Page 97 of The Late Hit
Reaching out, Q pushes his older brother in a joking manner before the two of them are embracing each other in that handshake/hug thing guys do.
“Sup, bro?”
“Ready to get this shit show over with,” Damien responds, both men making their way over to my side of the car.
I’m closing the visor, slipping my lipstick inside my purse when my door is opened for me.
“That’s supposed to be my job,” Quinton grumbles, hand in his pocket, while Damien opens my car door.
Grabbing my purse from the floorboard, I slip it on my shoulder as I slide out of the car, thanking Damien.
“Breathe, Brynn,” both men say at the same time.
I chuckle.
As chaotic as Quinton’s family dynamic is, Damien and Quinton are the closest. There was a time when envy toward his brother ran through Q’s veins, but they’ve both been working on their relationship. It’s really good to see both of them smiling and joking with each other.
Look at us. Both growing up and dealing with our shit.
There was a time when Damien just stood back, quiet and broody, standing outside the group. The outsider of the family, he never pursued any type of football after high school. There was a lot of damage done between Mr. Boyd and Damien because of that decision, but as a true outsider of the family, it was the best decision Damien could’ve made.
The three of us head toward the house. Damien led the way, with us right behind him, walking hand-in-hand into the lion’s den. Or should I say lioness’ den? Damien presses the doorbell while Quinton leans down and gives me a kiss on the cheek. My eyes stay straight ahead, waiting for the door to open. The burnt-orange door slowly opens, and there stands Abigail.
A wide smile touches her lips as she looks from Damien to Quinton, and then her eyes find mine, her smile dropping, her lips curling down at the corners, before she quickly pastes a fake smile on her face. But it was too late. We all saw it. Tension radiates from all of us as Abigail opens the door wider for us to enter.
Delicious scents filter in from the kitchen, welcoming us with more warmth than the mother of the two boys in front of me. I stand there, feeling incredibly awkward, as I watch the exchange between mother and sons. She reaches up, kissing each boy on their cheek and wrapping them in her arms for long hugs.
Someone who doesn’t know the Boyds would think this is a sweet loving family. But I know the truth.
“Don’t let her get to you,” a voice says next to me, making me jump.
I didn’t see anyone slide up next to me. Removing my eyes from Quinton, I look to my side and see an adorable older lady. She’s dressed in purple trousers, a silky, black top, and an oversized, matching, purple button-up. Her eyes aren’t watching the exchange, but looking right at me.
“Excuse me?” I ask the lady.
I’m assuming she’s Quinton’s grandma, but I’m not positive.
She laughs. “I’m the old one who’s supposed to be hard of hearing, not you. Maybe you should stop listening to so much live music and get your ears checked.”
I’m taken aback by the old woman who has jokes.
“Grandma Cleo?” I ask, trying to figure out who she is.
I’m assuming she’s Q’s Grandma Boyd. He’s the closest with her. Her frail arm slides under the crook of mine as she escorts me away from the entryway.
“Come, we need a drink if we’re going to make it through this dinner. And call me Grams.”
I do as I’m told, letting Grams lead me down the hallway toward the living room. As I’m walking, I glance over my shoulder. Quinton is staring at us with a smile of adoration on his face. I smile back.
Before long, we are gathering around the dining table. It’s an elegant table that has been lengthened with leaves to accommodate most of us. Some of the younger kids are seated at the table in the eat-in kitchen. Quinton pulls out my chair for me to sit, both of us looking at each other with hearts in our eyes. He loves me. Quinton Boyd told me he loves me. I still can’t figure out how I got so lucky.
Grandma Boyd—I learned I guessed correctly—hasn’t left my side. She’s hilarious and a terrible influence. I’m already on my way to areallystrong buzz, and we’ve only been here an hour. Grams, on the other hand, is heading straight toward drunk. She’s a tequila drinker, which means I love her even more. She’s been making us Palomas, which I didn’t think I would like since it’s grapefruit, and the only grapefruit I like is a grapefruit hard seltzer. But I’ve learned, if Grandma Boyd wants you to do it, you do it.
Speaking of Grams, she slides into the seat next to me, giving me a wink. Internally, I chuckle. Here I thought this little old lady was some frail thing, but it just turns out she’s a tiny enabler.
I feel his breath against my skin before he says anything.
“I see you’ve hit it off well with Grams.” I smile, dragging my glass up to my lips for a small sip.
