It leaves just Wylder and me, our eyes meeting.
“You have something else to say?” he asks.
I shrug. “Nope. Just making sure you’re okay.”
Wylder leans back in his chair and toys with his pen. “As good as I can be.”
I want to say something else, something helpful, but I find that nothing really sounds that good, so I stick with something from the nineties. A true lyrical poem.
“Next time, stick with the rivers and streams. Don’t chase the damn waterfalls.”
He stares at me for a long thirty seconds. “Are you quoting a song to me?”
I shrug and pull up my phone, putting the song on and humming along as I exit.
Sure am, Brother.The nineties were a time of wisdom. He’d be smart to listen.
17
CADE
Game night is always the best part of the week. A time of family, bonding, and friendly competitiveness. It’s really innocent and not at all violent.
In theory.
“I’m going to take this card and shove it down your throat,” Samson growls, holding up a wild card from the Uno deck and reaching over toward Harley.
Harley grins, waggling his dagger at Samson. “Sit down, old man. I could take you any day.”
“Don’t fucking make me prove to you that I’m better. At everything. At life.”
Samson growls, and Wylder sighs. “When are Matthias and Wyatt getting here? I think I need another drink.”
Dalton pipes up, his fingers delicately putting the cards in his hand in a specific order. “Jackson said they’d be here any minute now. Though, they’re not missing much. This won’t be a fair fight at all.”
Samson glowers at our brother, and Harley laughs. “He means I’m going to win. And he’s right. I’ll kick your ass, just like I did in Uno, old man.”
“We should have stuck with Monopoly,” Wylder mutters.
“Fuck Monopoly. He cheats in that too,” Samson grumbles. “Not as much as Dalton, but it still fucking sucks.”
Dalton doesn’t rise to the bait, calmly continuing to sort his cards.
Ansel blinks over at me, his eyes wide. He looks unsure, uncertain. He has no reason to be. This is typical for game night.
He leans into me, and I savor the heat coming from him. “I’ve never seen Uno played like this before. Or seen someone so angry over it.”
I let out a small laugh, drawing Samson’s ire.
“You’ve never seen Harley cheat the way he does. It would anger even a saint,” Samson grouses.
I roll my eyes, and Samson directs a card in his hand to me. “Would you like this down your throat, Brother?”
I cock my head and pull out a karambit knife and stab it into the table.
Wylder clears his throat pointedly. “I can never keep my furniture looking nice with you here. I should disown you all.”
“Harley started it.” Samson is indignant. “He made this an issue by being a dick. If you want your furniture kept pristine, I’d suggest not inviting Harley to the table.”
