Page 11 of Holding On To Good

He was lucky any of them survived to adulthood.

That they all had was nothing short of a miracle.

Verity pointed to her own chest. “Adult, remember? Mission accomplished. I’m awesome and it’s all thanks to you.”

She was pretty damn awesome. Smart and funny, she had a strong work ethic and a stronger set of morals. She inherited their mother’s kindness, had their dad’s creativity, and was smarter than all her brothers combined.

Problem was, she knew it.

Urban was going to take at least some of the credit for some of those nongenetic things—mainly the work ethic and morals stuff—since he’d raised her for the past twelve years. But she had just graduated high school and would be eighteen in two months. And despite the attitude, she was a good kid.

He could cut her some slack.

“Here’s how it’s going to be,” he said. “When you go out, you tell me what time to expect you home. Your pick, whether that’s midnight or four in the morning. But if you’re late, even once, we go back to imposing a curfew.”

“That sounds reasonable and fair and completely unlike you.” She eyed him warily. “What’s the catch?”

“So suspicious.”

“Maturity does that to a girl. Makes her cynical.”

“No catch. Just one adult coming to an understanding with one almost-adult.”

Still looking unconvinced, she nodded. “Great. Understanding agreed to.” She yanked the covers back over her head. “Shut off the light and close the door when you leave.”

He scratched his cheek, thought—not for the first time—about shaving off his full beard for the summer. Shifted his weight from his right side to his left.

“Argh! I can hear you breathing,” she accused. “Go on, now. Shoo. Go get a life. God knows you could use one.”

“You’re down to seven minutes.”

“What’s there to celebrate? I don’t even get the summer off anymore,” Verity grumbled. “I have to work. Two jobs.”

She was watching Ian during the day and waiting tables at Binge, Toby’s restaurant, a few nights a week.

“Adulting is hard,” he agreed. “But this is a tradition.”

They’d had a celebratory family breakfast the first day of summer vacation ever since Urban finished kindergarten. No sense breaking that streak now.

Not when this was probably the last year they’d be doing it.

“You’re just trying to make me feel guilty,” Verity said.

Damn right he was. Guilt and responsibility. The two greatest motivators known to man when it came to doing the right thing.

“If you’re not downstairs in six minutes,” Urban said, “I’m sending Miles to fetch you.”

“Fetch me?” she repeated, indignant, as she tossed the covers aside once more. “Fetch me? Like a stick that’s been thrown for a dog?”

Urban considered that for a moment. “That about sums it up.”

Verity’s growl had Bella jumping off the bed. With a whine, she crossed to Urban, pressed against his leg, body quivering.

He patted his dog’s head. “Did the grown-up girl scare you? You’d better come downstairs with me, where it’s safe.”

Verity’s eyes narrowed to slits. “If I wanted to get you,” she told him in a low, menacing, possessed-by-a-demon tone, “nowhere would be safe.”

“I’ll sleep with one eye open.”

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