Page 190 of The Lineman

I just shook my head.

“God help us all,” I muttered.

Dinner was exactly what we expected—a mix of questionable food, obnoxious banter, and Mrs. H making wildly inappropriate, unexpected comments. At some point, Mateo and Matty got into a heated argument about whether or not haggis was actually food.

Rodriguez stole half of Omar’s plate when he wasn’t looking.

Homer somehow ended up in my lap. Sitting—or lying—butnothumping.

And through it all, Mrs. H watched us, grinning like she had assembled her own personal circus.

I leaned back in my chair, watching the chaos unfold, feeling something settle deep in my chest.

This.

This was what mattered.

Family.

The weird, loud, inappropriate kind.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

I took a slow breath, steadying myself, then tapped my beer bottle against the table. “All right, everyone, shut up for a second.”

That got their attention.

Even Matty’s perpetually open mouth slammed shut as his brows nearly met his hairline.

Mrs. H, who had been aggressively wiping her eyes after eating whatever the hell that dessert had been, perked up. “Oh? Are ye givin’ a toast, boyo?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I smiled. “Something like that.”

Mike, seated beside me, narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Zip it, Professor.”

I glanced around the room, at the people who had somehow become my family, and felt something tighten in my chest.

It was time.

I exhaled. “So, I’ve known Mike for a while now, and in that time, I have learned some very important things about him.”

Mike groaned. “Oh, Jesus.”

Mateo grinned. “This is already good.”

“So good,” Sisi agreed.

I pointed at Mike. “First, he is alarmingly bad at cooking. He’s not just a little bad; he’s truly horrific. I mean, he is a danger to himself, to others, and potentially to national security whenever he steps within five feet of a stove.”

Matty cackled. “Damn, bro. This isn’t a toast; it’s a roast!”

Mike muttered, “I have a defective oven.”

I ignored him. “Second, he talks to himself when he thinks no one’s listening—and not just like normal muttering. Full conversations. Debates. Sometimes he argues with himself and loses—and that’s really hard to do.”

Omar howled.

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