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  I could die now. I hoped I would die now. But I was one bottle of Jack too short of alcohol poisoning, and I wasn’t about to drop another hundred dollars on a bar tab to encourage my liver to finish the job.

  I stumbled backwards. Marius laughed.

  “I knew you wanted me,” he said. “Could have just taken me up on the offer. Would have saved us time.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “No sense regretting something that ever happened. Let’s make it happen. I can make you feel a hell of a lot better than you do now.”

  I’d already hit rock bottom. I couldn’t go down even if I’d wanted to. “Absolutely not.”

  Marius laughed. “Come on. I’m the man of your dreams.”

  “No. Now you’re a part of a living nightmare.”

  “Aren’t you a little curious?”

  “I think I can leave it to my imagination.”

  I had no idea what would kill me first—my own stupidity, the embarrassment, or the swirl of the hangover beating at my stomach. I backed out of the room. Squeezed my eyes shut. Willed a stray lightning bolt to strike me where I stood.

  “Please forget about this,” I said. “Believe me. We are so lucky we didn’t make the biggest mistake of our lives.”

  Marius followed me, crossing his arms only to flex those perfect muscles. “Leaving could be the worst decision you’ve ever made. Think about what you’re missing.”

  I was thinking about it.

  And it was horrifying, not just because I almost broke my heart, but because I was already regretting not having that night with him.

  “This is never going to happen,” I said. Even I didn’t believe it. “Forget it, Marius Payne. I’m looking for the real deal. And you aren’t it.”

  “Sweetness, take my advice. Stop looking for the man of your dreams.” His dark, sensual words turned into a damning promise. “A girl like you needs to find a man who can keep her up all night.”

  4

  Marius

  In this world, a man had to take the good with the bad.

  For instance—a man lost his leg, but he kept his life.

  A man missed out on a good fuck—but at least the girl was fantasizing about him.

  Gretchen was either crazy for me are just plain crazy. Either way, she was more fun than I’d had in months, and I hadn’t even gotten into bed with her.

  I had spent entirely too much time in the hospital worrying if I was going to live, walk, or be whole ever again. Didn’t have time left for bullshit. I wanted Gretchen. She obviously wanted me. Why did we torture ourselves? No need to play some fucking little game when pleasure was on the line.

  Gretchen Murphy.

  That satiny dark skin. Those big, chocolate eyes. I even liked those ridiculous pigtails. And I especially like the booty shorts.

  For the past two goddamned nights, I’d gone to bed tortured by the memory of our kiss. I hated myself for letting her get away. For not stopping her before she bolted from the house and refused to answer my calls.

  I wasn’t a good man. Hell, I wasn’t entirely sure I hadn’t died in purgatory and my hell took the form of Butterpond. But living or dead, Gretchen was nothing short of an angel. And I was looking for a little holy bliss.

  Problem was, she avoided me. Hard core. However, as one of Butterpond’s public servants, she had to answer the call of her station. While I wanted nothing to do with the town, the people, or the Council hellbent on honoring me for returning to Butterpond wounded and worthless, Gretchen would be at the town’s monthly meeting. She made the misery worth it.

  “Are you really going to this bullshit?” Tidus asked.

  He dared to smoke in my presence. Big mistake. Our little sister usually smacked them out of his mouth, but I had my leg on. I’d chase his punk ass down and put out the cigarette on his arm if he didn’t drop the habit. I lost enough friends in battle. Last thing I’d lose was a brother to lung cancer.

  He ducked away from my fist before it connected, and his cigarette plunked into an empty beer bottle.

  He swore. But he knew better than to fight me.

  “I thought you liked these meetings?” I asked.

  Tidus snorted. “They shut down Renegades so everyone can go. No place to get a drink in this town on meeting nights.”

  “You mean you gotta be sober for a hot minute?”

  “The horror.” Tidus shook his head. “You’ve only been back in town for a couple of weeks. I never fucking left. I gotta have something to get through the days.”

  Because his life was a goddamned tragedy. “You still got two legs. Why don’t you make something of yourself?”

  “I can be twice the man you are while sitting on my ass.” Tidus shrugged. “I just gotta find the right motivation.”

  “And that would be?”

  Varius brushed passed us on his way to the kitchen. “He’ll find it at the bottom of a bottle.”

  Tidus flipped him off, but Varius was accustomed to the motion. When he was still preaching, Tidus used to stand in the back of the chapel and devise new and blasphemous ways to distract our brother. Middle fingers. Hairspray and lighters. Porn in the hymnals. It had made church a hell of a lot more exciting, and Varius a hell of a lot angrier. Started giving real fire and brimstone sermons after that.

  At least, until the tornado.

  Now? It be great to find anything that would make Varius angry. Hell, to make him feel anything. Something had to awaken the shell of a brother wandering around our house.

  “You coming tonight?” I asked Varius. I already knew the answer, but it was good to put him on the spot. This bullshit had gone on for long enough. “Come on. Don’t you want to support your older brother?”

  Varius cracked open a beer. “I don’t do the monthly meetings.”

  “Why not?”

  Julian’s heavy steps rattled the stairs. For a man who spent the entire day working out in the hot sun, he sure as hell looked refreshed. Probably had something to do with the hour-long shower he’d taken with his fiancée.

  “Varius can’t go to the meeting,” Julian didn’t bother smiling, just spoke the truth.“He might have to talk with some people from town. Can’t let that happen.”

  Varius agreed. “Got nothing to offer them.”

  Whatever helped him sleep at night. Or didn’t help him sleep. At this point, it was a miracle Varius was out of the basement, dressed, showered, and not looking for the nearest bridge for a quick leap. Something had changed him. We weren’t sure what. Certainly wasn’t his own ministry. But at least Cassi wasn’t scheduling us to babysit him anymore.

  Micah followed Julian down the stairs, grumbling. Didn’t blame her. Last place she wanted to be was back at the municipality that had fired her. Then again, like some bullshit Hallmark movie, she’d given up her job for Julian and the farm. Seemed like an idiotic thing to do, but they did it for the baby growing in her belly.

  A new generation of Payne. God help us all.

  “Butterpond Medal of Honor,” Micah grinned. “Are you ready to accept that distinction?”

  “As long as it scores me a beer at Renegades,” I said.

  And somehow gets me connected to Gretchen again.

  People said surviving the accident was brave. They didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about. Facing down the residents of Butterpond? That took real guts. And patience.

  And a set of blue balls as big as the alpaca in the backyard.

  My little sister burst into the living room, arms loaded with children. Not hers, thank God. She let loose the toddler in the living room, and handed the baby to her boyfriend, Remington. His nieces. Her babysitting charges.

  I guess they called that shit nannying now.

  Cassi dove at me with one arm, using her other hand to bat the cigarette pack out of Tidus’s hands. She might’ve been adopted, but the little firecracker was probably the most frightening Payne of us all. The sort with everything to lose.

  She actually liked the f
amily. And she liked us together. In fact, she’d given up on starting a new life in Ironfield to stay and help the farm and Remington. He wasn’t a good match for her. At least he knew it. We’d grown up together, had our issues, and resolved them like men. And while he seemed a better guy than I originally thought, he was still banging my little sister.

  At least I was a good shot with a rifle.

  “I’m so glad you’re doing this,” Cassi said, surveying my outfit with a frown. “Are you sure you want to wear jeans? What about a suit?”

  “It’s Butterpond, Sassy. We’ll be lucky if the rest of the town is wearing pants.”

  Quint hollered from the couch. “Or their teeth.”

  I let her hug me again, only because she was my baby sister, and only she had that power over us. Always did, from the first day mom and dad had plunked her down in the living room, a little bundle of smiles, sticky hands, and chestnut skin. She’d won us over when she was ten months old. And she was still lording it over us even in her twenties.

  Cassi had no patience for any of us. “Everyone is coming to the meeting. This is Marius’s night. We’re going to act like a family for once, and we’ll support each other.”

  Great. “They don’t gotta come.”

  Cassi disagreed, all one hundred and ten pounds of her. She was tiny, mighty, and the only Payne I feared. My cute little sister had grown up overnight. When she wagged her finger in my face, I shut up. Enough attitude in that kid to order an entire squad into battle.

  Her voice wavered. The damn sniffle almost killed me. “You almost died, Marius. Don’t you understand how scared we were? We thought we were going to lose you. We had no idea if you were going to survive, or what would happen after the surgeries. I know you don’t think about it now, but if the town wants to give you an award for being brave enough to go to war, then of course we're going to go and support you. Someone’s got to prove to you that we are a family. And that we’re here for you.”

  Oh, Christ. “Cassi, I know.”

  “I don’t think you do. But whenever you’re ready to acknowledge it, you’re going to have a house full of people who love you, who are ready to do whatever it takes to help you get on your feet again.”

  Quint snickered. “Foot.”

  The hall silenced. One of the few times in thirty-two years that it got quiet enough for me to hear my own damned heartbeat.

  And it was pounding a little too fast.

  “Look,” I said. “I’m fine. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m goddamned fine. You gotta stop watching me, thinking I’m gonna break down, freak out, whatever. Don’t worry about me. I got a job lined up. Interviews scheduled for next week. And I’d fucking appreciate it if you all didn’t blow that for me. Stop treating me like I’m still in the fucking hospital. I’m fine.”

  Why was it every time I said it, they believed me even less?

  Julian didn’t bother arguing. “Got a job already?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You that eager to leave?”

  Yes. “You know I don’t belong here. House is a little crowded anyway.”

  Cassi pouted. “Maybe we like it that way? Maybe it finally feels like home again. Julian’s having a baby. Rem’s nieces love playing here. We're even talking about calling some of the old foster kids. Having them come home for a party or something. After what happened—”

  I was done with this conversation. “What happened, happened. Find some other family tragedy to mourn. I lost a leg. Big fucking deal. Stop trying to make it something it’s not.”

  Because that was how I was dealing with it.

  And that was the only way I could deal with it.

  I left the family in the living room, slamming the door my way out to the car. What the hell did they want from me? Did they want me to break down? Cry?

  What was done was done. I hadn’t died. And that was a hell of a lot better than what happened to most of the guys from my squad.

  I’d spent enough time recovering, and now the only thing people wanted me to do was relive that night. To face that moment again and again, to feel the pain, to suffer through that shock and horror, to have the nightmares, and to stare at the goddamned piece of plastic strapped to my stump.

  At least there was a chance I could get laid tonight.

  Wasn’t worth losing a leg for any random girl. But someone like Gretchen? Made the sacrifice worth it.

  Of course, that meant heading back into Butterpond.

  The town would’ve been a better place to live if it just gave into a crippling addiction to prescribed opioids and admitted that most of the residents had stayed in town for two generations too long. Butterpond was too small for any real leadership, but just large enough for those in charge to adopt more dictatorial methods. Pretty sure I’d lost my leg trying to prevent this sort of authoritarianism from taking root.

  Town meetings were a battleground between multiple factions—the old and the new. Face painting for the kids was held at the blood pressure check for the elderly. Storytime at the library coincided with diabetes prevention in the second conference room. The historical society, emboldened from their meetings at the local pub, had splintered from the newly formed Preservation Club, the older ladies who met in the church and attempted to either turn the county dry or label the residents as heretics.

  Nothing ever changed in Butterpond. And yet, every month, the town found something new, bizarre, and utterly ridiculous to piss them off.

  This month, it was Gretchen.

  Tidus knew how to score the best seats for the action. He’d reserved the back row ahead of time, and even pulled a hidden flask from under one of the chairs, taped there before the meeting. I took a good swig as the whispers in the meeting room transitioned from murmured gossip to general outrage. A couple of people turned to glanced at me. Women often stared at my crotch, but it wasn’t used to folks attempting to see through my jeans to guess which leg was fake.

  I nudged Tidus. “Why the hell are they allowed to talk about my leg, but no one can say a damned thing about Mrs. Hunter’s botched boob job?”

  Cassi shushed us, but Tidus agreed. “At least you got a reason to limp. They pumped her full of lead instead of saline. Now, she’s always leaning to the right.”

  My sister elbowed Tidus. “We're not supposed to say anything.”

  “Hell, she’s the one who bumped into me in the lobby.” Tidus winked. “Might be too big if you can’t steer them anymore. That’s all I’m saying.”

  The meeting had yet to be called to order, one seat still empty. Mayor Desmond hadn’t made an appearance, and the crowd was eager to turn on any elected official seemingly shirking their duties. The conversations turned as hostile as when the council had suggested putting a meter in the bank’s parking lot.

  “Don’t you tell me what I saw, Dave!” Raymond Adamski roared over the meeting room. He was a drunk when I left for the Navy, but now he was the town’s hangover. He thrust a gnarled finger at the aging council members, slurred his words, and accidentally spilled his preferred drink of the night. Peppermint schnapps from the smell of it. Butterpond was getting fancier in its old age. “I saw a goddamned bear in Becky Scarsdale’s yard. A grizzly!”

  Dave Horsden must’ve heard the story a dozen times. He clutched his video camera—his attempt to ensure the authenticity of meeting minutes. But the bastard aimed the damned thing at Cassi as she adjusted her skirt. Quint had to restrain Tidus before Dave got any footage of my brother shoving a chair down his throat.

  He shook free of Tidus. “There ain’t no grizzly bears in Butterpond, Ray. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, check your meds. You take one too many Vicodin, you start seeing half a dozen mythological creatures roaming the streets.”

  “I’m telling you, it was a bear.”

  The talk did nothing to soothe the nerves of a dozen irritated seniors, jostling their coffee and fighting amongst themselves. The oldest, Widow Barlow, tapped her carved, ornate cane against the floor. She scowled and al
most disappeared into her wrinkles.

  “Never used to have bears in this town,” she muttered. “There was once a time Butterpond was full of reasonable, God-fearing folk. These days it’s nothing but loud music, drinking, and grizzly bears.”

  Dave lowered the camera. “There ain’t no bears. Where’s a bear gonna come from?”

  Raymond guzzled the remainder of his drink, belched, and pointed directly at Becky Scarsdale, a woman more likely to bite his finger off than tolerate such an attitude. She crumpled the meeting’s agenda and brandished it as a weapon. Most women might’ve pitched the wadded ball of paper at Raymond. She opted to flash a slashing motion across her throat instead.

  “I know you ain’t talking about me,” she said.

  Sheriff Samson settled into his chair for his monthly meeting nap. “Becky, you play nice now.”

  Becky’s hair fell out of her ponytail, her shirt was stained with cigarette burns, and she wore two different shoes. The classic Butterpond style.

  “This is harassment,” she said. “I’m being persecuted.”

  Ray stood on his chair to gain the attention of those in the meeting. Quint nudged me, sneaking a note card into my hand. A dozen squares had created a bingo card, and he winked at me.

  “That’s a good card,” he whispered. “To win, you need a fistfight between the council members, a fender bender from one of the seniors, or for someone to go into diabetic shock.” My brother, the diabetic, had already etched in the shock. “I’m holding off eating my candy bar. Al Rogers up in the front row? He’s looking pretty damned sleepy. This’ll win us a free round at Renegades.”

  Great. This town was so goddamned boring my brother was playing sugar roulette with his pancreas.

  “You wanna know where the bears came from?” Raymond shouted over the hall. “Becky Scarsdale has turned that shit hole of a yard into a shit hole of a birdfeeder.” He pointed at Micah. “You saw it.”

  Micah shrugged, but Julian hauled her into her seat before she gave a statement.

  She hissed at him. “I warned them about the birdfeeders. I had an ordinance and everything.”