Page 38 of Honkers Under the Holly

Chris’s smile turned gentle. “She always was.”

“Ready?” I asked, as he prepared to walk out onto that stage.

He grinned again, pure joy and determination. “Born ready.” He glanced at his phone. “Think we can get Sir Honksalot to do his touchdown dance at the press conference? For old time’s sake?”

Some things, thankfully, never change.

Sara Jayne

“He’s going to cry,”Declan announced from his spot on the couch, phone already poised to capture his older brother’s moment. “Chris always cries at big moments.”

“Like you won’t cry at your draft next year,” Everett shot back, grabbing a handful of chips.

“I don’t cry, I brood.” Declan’s attempt at a scowl was undermined by his obvious excitement. “It’s my brand.”

I settled deeper into my favorite armchair, taking in the controlled chaos of the Kingman living room. The twins, Flynn and Gryffen, were trying to teach Sir Honksalot a new touchdown dance, while Hayes and Isak argued about whether their brother would beat Johnston Manniway’s stats in his first year on the team or not.

Jules perched on the arm of my chair, decked out in her Denver State jersey, fiercely debating with her Aunts May and June about their theory that Chris needed to start thinking about settling down.

“All I’m saying,” May sighed, “is that now that he’s going to be a big League star, Chris needs to find a nice girl to support him.”

“Or maybe,” Jules fired back, her young face so serious for a ten-year-old, “he needs to find someone whose dreams are just as big as his, and they can support each other.”

“Ten going on thirty,” June laughed.

May smiled too. “And just as hardheaded as her mother was.”

Sir Honksalot chose that moment to waddle past with his latest prize—April’s “In This House We Bleed Green” lucky pillow clutched triumphantly in his beak.

“How is he still stealing things at his age?” Isak wondered out loud.

“Don’t be ageist, Isak.” Jules chastised and then stuck her tongue out at him.

“Don’t be a brat.” Isak shot back.

Jules grinned and gave a little tip of her head, ready to deal her final blow. “I own that moniker proudly, thank you very much.”

One would think they were bickering, but in the Kingman family even teasing your siblings was a form of sport.

“It’s simply dedication to his art,” I replied, watching our mid-life goose arrange the pillow right in front of the TV and plop down on it, waiting for the results.

The commissioner took the stage on TV, and the room went almost silent. “That’s mom’s lucky pillow, so Chris has to go first now,” Hayes whispered to me.

When the commissioner announced Chris’s name and the Mustangs, the explosion of joy nearly knocked Sir Honksalot’s carefully arranged pillow fort over.

“He’s crying,” Declan crowed, filming the TV. “Called it.”

“Your brother just went first round to Denver,” Aunt May wiped her own tears. “Of course he’s crying. April would be so proud. Of all of you.”

“Boys are allowed to show emotions.” Jules said with absolute certainty, climbing into my lap. “And Mom’s alwaysproud of us. Even when the twins tried to teach Bear number two to play running back.”

“That was one time,” Flynn protested.

“This goose had more potential,” Gryff added.

My phone buzzed with a text from Mac:Coming home soon. Bringing the newest Mustang and his multi-million dollar deal. Sir Honksalot better dust off his old referee jersey.

I smiled, remembering that first big bowl game so many years ago. Back then, I never could have imagined this life—being part of this beautiful, chaotic family, watching these kids grow up, building a life that was better than any fashion campaign.

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