The first part of that phrase meant that Gavin could have an out if something came up. Travis understood how he worked, and Gavin always said some shit like that because plans could, and often did, change.
This was standard for Gavin.
The second part, I’ll be there, that didn’t leave any wiggle room as far as Travis could figure.
Which meant? Huh.
“Let’s go, boys.” Rachel continued shooing the boys toward Gavin’s Escalade. Each of them had a puppy on a leash.
Gavin loaded the dogs first, then the boys hopped into the backseat.
“Wait,” Kellan shrieked, just as Gavin nearly shut the door.
“Three dollars says he forgot something he hadn’t planned to take until right this second.” Rachel stood on the step just below.
“I forgot Mr. Pretzel.” Kellan scampered out of the vehicle toward the house.
“I need Chewy.” Brady followed his brother, leaving Gavin standing at the waiting vehicle with only Dakota and the two puppies loaded.
Scratch that. One puppy.
There was an escapee chasing after the boys, his leash trailing behind.
No. Another puppy followed, and then there were none. Gavin rubbed at his temples and Travis would bet his trust fund that wouldn’t be the last time that happened before morning came around.
Travis rolled his tongue over his bottom lip and wished he had a beer and one of those travel chair things to sit back and see where this was going to go.
Finally, the boys returned with their stuffed animals and real animals and climbed back in the car. This time, it seemed to stick, because Gavin managed to get the door closed.
“Hey, Rachel?” he called from the driver’s side window of his SUV. “Thanks.”
Rachel mouthed something to Gavin that Travis didn’t quite catch and gave a wave to her boys.
Perhaps—and Travis wasn’t ready to call this one yet—Gavin was not quite the jerk that Travis and Dane thought he was. Jury was still out, no verdict yet.
“I want this, you know?” Rachel said to no one in particular but, since it was just Travis out there—everyone else had gone back inside—he figured there was a solid chance she was addressing him. “But I also wish they made breathable Bubble Wrap for eight-year-olds.”
“Kids don’t need Bubble Wrap, they need a dose of falling on their ass to learn from their mistakes.” Falling on his ass taught him the most effective life lessons.
That sentiment, however, earned him a teeth-gritted glare.
What? He wasn’t wrong here.
“I think he’s sorry about the puppies,” Mom said, coming up behind Travis on the porch.
Funny, he’d thought she went back inside with the rest of them. Someone should put a bell on her; the woman managed to be everywhere at once.
“Agreed,” Rachel said, the Travis glare melting a little. “If he’s not sorry now, he’ll be sorry by tomorrow morning.”
Mom gave a chuckle. “Serves him a bit right, you know?”
“Maybe I don’t feel so guilty after all.” Rachel started back into the house. “I mean I’ve got a whole night just for me. Maybe I’ll curl up with a book, leave my work cell in the office, and get a solid four hours of shut-eye.”
“You deserve it, dear,” Mom said as she hustled to the back yard, probably to figure out where she’d lost his dad sometime during the party.
Four hours? Of sleep? And that was “solid?”
Was Rachel a cyborg? With the kids gone, she should raise her expectations and go for a full nine.
