A sigh that speaks of a thousand things—our deadbeat dad, losing our mom, his career going up in smoke, me getting hurt…and the family we’ve both become part of since coming here.
“No,” he agrees, pulling me into a tight hug. “Not anymore.”
Then he nudges me back to my chair, sits down beside me.
I stare at the ice below, aware of the players skating around the rink, but not really processing anything they’re doing.
Because of that sigh.
Because of the hope in my brother’s hug.
Because of the way he nudges his foot against mine and grins when I look up at him.
“You’re the teacher and yet you’re talking about spoiling my kids. Aren’t you supposed to be the one to set boundaries and shit?”
Despite myself, my lips twitch. “You’ve been in my classroom and you think I have any hope in hell of setting boundaries?”
He laughs, nudges my foot again. “You’re not fooling anyone. Your kids adore you.”
“Damn right they do.” I wink at him. “Of course it’s probably because I bribe them with candy.”
“You sure you’ll be okay?” Damon asks.
Again.
His protective older brother tendencies coming out in full force.
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “I have a new crochet pattern to mess up and plenty of wine to drink.”
“Joey told me to remind you not to skip ahead on episodes.”
I press my hand to my chest, above my heart. “Tell her I swear on the Holy Ghost of Bravo TV I will not get ahead on our shows.”
A chuckle. A shake of his head. An indulgent smile.
There’s movement down the hall, drawing his focus, and the flickering muscle in his jaw has butterflies taking flight in my belly as I follow his gaze.
Colt is standing there, out of earshot, but reclined back against the wall, arms and ankles crossed, making it clear he’ll wait as long as it takes.
And he has, hasn’t he?
Waited for me.
Been patient for me.
Played his ass off tonight to “make it worth my while.”
My brother sighs, shakes his head. “Fine. I won’t trade him.” He glares down the hall. “Yet.” Then he turns back to me, face going soft in a way I know he’s not aware of—not really—but one that I also know means his thoughts have turned to Joey.
Because he loves her more than his next breath.
“I’ll let her know about you swearing on the Holy Ghosts,” he says, tugging my ponytail. “Text me once in a while, yeah, kid?”
I swat him away. But I agree to the texts…in my way. “Eight dozen memes coming ‘atcha.”
“Brat.”
“Butthead.”
