“Of course I will,” I promise her.
We say our goodbyes and hang up. I sink to the edge of Easton’s desk, contemplating all these new responsibilities that I’ve taken on.
Shit. Can I really handle this? Do I even know what I’m doing? Am I smart enough to figure it out? Or will I just end up letting everyone down?
The weight of it all threatens to overwhelm me. But Cameron is depending on me. Being his dad is the most important job I’ve ever done, and for my little boy, I’ll do anything.
I take a few deep breaths to ease the heaviness on my chest. Then, I straighten my tie, smooth a hand down the front of my shirt and pocket my phone before stepping back out into the party.
I duck and weave around the yard, catching pieces of conversations and watching people throwing back drinks and chowing down on food. Since when are there this many people in Fairy Bush?
It seems like all five thousand residents of our middle-of-nowhere hometown are in attendance tonight. Easton is basically a local celebrity and Alba is our hometown sweetheart. The happy couple didn’t even have to send out invitations. Yet they have the whole town flocking to their housewarming party.
Me? I haven’t been looking forward to this evening. The whole thing is too overstimulating for my tastes.
Early-2000s pop music rattles the air. There’s a bunch of kids running around the yard, their laughter and shrieks reaching unholy volumes. I spot a few of Easton’s teammates from the Sin Valley Saints. They’re surrounded by women. Lots of women.
How did these groupies even find themselves all the way out here in Fairy Bush? GPS tracking and RFID chips? Astrocartography? Divination and scriptural prophecy?
Someone needs to do in-depth research into the technology that puck bunnies use for sniffing out hockey players. I think it would make an interesting documentary.
I see Easton and Alba, cuddled up on a lounger by the pool, engaged in a boisterous conversation with Ronan Brighton and his wife, Nicky, as well as two other couples I don’t recognize. When my brother catches sight of me, he tries to wave me over to join them. But I quickly duck my head, pretending not to see him. I’m not in the mood to be the ninth wheel while those sickeningly happy twosomes go on and on about their perfect relationships.
The smell of hamburgers catches my attention and I let my nose lead the way. My other brother, Rocco, is over by the grill. He’s doing the most, trying to impress a group of women with his burger-flipping skills.
His performance goes to shit when the half-cooked beef patty soars off the end of his spatula. Somehow, it lands in the cleavage of a busty brunette. She shrieks in horror.
I watch as her arm rears back and she splashes her colorful drink in his face. Then she starts berating him for ruining her favorite dress.
Blinking and dragging a palm down his dripping face, Rocco’s eyes catch mine. He sends aHelp me!expression my way.
Nope. No, no, no. Too much drama for me.
Rocco has always been the biggest attention-seeker among my three brothers, and he definitely loves the ladies. So it’s not unusual for him to land himself in sticky situations like this.
I change directions again.
Across the yard, I spot my youngest brother, Oliver. He’s at the makeshift bar, shoulder to shoulder with his not-so-secret crush, Chloe. Looks like she’s teaching him how to mix some sort of colorful cocktail.
She’s laughing and chatting animatedly as she works. Meanwhile my brother is frowning hard, like he’s being forcedat gunpoint to be here tonight. The two of them are grumpy and sunshine in action.
But when their hands touch, my brother fumbles the martini shaker like a clumsy fool and spills the alcohol all over his clothes.
I snort a laugh.
Oliver and Chloe have been hot for each other since they were teenagers. They even made a marriage pact together back then. But they’ve always beenpatheticallyin denial about their feelings.
Watching the two of them pretend to be platonic is always entertaining. And after the difficult conversation I just had with Cynthia, I’m desperate for a stiff drink and some free entertainment. So I head off in the direction of the booze.
As I lean against the bar, waiting to place my drink order, I hear someone whistle.Um…did I just get cat-called?
“Hey there, handsome,” a feminine voice purrs. “Looking mighty good in that button-up shirt of yours.” The heavily-perfumed woman seated on the stool beside me bites down on the straw in her bright orange drink.
Whatever. I grumble, not bothering to make eye contact with her.
Tammy is my mom’s age. She’s a waitress atEggs N Oats, the local breakfast spot. She’s also a professional gossip and a world-class flirt.
At my lackluster response, she splutters a laugh, tilting her head to the side. “My gosh, Lincoln! Would it kill you to smile now and then?”
