“Nah. That’s just when I’m with your mom.”
“Your mom jokes? What is this, 2003?” Bennett flicks a chip that bounces off Jake’s forehead.
Across the table, Bishop leans back in his chair. “You’re all playing scared,” he says, tossing in chips. “It’s embarrassing.”
“I’m sorry, what sport do you play again?” Kyler mutterswith a snide playfulness. “Do they actually pay you to squat for hours and catch a little ball?”
Bishop pats Kyler on the back. “Doesn’t matter what I play, sweetheart. Competition is universal.”
“Yeah? Call me sweetheart again and I’ll shove these cards so far up your ass you’ll still be coughing up the queen of hearts at spring training.”
I shuffle the deck, the familiar rhythm of cards sliding between my fingers as I stifle a laugh. Kyler and Bishop have been friends since college so Kyler is basically just another brother to our family. The insults have always come easily between them.
“You know,” I say, dealing the next hand, “someday you two are going to actually throw punches and I’m not breaking it up.”
“Yes, you will,” Killian says from his spot at the end of the table. “You always do.”
He’s right, of course. That’s who I am. The guy who steps in, who fixes things, who makes peace. But lately, I’ve been questioning that part of myself. Wondering if sometimes the right thing to do isn’t to make peace but to make sure justice happens instead.
“Where’s your girl tonight?” Jake asks, finally looking at his cards and immediately frowning.
“Working,” I answer, feeling that familiar tug of wanting to be near her. I turn my phone over to check for any missed texts or calls just in case, but there’s nothing there. “And then visiting with her friend, Mari.”
The truth isn’t so simple. Since Brannigan got the boot, something’s shifted in her. She’s gone inward a little, picked up extra shifts at work like she’s trying to outrun her thoughts.
“So, why have you checked your phone three times in the last five minutes,” Bishop asks quietly beside me.
I frown. “I haven’t.”
“You just did it,” Sebastian adds calmly from the counter where he’s leaning, beer in hand.
I glance down at my phone once more. “Okay. Guilty.”
“She’s allowed to have a life, man,” Boone says, tossing half a Twinkie into his mouth.
“I know that.”
“Do you?” Jake asks, grinning. “Because it seems like you’re hovering from across town.”
“I’m not hovering.”
Killian grins. “Yeah, he’s not hovering.”
“Thank you.”
“He’s pre-hovering.”
“Fuck you, Kill, that’s not a thing.”
He shrugs. “It is now. What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid,” I announce to the table. “I just…” Running a hand through my hair I huff out a breath in frustration. “It’s been two weeks since Brannigan was fired and since then she’s been a little different.”
Boone narrows his eyes. “Different how?”
“She’s a little more guarded than before. Especially out in public. It’s like she’s worried he’s going to show up somewhere unexpected. I mean until two weeks ago she had no idea he was even in Portland. And now that she’s aware, I think she fears he could show up anywhere at any given time and blame her for his firing.”
“Dude did that to his own fucking self,” Bennett mutters.
