Cocky Secrets (Cocker Brothers #29)

139. Sean

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-NINE

Sean

J ett grumbles his way down the back porch steps, the world cast with a blue hue from dawn’s yawning light. “How the hell did you beat me to morning? I’m always up first.”

I finish the last three pushups to meet my goal, and leap up to standing, brushing dirt from my hands. “Didn’t like the day off yesterday. Felt I was slipping.”

Grey eyes slide toward the house. “Coffee’s not made yet. Want some?”

“Yeah, sure,” I casually shrug when inwardly I’m excited to spend time alone with the man. I like how easy going his power is. How respectful, even playful, he is with the members of his club. He doesn’t throw his ego around, though it’s strong enough to keep a wild bunch of animals like this family at heel. That’s some feat.

Jett gives the screen door a back kick to throw it open for me to catch. My chewed up fingers wrap around it with the precision of blocking a punch. Impressed with my improved reflexes I mutter, “Nice,” and follow him.

“You’re learning quickly,” he notes, pulling out two filters and a huge bag of whole beans, Sumatra dark blend. “Training so many days in a row will do that. The muscles want to work. You’re making them happy.”

As I lift the coffee grinder’s lid and slide the appliance to him, I agree, “That’s why I couldn’t sleep. My body was wondering what the fuck I was doing in bed. Like I had to work out.”

He nods and turns the thing on, waits while it wakes the whole first floor. Glancing to me he shuts it off, pours the grounds into an industrial-sized coffee maker. “You’re wondering why I don’t just buy them pre-ground. Go ahead and fill this with some water, would ya?” While I go to the clean sink, he explains, “My brother Jaxson, he’s the oldest. My best friend. Well, outside of my wife…and Honey Badger, the stubborn jackass. Anyway, growing up, Jaxson and I were the greatest. Raised hell all through school. Gave our younger brothers a ready-made reputation of pure shit,” he chuckles, watching me pour water into the coffee maker. Switching the button and adjusting the big pot Jett continues, “Jaxson’s got this thing about using a French Press. Coffee beans shiny as you can get them. Ground fresh every morning. He has a ranch an hour north of Atlanta. His son Ben is just a mile away from that. If they could grow their own beans they would, but their focus is on other things I guess.” His eyes have love in them, and it’s interesting for a guy like me to see. You can be as masculine as any man out there, yet still have a heart.

“You can’t do the French Press with this many people.”

Jett glances to me. “That’s right! Bunch of caffeine addicts like this would fight over the pots. I tried it once.” At my raised eyebrows, Jett cracks his knuckles on a smirk, “Jaxson bought me one for Christmas one of the first years I joined the club. You should have seen how much shit I got for that! Hell, we drink beer out of cans for fuck’s sake! In Atlanta—my blood family—they only drink local craft beers in the bottle or draft. Glass doesn’t fuck with the taste like aluminum does —all that snooty nonsense.” Jett tosses up the bag of whole beans, catches it and locks eyes with me. “But I won in the end.”

Smiling I jog my chin to the large sack as he pours more into the grinder. “You got them to go for the freshly ground good stuff.”

“That’s right. Melodi helped me since her taste buds are unsurpassed, and she wanted the good stuff to feed her caffeine addiction. We secretly served it four days in a row, got them used to the richness without them knowing what we were doing. Then we switched to the crappy kind and they did this.” He makes a disgusted face, mimics them asking, “ What the hell is this shit? What happened to the good coffee ? Boy, I jumped on them! It was the fresh ground whole Sumatra beans you dumbasses! Told you it was worth the two seconds it takes to blend it! ”

“How’d you sneak it by them, though?” I grin. “That sound! It’s not subtle.”

“Oh you mean this sound?” He turns on the grinder, the noise obnoxious. Switching it off he darts a look outside. “I’d grind in the garage before everyone got up!”

“No way!”

Cracking up, he pours more into the waiting, second filter for the cups that won’t be filled with just one batch. “I was playing the long game.”

His wife walks into the kitchen, the twin of what he wears, all black—jeans, t-shirt, boots. Her long salt and pepper hair hangs damp over her shoulders. “I wish I was there for that,” she murmurs against his lips as he grabs her ass.

“You heard the story I was tellin’ Sean?”

“Tail end but I’ve heard it before.”

“Not too many times I hope,” he murmurs between kisses, his tone sexual, shameless.

She gives him a seductive smile. “I love your stories, Jett.”

“You showered without me.”

“I waited and you never came.”

It’s so intimate and unselfconscious, I feel like I’m not supposed to be here. Turning away, I pull out coffee cups for the club as the distant sounds of people waking drifts into the kitchen like a symphony before a show. My mom used to drive me to the Opera, plus any musicals that came to some of the larger theaters in bigger towns than ours. She wanted me to experience culture, but I always liked the awkward part—the time before the performance where everyone was doing their own thing. When they came together and started the song it had more impact because I saw the grit behind it. The squealing violin bows finding their pitch. The horns bursting in odd blasts that never matched. Chairs scraping on the ground as musicians found a better position to read the music.

“Look who’s helping like he’s always been here!” Melodi shouts as she ruffles short, grey-blonde hair with one lazy hand.

Fuse heads straight for the ready pot and takes a cup from me. “Thanks,” he grunts, not a morning person either.

Curious, I ask Jett. “You said Jaxson was your older brother. How many siblings do you have?”

“Five. All brothers.”

“Six of you are walking this planet?” I laugh.

On a proud grin he nods, “That’s right. Six motherfucking Cocker Brothers. Some of the biggest badasses this world has ever seen.”

Luna chuckles, “If you do say so yourself.”

“Baby, you don’t get the nickname Cocky for nothing. We earned that shit! Ask any of their wives! Ask Atlanta!”

“Mmhmm,” she hums, kissing him.

Moving out of the way of the growing crowd of Ciphers I tell Jett, “I’ve been called cocky many times.”

“Then you’re cocky by association, because we were here first, kid.”

Tonk Sr. and Carmen enter the room and I notice their hair is damp, too. The elders have their own bathrooms. They’re holding hands—she’s practically floating. I’ve no doubt they had sex from the satiated looks on their faces. But when she looks at me, Carmen’s eyes darken. Her husband nods a greeting to the group. Denita walks in with groggy eyes, “I did not want to get up today!” Mutual murmurs as they pull out eggs, bacon, ham, bread, butter.

Now it’s old friends and I’m the odd man out.

Gotta remind myself it will take time.

With a cup of coffee I head for the porch just as Sage and Celia descend the winding staircase inside. I see their legs and hesitate, but feel Carmen watching me so I head on out. Gotta remember that rule they put up about no fraternizing for the singles. Through the cracked-open kitchen window as I walk to a chair I hear Celia’s voice lick my ears, a smile in it as she says, “Coffee, thank God you didn’t drink it all yet!”

I sneak a lingering glance of her through the window at her low-ponytail, tank top painted on, muscular arms waving as she tries to shoo them away from the machine so she can get to it.

“Don’t make me hurt you!”

Her dad laughs, but Jett blocks the path and Luna crosses her arms in front of him. It’s funny, but if I stand here and watch more, I’ll look weird. Forcing myself to keep moving, I plant my sore thighs on the old rocking chair that doesn’t have a cushion, wincing as my bruises and muscles object. It’s a pretty day, easy to lose myself in the view with the coffee propped on my leg, sun setting fire to dew in recently shorn grass.

“You meditating?”

Startled, I glance over to Atlas strolling up. “Huh? No.”

“Gonna have to stay more alert than that,” he mutters. “I could have jumped you, man. Don’t let that happen.” Nodding I frown at his profile as he takes a seat. What a lucky life he leads. Raised in this amazing place. Fighting for a living. Protecting people. And to top it off, he’s got a woman like Celia gazing at him like he rules the world.

Glancing to me, Atlas pauses. “Something on your mind?”

Shrugging I deflect his suspicion with honesty. “Was thinking you’re a lucky guy.”

He blinks, shoulders relaxing now that he knows I’m not judging him. “I guess I am.” Troubled eyes drop to his lap. “My stomach’s killing me. Think I have an ulcer. Your face looks worse. How does it feel?”

“Don’t care.”

“No?”

“Nope.”

Nodding on a half-smile he motions to my chair. “That why you chose the hard rocker?”

“I prefer classic rock.”

A beat, then he chuckles. “You’re a funny one, Sean. Real confident, you know? That works well around here.”

“You’re the same.”

Our eyes lock and I see the doubt creep into his mind. “Not myself these days. Miss my brother.” He heads away.

Weird that now two Ciphers have shown me their soft underbellies of insecurity. Celia thinks Sofia is more respected and fierce. Atlas misses Luke so much he can’t even drink a good cup of coffee anymore. I guess having a stranger in your midst gives you a pass to say things you might not say to the people who know you best.

I spread my legs on a deep lean, rest one elbow on the arm and rock the silence away until Celia walks out and I glance over to her. It blurts out of my mouth before I even have a chance to wonder if it’s a good idea. “Hey, you wanna take a walk before we start training? Warm up our muscles?”

She thinks about it, chewing her lip. “Mmm…sure, we could do that, I guess.”