“Aw, come on! Aleksander is on my team next time.”
Hendrix holds up his middle finger. “Fuck you very much.”
Jogging back, Constantine and I bump fists. The score is now four to zero.
“You’re getting better, baby,” Syn says from the back deck just as Fénix’s sleepy cry comes through the baby monitor sitting on the patio table next to her.
Before I get a chance to offer, Constantine beats me to it. “I’ve got him.”
He catches Syn when she gets up from her chair, and she bursts into delighted giggles when he peppers her face and neck with enthusiastic kisses. Playful morphs into sensual when he captures her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss that leaves her breathless and dazed.
Fénix’s cries grow louder. “Our child gets his impatience from Hen.”
“I’m standing right here,” Hendrix gripes.
Signing something vulgar, Constantine lets Syn go and heads inside.
As if she’s savoring their kiss, she licks her lips, and the sight has me yearning to taste their sweetness.
Sauntering into the yard, Syn snatches the football from Tristan. “Hendrix is with me.”
He flashes a smug smile at Tristan and picks her up. Her toned legs wrap around his waist, and I’m subjected to another display of PDA that leaves my heart aching. Unrequited love sucks.
Tristan throws a sweaty arm around my even sweatier shoulders. Even after two months, gestures like that and the ease with which they are given still take me by surprise. Things have been…different…since June. Not only between him and me. Hendrix hasn’t been as big of an asshole, and Constantine actually talks to me in full sentences, not just one-word utterances or grunts. And Tristan…our baby steps are now full strides.
Somehow, without me noticing, they’ve pulled me into their family unit, a place I never expected to be, but a place I never want to leave. Having him and Dierdre in my life feels good. They don’t replace Aleksei, no one ever could, but they help fill the gaping holes in my heart he left when he died.
And being close to Syn, being an uncle to Fénix, they are the steel threads stitching those broken pieces together.
Leaning into my side, Tristan says, “Don’t let our girl deceive you. Her throwing arm can fast-track a football with precision.”
Our girl.I wish. Fuck, how I wish.
Syn spins the football in her hand, a challenging smirk on her lips that turns into a puckered air kiss when our eyes clash, and my damn chest constricts. It’s an all too familiar sensation whenever I look at her.
“What’s the strategy?” I ask.
Tristan chuckles. “Accepting defeat. She hates losing. And she’s sneaky.”
He absentmindedly touches the faint scar on his head. I don’t think he realizes he does it. The surgeon did a good job, and you barely notice it’s there, but the memory of how he got it will never fade.
Neither will the white-hot anger.
Not until I cut out the beating heart of the person responsible for almost killing him.
“You two playing, or are you just going to stand around and look pretty?” Syn shouts.
“Both,” Tristan replies, flexing his biceps.
Syn lets loose a ribald whistle that has him grinning. Happiness looks good on him.
“First team to score five touchdowns wins.” She crouches, setting the football on the ground between her feet as she prepares to snap the ball back to Hendrix. “Get ready to go down, Boston.”
“Isn’t that what you said this morning, Red?”
She giggles.
Hendrix moves in behind her and eyes her backside with appreciation. “Gonna fuck that tight ass later.”
