I know a guy who knows a guy in Little Rock.
Etienne
We ride at dawn? Just say the word.
A smile lifts my cheeks, and I realize my brother is watching me.
“Sorry.” I shove my phone into my pocket. “I had a bunch of texts I hadn’t looked at in a while.”
“Good news?”
“Just the guys on the team checking in, wanting to know what’s up.”
“Need to let them know?” He starts to stand, but I wave my hand.
“I’ll reply to them in a bit.”
Dad taps on the door lightly, and we look up as he steps into the room. “How’s it going in here?”
He catches my arm, and I give him a side hug. “I’ve been better.”
“It takes a lot of strength to do what you did.” He puts a hand on my shoulder, gripping it before giving me a pat. “I thought I was going to lose Dylan and Hendrix after your grandparents passed. They were so young, and I was only twenty-one. If Miss Gina hadn’t stepped in, they’d have gone to live with Aunt Thelma in Birmingham.”
“Shoo, Aunt Dylan would’ve hated that.” Austin looks up at him.
Dad nods, rubbing his hand across his lips to hide a grin. “Aunt Thelma didn’t think Dylan had enough female influences growing up.”
“I mean, she didn’t,” I say.
“So she sent her all those dolls with the freaky eyes.” Austin huffs a laugh, and I feel slightly better remembering my aunt’s closet full of American Girl dolls. “They scared the shit out of Kimmie Joy.”
“Kim,” our dad corrects him.
“Right.” Austin nods, looking down at his hands. “I’ll remember that at some point.”
“A lot changed after you left for college,” Dad says.
“All these pesky kids grew up and got cocky.” My brother stands, giving my arm a playful punch. “Too bad Mav’s staying home with Dove. Otherwise, you two could spend the rest of the week seeing who can piss the farthest.”
“It’s me.” I hook a thumb at my chest. “I can piss the farthest.”
“I’m glad I missed you two as kids.” Austin shakes his head. “I’d’ve had to kick y’all’s teenage butts on the regular.”
Dad covers his laugh with a cough, and I’m about to say I’d have liked to see him try when my eye catches onsomething bright pink at the bottom of my bag. I frown, taking a knee to dig it out. When I realize what it is, my head drops.
“It’s Cricket’s coat.” I sit back on my heels, holding it in my hands. “What’s it doing in my bag? She doesn’t have her jacket.”
Grief again hits me like a wall, and tears are in my eyes as I look up at my dad and brother.
They exchange a glance, and Austin catches my arm, pulling me to my feet. “Come on. We’re going to Cooters & Shooters.”
“Good call.” Dad nods. “Have a few drinks. Shoot some pool.”
I’m still holding the small coat in my hands, and I shake my head. “She’s probably cold, and I have her only coat.”
“Her cousin got her a coat,” Austin says, giving me a gentle shove. “Not that it gets very cold in New Orleans anyway.”
“It gets cold,” I argue. “It snowed a few years ago.”
