THE HELMET OF DESTINY
JULES
The Kingman family does not celebrate milestones like normal people. We compete. Board games, backyard football, for Nana’s chocolate chip pancakes. Everything turns into a blood sport. So when my brother Chris got engaged to the girl he’d been in love with for years, my first thought was: Finally.
But immediately after that?
Who’s going to be the best man, and how much chaos was this going to cause?
Chris had been keeping the plans, like the date, location, and wedding party very close to the chest. But Trixie said he had to let us all in or no one would actually be at the wedding.
I was gonna need popcorn.
And a plan.
We were all crammed into Dad’s living room, still riding the high from the Big Bowl win two weeks ago. The confetti had barely been vacuumed out of everyone’s hair. Chris stood in the front of the room looking every bit the captain of the team and the rest of my brothers were sprawled across every availablesurface like a pack of overgrown golden retrievers who’d just been told they were good boys.
Which, I mean. They kind of had been. Two weeks ago, seventy thousand people, plus the millions more on TV, had watched half of them win a championship. Now here they were, fighting over the last of the queso and arguing about whether pineapple belonged on pizza.
I loved them so much it was stupid.
“April eighth,” Chris said, grinning so hard I thought his face might crack. “Trixie wants a spring wedding at The Gentle Barnyard.”
“The donkey place?” Flynn asked, because of course that’s what he focused on.
“The animal sanctuary where she volunteers,” I said. “Where Luke Skycocker came from. You’ve been there like six times, Flynn.”
“I know, I just like saying ‘the donkey place.’ It’s funny.”
It really wasn’t, but Flynn’s commitment to his own bits was kind of endearing. He really thought I didn’t know about the girl he was gaga for and her donkey?
Trixie, tucked under Chris’s arm as he took a seat on the couch, just shook her head with that fond smile she got whenever my brothers were being particularly... themselves. She’d been part of this family long enough to know that trying to have a serious conversation with all eight of us in the room was a contact sport.
“So,” Isak said, stretching his arms behind his head with that look he gets when he’s about to say something that’ll rile everyone up, “who’s gonna be the best man?”
And there it was. The gauntlet, lobbed casually into the middle of the coliseum.
Seven pairs of eyes swiveled to Chris. Even Dad looked up from his phone, and I swear I saw him settle back in his chair like he was ready to watch a show. Pop meet corn.
Here’s the thing about being the youngest of eight kids and the only girl, I’ve spent my whole life watching these boys. I know all their tells. I know when Declan’s about to get defensive and when Hayes is about to retreat into himself and when the twins are silently plotting something with their telepathy. I know that Chris, for all his confidence on the field, would rather throw himself into traffic than disappoint any of us.
And right now, my sweet, wonderful, family first big brother looked like a man who’d just been asked to choose his favorite child.
“I, uh?—”
“It should obviously be me,” Declan said. “I’m the second oldest.”
“While there is logic in all of us just being the best man for the next in line.” He smiled like he had a secret, and I’d bet money it had something to do with Willa. “But there are important bonds of brotherhood to consider.”
“I shared awombwith Gryff for nine months.” Flynn spread his hands like this was irrefutable logic. “If anyone understands the bond of brotherhood?—”
“That’s not how any of this works,” Everett interrupted. “And besides, I’m the one who gave Chris all the advice on how to finally get Trixie to notice him.”
“Your advice was ‘just tell her how you feel.’” Isak made a face that showed he thought feelings were plain gross. “That’s not advice, that’s a fortune cookie.”
“A fortune cookie thatworked.” Everett rolled his head back on his neck, staring up at the ceiling like only a slighted middle child could.
I watched Chris’s face cycle through about fourteen emotions in three seconds. He wanted to make everyone happy, he always did. It was one of the best things about him, and also the thing that was about to give him an ulcer.
