Page 44 of Even Beneath the Stars

I strum a few chords along to Royel Otis'Sofa Kingplaying on the sound system. "Apparently the band tonight is really good," I tell the guys. "The lead guitarist is supposed to be insane."

"Cool." Seb spins a row of his players, then throws his head back. "Shit… I gave you that one."

Dylan moves his counter ahead by one.

Seb couldn't care less about who the band is we're going to see or how good their guitarist is. He's going for me, since he knows live music is my jam—and because Seb's up for anything. You could take him to a five-hour chess tournament and Seb would find a way to have a blast. Probably to cause total mayhem, too.

"Annnnd… game!" he calls, already turning from the foosball table, ready for whatever's next. My best buddy is ADHD on the extreme end of the scale. Add to that the issues he's been dealing with lately, with the memory glitches since a recent stint in hospital, and it's a miracle if he manages to focus on anything for more than five minutes.

Two seconds later, he's punching the buttons of the vintage Frogger game, firing it up. Dylan shoves his hands in his pockets and skirts around the edge of the couch, falling into one of the chairs on the other side of the low coffee table.

There's a subtle tension in Dylan's shoulders—the same tension he always carries. Not surprising, considering everything. The guy spent thirteen years being raised by the serial killer who murdered his mom, only to be reunited with his birth father a few months ago. So, yeah, suffice it to say he hasn't had an easy life.

He's mellowed out some, since he recently started dating Scarlett. Meaning he's only tense maybe eighty percent of the time. Still can't believe they're dating. But then, maybe it makes sense—they're both complicated as hell.

"Hey! Seb's here!" Finn wanders in, making a beeline for Seb, who turns at the sound of my brother's voice.

In just a couple of strides Seb has scooped him up and is running around the room with him. "Finny, my man!”

Finn stretches his arms out and makes airplane noises while Seb does a couple more laps. It's been their thing for a while now, and neither of them seem to tire of it.

Eventually, Seb slows and then tosses him onto the couch next to me and takes a seat near Dylan. He points at Finn. "You met this little squirt yet?"

"Nope." Dylan glances at Finn, then at me. "Your brother?"

"Yep." I squeeze Finn's waist, where he's most ticklish, and he squeals, his giggle so high-pitched it could probably take out a small dog's hearing. "He's older," I tell Dylan over Finn's giggles. "I'm just a lot taller."

Dylan nods. "I figured," he says, proving that despite rarely cracking so much as a grin, he's got a sense of humor in there somewhere.

"Say hey to my friend Dylan, Finn." I tell the little monster, scooting him closer by his ankles. His upper body slides towards the floor.

"Hi, Dylan!" Finn giggles, fully upside down now.

"Hey, Finn." Dylan actually does crack a slight grin this time.

"How come you have an earring in your lip?" Finn asks, still upside down, his curls brushing against the carpet.

"How come you have your pants on back-to-front?" I volley, hoping to keep Dylan from having to answer Finn's question, because I know Dylan hates talking about himself. At all.

"I don't have my pants on back-to-front."

He one hundred percent does.

"Ask Seb and Dylan."

"Sorry, dude," Seb pulls out his phone. "Your bro's right." His thumbs tap across the screen as he answers a text.

"Yeah, they're backwards," Dylan confirms. "But not inside-out,so…"

"Oof!" Rita appears in the arched entrance to the Games Room, slightly out of breath. "There you are… I didn't know where you went." She heads over to the seating area. "You can't just run off like that," she scolds Finn.

"Yes, I can." He beams, cheeky as hell. "And you can't stop me."

"Hey." I hike his pants up, where they slid down during his couch acrobatics, then pull him up to a seating position. "Be nice."

Finn's mouth drops open. Not often the kid is speechless, but he is now. I glance over at Rita, and her expression mirrors my brother's.

Okay, so guess I rarely tell my brother to be nice to the nannies.

---