“You’re right,” I said finally, smiling as Wade picked up Sean and threw him in the air, causing the little boy to squeal in delight as Romeo rushed over and caught him, holding him like a football as Wade chased after them.
Sugar’s grin returned, slow and triumphant. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s see if we can figure out what Wade’s cooking up for you. My money’s on something that lights up or makes noise.”
I snorted as Wade stumbled over and plopped his ass down next to me, out of breath. “I can’t anymore. I ain’t as young as I once was. Those boys are trying to kill me.”
“And what are you going to do if Devlyn’s carrying boys?” Sugar asked, looking at her cousin.
“Ship them off to the bayou until they turn eighteen. Safer for everyone that way.”
Sugar threw her head back and laughed.
“And if they are girls?” I asked, curious about his response.
He shivered, then quickly sat up, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek before saying, “Then I’m moving to the bayou, and you can come get me when they are forty.”
“Forty?” Sugar questioned.
Wade shrugged nonchalantly, his grin sly and unapologetic. “That’s when I figure they’ll be old enough to stop scaring me half to death. Girls are a whole different league, and I’m not ready for the heartbreak they’ll bring their old man.”
Sugar barely stopped laughing long enough to gasp, “You’re ridiculous, Wade. Absolutely ridiculous.”
Before Wade could defend his honor, Enigma darted over, carrying Sean by the straps of his little overalls. He paused, eyeing the group with a mischievous glint before carefullydepositing the giggling boy into Wade’s lap, almost as if he were returning stolen property.
“Oh great,” Wade groaned, his exhaustion evident. “A delivery I didn’t order.”
Sean promptly climbed up Wade’s chest, grabbing Wade’s neck so the little boy could climb up and sit on his shoulders. Wade muttered something about new definitions of torture, but his expression softened, betraying his utter adoration.
Sugar nudged me conspiratorially, her grin as sharp as ever. “You see? He’s already doomed, whether it’s boys or girls. I say we just sit back and enjoy the show.”
“Chèr,I’ve got to run to the bar later. You okay here by yourself?”
“And why wouldn’t she be?” Romeo’s sister walked out carrying a tray of goodies, placing it on the table.
Wade glanced over at the tray, his brows lifting as the scent of freshly baked cookies wafted through the air. “Did you make those, C.C.?” he asked, his tone half-skeptical, half-teasing as he got to his feet with Sean sitting comfortably on his shoulders.
C.C. set her hands on her hips, her expression mock offended. “And what if I did?”
“Well, then I’d say the apocalypse must be nigh,” Wade quipped with a smirk, dodging a playful swat from her as Sean laughed merrily.
Sugar snickered from the sidelines, leaning toward me with a conspiratorial whisper, “You’d think he’d learn to stop provoking her. But no, not Wade.”
“Some people never learn,” I murmured, shaking my head in amusement as C.C. shot Wade a glare that could wither a wildflower.
“Go on, try one,” C.C. challenged, plucking a cookie from the tray and holding it out as though daring him to refuse.
Wade sighed dramatically and let go of Sean just long enough to accept the offering. He took a deliberate bite, chewing with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “Hmm,” he mused, dragging out the silence until C.C.’s patience visibly thinned. “Not bad. Almost as good as mymôman’s, but edible.”
C.C. rolled her eyes so hard I worried they might get stuck. “You’re impossible.”
“True,” Wade said around another bite, grinning unrepentantly. “But you wouldn’t have me any other way.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The sun had set when I pulled my truck behind The Bourbon Bar. I hopped out and walked in the back door, striding toward the main barroom to find my brothers milling around, glaring at a familiar face sitting on a chair in the middle of the room.
Braveheart, leaning against the bar, was currently cleaning his nails with the big ass fucking knife he always wore. Juju was standing behind the bar, rubbing his bag of bones. Donut sat reclined with his feet on a table, eating a bag of beignets, as Worm sat across from him, nose in a damn book. Thore was lying on the chaise, snoring away as my Uncle Sixx straddled a chair and glared at the fucker.
As I stepped into the barroom, the tension hung in the air like Louisiana humidity—a thick, oppressive presence that almost made me pause. Braveheart glanced up briefly, his knife glinting under the dim overhead light before returning to his meticulous work. The sound of metal against flesh was oddly soothing, a rhythmic undertone to the spectacle unfolding before me.
