footsteps and had all boys.
He held out his arms, but Estelle lifted her chin.
Stubborn as her father.
C.J. amped up his grin by a few degrees. “Come on, darlin’. Don’t tell me you’re going to stay mad at your favorite uncle.”
“At the moment, Uncle Oakes is my favorite,” she said, prissy as a princess to a peasant. But then she relented enough to step into his embrace. Wrap her arms around him for a hug.
He squeezed her hard. Kissed the top of her head. Damn, but he was crazy about her.
“Oakes is everyone’s favorite,” he said, not offended in the least to be usurped by his brother. If she’d wanted to go for the jugular, she would have picked Zach.
There wasn’t anything he could do about his youngest brother not showing up, but he could take care of the rest for her. He looked over her head and scanned the room. People laughed and conversed around the round tables or stood in small groups, eating hors d’oeuvres and sipping tall flutes of champagne brought around by the waitstaff. Others had paired off, swaying to the band’s acoustic rendition of Guns N’ Roses’ “November Rain,” the lead singer’s smoky voice giving the song a slow, seductive quality.
Among the dancers, it was easy enough to find his brother Kane and his new fiancée, Charlotte Ellison. Hard to miss Charlotte, with that bright beacon of short red hair. Usually more cute than beautiful, she was a knockout tonight in an emerald-green dress that showed off her long legs and gave her thin figure the illusion of curves. For his part, Kane still looked every inch the badass he pretended to be. One of only a few men without a suit, he’d tied back his too-long hair into a stupid, stubby ponytail and wore dark jeans and a white button-down shirt that covered his tattoos.
“For a disaster, everyone seems to be having a good time,” C.J. said.
Estelle stepped back and nodded toward the room. “Look again.”
He followed her gaze to the far window where Carrie was pressed like a second skin against a pale, grim-mouthed Oakes. Though Carrie was doing her best to get a reaction, Oakes stood still as a statue, his eyes straight ahead and not on her impressive breasts, which were spilling out of her pale yellow dress.
Poor bastard looked as though he’d been cornered by a pissed-off bobcat and not a perky blonde.
C.J. would have laughed if that perky blonde hadn’t also happened to be married to their father.
Problem number one.
“You say Carrie’s drunk?” C.J. asked Estelle.
“The way she’s been groping Uncle Oakes all night, she’d better be drunk. God. It’s, like, completely disgusting. And with Granddad right there, too.”
It was then that C.J. spotted his father, his once robust form slumped to the side of his wheelchair. The stroke Senior had suffered almost a year ago had stolen his ability to speak and paralyzed the right side of his body. But judging from the glare he was shooting at his wife and third son, his mind was still in working order. Behind him, Mark, his large bald nurse, took a hold of Senior under the arms and lifted him straight.
Senior slid down again. His mouth moved, his body jerked, and C.J. knew he was trying to say something, more than likely giving Mark, Oakes and Carrie hell.
Problem number two.
“But that’s not the worst of it,” Estelle said.
C.J. sent his niece a sidelong glance. “It gets worse?”
“Much.” She looked so solemn. So serious. Not expressions she wore often. C.J. bit back a groan. What sort of fresh hell had he walked into? “Like, catastrophically worse.”
She pointed to the dance floor. The band had started another song, this one an upbeat pop song. People bounced and danced along.
And there, surrounded by a circle of dancers, his mother did a slow bump and grind against a tall, dark-haired man.
C.J. grabbed the back of his neck. Squeezed hard. Worse, indeed.
Estelle nodded. “I know. It’s gross.” She made the mistake of looking at the dance floor again only to whirl back, horrified. “Ugh. Grandma Gwen just totally, like, groped him. In front of God and everybody.” Estelle leaned forward, her voice a harsh whisper. “Like, her hand was on his butt squeezing and—and stroking. I’m going to have to have my brain sprayed with bleach in the hopes of taking the memory out of my head. You have to do something, Uncle C.J. You’re so good at fixing things.”
He snorted. Right. He should be good at it. He’d had enough practice. He wouldn’t mind a night off every now and then, but he couldn’t refuse his niece. Couldn’t refuse to do what had been his responsibility since birth.
Take care of his family.
“What would you suggest?” he asked.
“Make her stop.”
If only it was that easy. But then, for Estelle, life was simple. She asked for something and got it. She was indulged at every turn, her every wish granted.
Tonight was no different.
He patted her hand. “I’ll handle it.”
She smiled and threw her arms around him for another hug, this one more enthusiastic and warmer than before. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I know Daddy and Char will appreciate your help, too.”
C.J. doubted that, but it wouldn’t stop him from doing what was right.
His mother took that moment to rub her ass against her date’s pelvis.
C.J. winced. He’d have to tag along when Estelle had her brain scrubbed.
“Excuse