Pen manages a weak smile. “Thank you.”
May sits back with a huff. “So it’s all a... a ruse?”
“You’re mad at that?” June asks with a lift of her brows.
“Of course I am!” May cries. “For a hot moment I thought August would officially make Pen our sister! I wanted it to be true!”
Eighteen
August
Iwanted it to be true!
May’s plaintive wail runs through my head on repeat. It pushes through the music I turn up as I make a midnight smoothie in the kitchen. I’m strangely bereft, like I’ve lost something, done something wrong. I can’t focus.
The blender stops. I grab a tall glass from the cabinet when my phone pings a warning that the front gate has opened. Alarmed, I set the glass down and pull up the security app. Cameras show a Mercedes SUV rolling up the drive. It’s either a wealthy thief, total nutter, or someone I know. I keep an eye on my phone, and the emergency call button for my security company, as I head for the front door. I can take most guys, sure. But my contract says I gotta protect the arm. And I’m not trying to get hurt playing hero when I have a house set up for all manner of protection.
The SUV pulls up to the front. From the safety of my phone screen, I see the passenger get out. A curse rips free. Setting the phone on the hall table, I whip open the door.
“How the hell did you get past my gate?”
January smirks. “You use the same damn password for everything, little brother.” He opens the back door of his SUV and hauls out a travel bag. “You gotta stop doing that.”
Balderdash!That’s my word—complete with exclamationmark; because obviously it’s needed. And, yeah, it’s not the smartest idea to keep using the same code. Especially in this family.
“At least it’s not TacoTuesday,” I mutter.
Jan halts and grins. “I swear, sometimes I forget you and March aren’t twins. You’re both equally boneheaded.”
I let that slide and open the door further so he can come in. I haven’t seen him in person since my draft day. He looks good; his arm no longer wrapped, his weight back up instead of edging toward gaunt. He’s dressed like a ’50s film star headed for the Riviera—camel-colored wool slacks and an ivory silk knit polo. Knowing my brother, the whole outfit is bespoke, the brown loafers on his feet handmade in Italy. The man always looks effortlessly sharp.
In so many ways, he’s been my hero. Except right now.Right now, he’s on my shit list.
“Speaking of twins.” I lock up behind me. “I can’t believe you sicced the Terrible Twosome on me and Pen.”
“Better you than me. They were screeching and wailing so bad, I’d have sent them to Hawaii if they’d asked. As it is, you totally deserved their company.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a little thing called brotherly solidarity.”
“Don’t complain.” Jan sets his duffel by the stairs and looks around as if taking the lay of the land. “Mom and Dad wanted to come too.”
“At this point, I might have preferred that.”
When Jan wings a brow at me, I shrug.
“I’ll talk them down easily. I’m their favorite.”
His deep laugh booms in the vastness that is my house. “Good one, Augie. We all know I’m the favorite.”
I flip him the bird and go to the kitchen where my smoothie waits. Unfortunately, January follows. Out of all of us boys, he’s the biggest. Five years older than me, he’s also two inches taller and a tad wider in the shoulders than March. With his build,you’d think Jan would have gone for tight end or tackle. But no, he’s a quarterback like me.Thequarterback, a legend in the making, with three Super Bowl titles and four rides to the show under his belt by age twenty-seven.
Then the accident happened. Last winter, my legend of a brother was riding passenger with his fiancée when a drunk driver crashed into them. They both survived, but my brother’s throwing arm was broken in two places, his elbow shattered. The world mourned and prayed for a miracle comeback. But Jan has been adamant. He’ll never be what he was, so he’s done with playing, and trying to work on his future.
One that doesn’t hold a fiancée. I’m not certain what happened with Laura. Jan remains tight-lipped about it, only muttering once that they weren’t in similar places emotionally anymore. From his expression, it was clear that no more information would be forthcoming.
The whole incident both depresses and scares me. I want to make it better for my brother but know I can’t. The reminder has me softening enough to pour him out a portion of my smoothie and pass it his way.
“Thanks.” He takes a sip, then looks round again. “So . . . this is . . . a place.”
