Page 60 of Sunrise Arrows

Ryder takes his daughter back, who sniffles as she pushes his grown out hair back from where it’s fallen forward into his face. He opens up an arm and takes me in a side hug, dropping a kiss to my crown.

“You know, if it doesn’t work out with my brother?—”

“Don’t even think about it,” Archer warns, playfully pulling me free of Ryder and tucking me against his front. His arm comes around my collar bone and he plants a kiss on the top of my head. “I’ve already fought one brother; don’t make me go for the set.”

“Hey I’m just sayin’, I could do a helluva lot worse than a woman who loves my kid, knows her way around my kitchen, is easy to talk to, and is pretty to look at.”

“Sorry Ryder, you’re just not my type,” I sing-song. “I’d only be with you for Ellie.”

Archer stares his brother down for a minute before cracking a smile and reminding him, “Don't forget, Ellie starts camp on Monday. She needs to be there atnine.And on Tuesdays and Thursdays they go to the lake, so she needs her swimsuit. And on Mondays, Wednesdays, and every other Friday they do?—”

“Archer, I know my kid’s schedule. Not to mention, you made me a color coded calendar for the next threemonthsin case I forget how to be a dad to my daughter.”

“I still think you should have hired a nanny.”

“We’ll befine;now get out of here.”

Kissing Ellie’s cheek, he says, “You call me if you need me, angel face.”

“We’ll be fine, Uncle Archer, I promise.”

“Good,” he replies seemingly mollified. “You be good for your dad and Gigi.”

“I will.”

With his arm still around me, Archer leads me over to the plane’s stairs where Briar is waiting. He doesn’t spare a glance for Hunter, who surprised everyone by coming out here to send us off, and it chips a corner of my heart off to see them so disconnected. Before he leads me up the stairs—his hand beginning to sweat—I glance to his evil twin who stands apart even from the rest of the family, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans and face blank as he watches the grass move in the summer breeze. I don’t think he’s going to look at me, though I know he feels my eyes on him from how much more rigid his hunched posture becomes. But as I climb up the first few steps, his blue streaked green eyes look up at me.

Hunter doesn’t say anything and neither do I. We simply stare at each other for a single heartbeat, maybe two, before he gives the slightest dip of his head. Taking it for what it is, I do the same before continuing up the stairs, clasping Archer’s hand in mine and pulling him along.

Inside the plane, Archer starts mumbling facts about my Dassault Falcon 8X, tugging on my arm when I go sit in the first forward facing club seat.

“Nope,” he swiftly replies, gently pushing me forward but not before tugging at the collar of his t-shirt. “Best chance of survival in the event of a crash is toward the back, ideally in the middle of the plane by the emergency exit.”

At the wings of the plane, he first sits down in the backward facing seat. Then he moves to the forward one opposite it. His butt barely hits the seat before he’s going back to the first, all the while miming opening the emergency door.

“What is he doing?” Briar whispers as we watch him lift his glasses and scrub his hands down his face before shaking his head clear and putting them back on askew.

“I don’t know…”

“Here,” he announces, getting back up and guiding me to the forward-facing seat. “The door opens and falls to the right so you’ll be on the side with immediate access.” Then going to Briar, he grasps her upper arms and tells her, “And you’ll sit here so you can get out right behind Tinsley,” having her plop into the seat to my right.

Over the armrest, she whispers, “Is he afraid of flying?”

“I never thought to ask,” I confess, watching him as he paces, head bent down to accommodate the ceiling. I reach my arms out to him and coax, “Archer, baby, come sit with me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can do that,” he nods, swallowing. He’s about to sit in the seat, his hands on the armrest and legs bending to lower himself when he springs back up, arm raised just in time to stop him from hitting his head on the cabin’s ceiling. “Nope, can’t sit; sorry, Shortcake.”

“Here,” Mikey says, shoving a tumbler with two fingers of whiskey on ice into his hands. “Drink this. It'll settle the nerves.”

Archer throws it back, downing the liquor in one go, hissing through the burn before rolling the cool crystal over his forehead.

“I’ve never flown before,” he confesses.

Eyes wide and brows raised as if to ask me how did I not know this—something I’m wondering myself—Briar replies, “We gathered as much.”

I stand up and slowly walk over to him, as if I’m trying not to startle a terrified animal that’s been backed into a corner. Methodically, I roll onto my tiptoes and reach up to fix his glasses and quietly say, “Hey, Superman.”

His green eyes are dilated behind the black frames of his glasses, and sweat beads at his hairline and across his upper lip.

---