Page 15 of A Perfect Holiday
“Damn, I love that sugar’s sass,” Brax said with another low chuckle.
We grabbed some drinks and settled into chairs on the deck. “So, Boone. You enjoy driving us both insane,” Booker said, taking a pull of his drink.
“I know. But I couldn’t talk about it then. You should get that, Booker.”
He lifted his chin, his somber gaze connecting with mine, a wealth of compassion in his eyes. My brother knew exactly how I was feeling. I held his eyes for a moment, oddly bolstered by that one small exchange. I released a shaky sigh and got up, leaning my backside against the deck railing.
Booker nodded and said, “A whole lot of good that did me. But I get it, Boone. This hurts. Don’t make us break out the moonshine and the gloves. Aubree is as unforgiving of our drunk boxing as River Pearl.”
“She’ll get over it,” Brax said.
“I don’t want her to kill you, Brax. Who would cook Christmas dinner?” He gave me a mock laugh and the finger. “We worked it out last night anyway. Verity has been to the doctor for tests, and we’ll deal with it once we get the results.”
Booker looked at Brax and then they both looked at me. “Bullshit, huckleberry.”
“What?”
“Something else is going on. I can still feel it, and it doesn’t have to do with this baby stress and, I don’t mean to be insensitive about that, Boone. It must have been quite a blow…” Booker said, his eyes going thoughtful.
“Agreed,” Brax said, “and since I want to sleep tonight, spill it.”
“That’s it,” Booker said, sitting up straighter. “She didn’t tell you, and you feel betrayed because you thought there were no more secrets between you.”
Damn Booker and his sharp, intuitive mind.
God, I couldn’t believe how much it hurt. I blinked several times and looked away.
Booker made a soft, knowing sound and Brax said, “Oh Kee-rist, Boone.”
“Why can’t you just talk to her about it? Stewing about it isn’t going to help your relationship,” Booker said, “Remember, I’ve been there.”
Brax stood and stared at me for a moment, his expression intent; then he looked down at the deck, setting his hands on his hips. “Yeah, listen to Booker. After all, it was only lil’ ol’ me who told him to fucking tell Aubree how he felt and, for the record, I told her off, too. I think I was the one who saved their marriage.”
Booker rolled his eyes, then nodded. “Yeah, the knucklehead has a good point,” Booker said.
“I know what it’s like to hide something from River Pearl.” He looked up and his expression stark. “Hell, I probably would still be doing it if she hadn’t pushed me. But,” he glanced at Booker, “I also recognize that you have to come to terms with something this heavy on your own. I get it. She’s freaking out and, boy, do I get that, too. Not being able to have kids when you want more that hits you in the heart, man.”
His voice thickened, and he cleared his throat, “’Cause I freaking love Duel, and I wouldn’t object to being an uncle again. You’re worried about adding to the mix, but don’t wait too long to get this out in the open. These things can take on a life of their own, and, trust me, they grow faster in the dark.”
He leaned back and released a big sigh. “I’m exhausted. How about we just pound each other for the Santa gig until one of us is left standing.”
Booker shrugged. “The bruises and contusions should be healed by Christmas.”
I was completely speechless. My brother, Braxton, the philosopher with his sage advice. I knew he was right, and I heard the emotion in his voice, so I knew he got it.
Booker chuckled. “Let’s go then, huckleberries. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Brax grinned, and they went down the stairs. “To be fair, let’s start in a wrestler-like circle. The last guy left gets to be Santa, and the other two have to elf around in pointy shoes with jingle bells on them,” Booker suggested with a wicked grin.
All of us laughed at that one. “Let’s stop elfing around then,” Braxton said.
I finally found my voice. “Hey, wait,” I said. “I’ve got a better idea.”
I went and rummaged under the porch and threw each of my brothers a water pistol. I had gotten a bunch this past summer for us to fool around with, and Duel loved them, but Verity had enough of us squirting each other in the house. She put her foot down and exiled them to the backyard.
“All right, you varmints. You’re either going to come dead or alive. Makes no nevermind t’me.” Booker widened his stance, gave us a Clint Eastwood squint. “Whichever it is. I still get paid,” he said, using a drawling sheriff’s voice.
“You ain’t taking me alive, copper, see?” Brax said channeling gangster Bugsy Malone perfectly.
