Page 74 of Last Man Standing

“Yup! Strong men in my family.” He thrusts his fist high, curls his bicep, and pokes the tiny muscle with pride. “I did ten push-ups today.”

“Oh, well…” Kill me. Kill me now. “Good for you. I didn’t do any push-ups today.”

He scoffs. “My dad says we should work hard every day, so when we need our muscles, they’ll know what to do and we won’t have to think about it.” He drops his arm and leans forward onto his elbows. “You got a lotta food, huh?”

Stunned, I glance left and study the massive pile. “Yeah, I-I guess.” I nudge the plate just a little closer to the boy. “You want some?”

“I already had heaps.” He pops his stomach forward, and yet, he runs his tongue hungrily around his lips. “My mom said I have to eat all my dinner or I don’t get dessert.” He studies my plate with a special kind of desire burning in his eyes. “My mom doesn’t eat as much as you. But she’s very beautiful like you.”

Is Serena your mom?

“Koda!” A man’s voice booms along the hall and makes us both jump. My stomach whirls and my dinner threatens a revolt, just like the protein bar did earlier, but my body does that thing that infuriates me so much. It freezes, so I’m caught all alone with the boy and at the mercy of whatever crimes the man following him may wish to pin on me. “Koda! Boy, you better tell me where you are!”

“I’m in the kitchen!” he bites back, and because he has no problem making this look a million times worse than it already is, he dives across the table and snatches a gravy-covered chunk of lamb from my plate. “Ya know, my dad had to go away for a bit. But he came back last night.” He smiles around his snack and shows off greasy lips. “He brought me Starburst candies, cause they’re my favorites.”

Yep. Definitely Sebastion’s kid.

“Koda!” That man from when I first arrived, the starer, skids to a startled stop in the doorway and does that thing he does. He stares. Considers. Calculates. Then he flashes a wide grin and wanders in to stop behind Sebastion’s son. “Ms. Castro.” He folds his muscular arms and looks me up and down. “Good to see you’re eating. We were starting to worry.”

Un-freeze you idiot. Do something!

“My name is Mav.” He leans across the table and offers his hand. But I don’t take it. Of course I don’t. Because I’m an idiot and clearly too stupid to remember we’ve already talked. Once, on the phone. “No?” Chuckling, he pulls back again and glances around the room. “Bas not here?” He looks down at Koda and narrows his eyes at my drawing. “Where is he, kiddo? Have you seen him?”

Koda only shrugs and runs the tip of his finger along the lines of my warrior’s helmet.

My stomach rebels against the food I wanted so badly only a moment ago. It churns and sways, sickly and grease-slicked, especially when Mav snatches my drawing and studies it through tightened eyes. “This is…” He briefly peeks across at me. “Interesting. Kinda like Dad’s, huh?” He sets the paper down and ruffles the boy’s hair. “I see what you were attempting to draw, Ms. Castro.”

Kinda like Dad’s.

Sebastion has a child! And not once in all the weeks he stayed at Nova and Lincoln’s home did he mention him!

“You okay?” Mav folds a little lower and searches my eyes. His are familiar, too. Same coloring. Same shape. He clicks his fingers and attempts to push through the crashing waves in my brain. “Bas didn’t break you, did he?” He coughs out a soft snicker. “My brother is a known brute, Ms. Castro, but he typically stops before a person steps over the ledge completely.”

I drop my fork, the silver clattering against the table because of how violently my hand shakes. My lungs stutter and seize, aching and faulty. But I study the two in front of me and re-compare. “S-Sebastion is your brother? Your name is Mav Jameson?”

“Mm. He’s a lot older than me, though. He was nine when I was born, and going through a heavy obsession with Top Gun.” Smirking, he points two thumbs back at himself. “Hence, my name.”

Same noses. Same eyes. Koda’s hair is a single shade lighter than Sebastion’s. Closer to Mav’s coloring.

“Koda is your son?” I look between the two and search for information that has absolutely nothing to do with me. “I see the resemblance now⁠—”

“Mine?” Barking out a startling laugh, Mav fists Koda’s hair and tugs until they’re looking into each other’s eyes. “She thinks I’m your dad, Turd Burglar. Is she crazy?”

“You’re not my dad!” Koda slams his elbow into Mav’s ribs and swings his hand down to the sword on his belt. “If you pull my hair again, I’ll slice ya in your gullet.”

Oh God. He’s Sebastion’s son.

“You think you’re tough, boy?” Mav yanks him straight out of the chair, lifting the squealing child high above his head so my drawing floats lifelessly back to the table and Koda’s sword falls noisily to the ground. “I challenge you to a duel, Koda Jameson. At dawn.”

“Not at dawn!” he giggles. “That’s way too early. What about at lunchtime?” His face burns bright red as Mav’s holds him upside down eight feet off the floor. “Just before lunch. Since exercising on a full stomach doesn’t feel too good.”

“Oh-nine-hundred, and not a second later.” He shakes the little boy until gleeful squeals ricochet off the walls and alert literally anyone within a five-mile radius that something is going down. “I’ve got important grown-up things to do tomorrow. I’m not sticking around until after nap time just so we can take care of business.”

“I don’t even nap anymore!” Koda stretches as far as his little arm allows and fists Mav’s hair, then he plucks a few strands and elicits a surprised yelp from the hardened soldier. “And I learned how to wipe my own butt, too!”

“Shut up!” Goofy enough to almost make me soften toward the pair, Mav swings the boy down and holds him in front of his body, suspended a few feet off the floor. “I didn’t learn to wipe my own butt until I was seven!”

“That’s cause I’m smarter than you.” Koda’s lips curl into a smirk exactly the way Sebastion’s do it, then he slaps his uncle square in the center of his forehead and cackles. “Mom tells me all the time. She says you’re annoying.”