“That’s just it. These last few months, I’ve started to realize all those things I thought were so important don’t matter if I don’t have someone to share it with. Not that big ole apartment, not the ring, not even the fame. It’s all just empty without… them.”
“Them?” Craig’s brow cocks, and he gives me a look. “And they are…?”
“Cricket, of course, but also…” I clear my throat, looking around as I shrug. “Her.”
“Knox Bradford, you little shit, who isher?”
“I’m not little anymore,” I laugh, looking down on my five-foot-eight “uncle.”
“And you still have the biggest heart. Now answer the damn question.”
“You know who.” I lean back, looking up at the ceiling. “Melody.”
“She has such a good name. Are you still writing poetry?”
“Yeah, some.” I don’t even get into all the lyrics I’ve written for her, all the lines I’ve scratched out and rewritten.
Nothing seems to do justice for how magical she is, for how much she truly just gets me. How losing her would be…
“It’s all going to work out, kiddo. Trust me.” He waves at Aunt Dylan, who’s giving him the thumbs-up. “I like Melody Dunne. She’s a firebrand, and she knows her football.”
“All true.” I lend a hand as he hops onto the bar in four-inch platform shoes.
“And her daddy… holy shit.” Craig fans himself. “That man…”
“Wait… what?”
A big smile breaks across his face, and he pulls out the mic. “Happy Thursday, all you insane Dare players. What are we going to do with y’all coming back here, week after week wanting to get burned?”
“Entertain us!” a jokey male voice shouts from the back.
“Oh, I got you covered, hot stuff.” Uncle Craig slaps his backside and gives a little wink. “But first, we’ve got a hot one for you tonight! Who feels the need, the need for Pepper X?”
A cheer rises among the crowd already lining up in frontof Aunt Dylan’s table. Mom is there with the party-size cups of vanilla ice cream, and it’s about to get wild in here.
Uncle Craig proceeds to give the standard warning about how hot the dish will be and how to handle it. Then he runs through the drink specials, Fireball shots leading the list, but also some classic Thanksgiving cocktails.
I lean against the bar, sipping my beer and thinking my brother was right. It’s good to be here with my family while everything is going down.
“This isn’t a stable, Knoxey.” My six-foot-four, muscle-bound uncle Garrett walks up to the small bar dressed in his sheriff’s uniform and a flouncy blonde wig. He throws his arm around my shoulders, giving me a shake. “Ditch the long face and dance.”
In one smooth move, he’s on the bar with Craig, and the women go crazy. Years have passed, but his hip-thrusting appeal never wanes.
Craig cues the music, kicking off with “Fireball” by Pitbull, of course. It’s a classic. And I step back to give them space.
On Dare Nights, the dining tables are moved to the perimeter of the large room to create a makeshift dance floor. The lights go down, and half the clientele sit at tables eating ultra-hot pepper salsa while the other half are out in the center dirty dancing.
I don’t feel like dancing. My chest is heavy, and I want my baby. I want Melody.
Turning for the door, I notice Gina, Haddy, and Kim are bunched up near the entrance around something I can’t see.
They’re all standing, and when Haddy sees me, she cries out, “There he is—Knox, get over here! Look what’s happened!”
My eyes land on the beautiful face of the person I’ve beendreaming about all fucking week, and the air squeezes my lungs. I’m moving quickly when I realize she’s holding a squirmy bundle. A little dark head turns, and I almost break down.
“Cricket?” My voice cracks with disbelief.
Melody’s smile lights her whole face, and her pretty blue eyes sparkle with tears. “Surprise! I had to bring her straight to you.”
