In the meantime, Rachel hadn’t just erected a wall between herself and Travis, she’d dug a trench the size of the Grand Canyon around all sides.
The distance worked, because Rachel put the “string” in high strung.
“Uncle Trav?” Brady asked, startling him and stunting his self-imposed escape.
The kid pulled on their linked hands, so Travis turned his gaze from Rachel to his nephew as his back hit the sign.
“Why are we going backward?” Brady asked, lifting an eyebrow in what, on any other day, would’ve been a comical parody of his mother’s expression.
Travis licked his lips. What was he supposed to say? I’m running away from your mother.
“Your mom scares me,” he whispered, like that was so much better.
“Me too,” Brady whispered back, all serious eight-year-old.
Now that? That was fuckin’ funny.
“That’s enough, Brady.” She said the words with her certified mom tone, but the look she gave her kid had the soft love that wrapped around a person and didn’t let go.
Rachel dropped her arms from under her breasts. Travis did not look at them.
“Rach, Travis and I would like to discuss this further,” Dane said, totally breaking up the moment like he was a bouncer in a rowdy night club.
Rachel shook her head. “That’s unnecessary.”
“It’s about Gavin,” Dane said, for once getting to the point and not taking the back roads.
“Can I talk too?” Brady asked.
Travis looked to where Brady held his hand. He couldn’t be sure anymore if he was clinging to Brady’s hand or if Brady was clinging to his.
Travis shook his head. “Not until you can grow your own mustache.”
Dane laid his hands against Rachel’s shoulders, turning her toward him. He could do that. She let him. Because he was the good brother. The one who went to the office during the day, every day, and probably fixed her sink.
She liked Gavin well enough, but it was clear the two had never been in love. Whatever they’d had, she never looked at him with that soft love she gave her kids.
Sometimes, if the lighting was just right, she seemed to look at Dane that way. Probably because she adored Dane. Adored him.
Travis hadn’t asked, but he was pretty certain Dane got invitations to dinner with the boys and Rachel that didn’t include the rest of the family. He probably even brought over margaritas because the sign on the door suggested it.
“That’s unnecessary. They asked me the grown-up things, and I said no,” Rachel volleyed back.
“We have some more Gavin things we need to discuss,” Dane said.
Now that got Rachel’s attention.
“Head upstairs, Brady.” Rachel gestured up the stairs and winked as though both uncles showing up at the same time was standard operating procedure for their family. “Grown-up talk is about to start.”
Brady looked at the adults, searching for something. The kid might’ve been a kid, but he was one of the most perceptive people Travis knew.
“Now,” Rachel said to him when he didn’t move, her tone kind and firm and undeniably in charge.
“See, she’s scary,” Brady said out of the side of his mouth before he ran up the stairs.
“As I mentioned before, we’re issuing your formal invitation.” Dane mimicked their mother’s voice, tone, and inflection, as he delivered the message.
“We covered this. I am, regretfully, declining your invitation,” Rachel replied, her impression of their mom not nearly as good as Dane’s. Then again, she hadn’t had decades of practice with it.
