Page 47 of Reindeer Flames
"I could beat him." Bopp probably said the words to himself, but he didn't have an inside voice.
Even Vincent, who was hard of hearing, scoffed at him. "Prove it."
"What?" Bopp glanced at Vincent, and then he scowled at Hart. "Look at all that hair on his face. He's obviously not at his peak ability right now."
I glanced at Hart, and we both grinned. He hadn't shaved his beard since before our babies hatched. Bopp was in for an unpleasant surprise.
"Right now," Vincent said. "Outside. Around the block. It didn't snow today, and the streets are bone dry. First one around the block wins."
Hale winked at Vincent, who nodded. Together, they rose from the table, and the rest of us followed outside. It took me a moment to bundle the kids into their coats, hats, and mittens. Bythe time I joined them at the curb, Hart and Bopp stood at the line for the crosswalk in their reindeer forms.
"It's not a flying race?" I asked Encke.
"It does them no good to be fast fliers," he said. "Reindeer fly at the pace of the team, so individual speed doesn't matter in the air. Sprinting matters, though. Strong sprinters get the sleigh up to speed faster."
"And strong means fast when there's no sleigh attached," Hale said. "I was always fast enough to hold our row, but fastest reindeer is something else."
Norris walked into the middle of the empty intersection with an air horn raised over his head. "On your marks."
Hart and Bopp lowered their large heads so their necks formed a line with their backs and their antlers angled forward.
"Get set."
Hart didn't move, and Bopp scraped the concrete with his hoof.
"Go!" A loud blast on the air horn accompanied the word, and they sprinted down the first block before turning onto the side street. Hart already had a commanding lead. We walked to the other side of the yard and waited for them to turn the final corner. Hart rounded it first, breath streaming from his nostrils, but then he skittered on his hind legs and turned back.
"What happened?" Bopp's father, Arend, ran down the street toward them. Encke scooped up their parkas and followed.
We must have looked ridiculous, all standing in the street, watching two naked guys limp around the corner toward the finish line. Bopp had his right arm slung over Hart's shoulders, and he hopped on his left leg, putting no pressure on the right.
"Hip sprain," he said when Encke helped him pull on his coat and zip it up to cover his nakedness.
"I think you broke it." Hart buttoned the bottom of his parka and worked his way up. "You went down pretty hard."
"Who can I call?" Arend asked.
"Team doctor," Bopp said. "His number's in my wallet." He tried to put his foot down and winced. "This sucks. I knew you were going to beat me, but this is fucking embarrassing."
"I didn't beat you," Hart said. "Haven't crossed the finish line."
"Yeah?" Bopp's grin looked more like a grimace, but his gaze carried equal measures of hope and pain.
"Let's cross it together."
"Together." Bopp's laugh ended in a groan, but there was no good way to pick him up without risking further injury to his hip. It was a slow limp to the finish line. When they crossed together, we cheered loud enough to draw the other families out of their houses, too.
"Looks like it's a tie." Hale's dark scowl was loud enough, but when he opened his mouth to say more, Vincent stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
"They both won."
"Hart should have finished the race," Hale said. "Ties count as a loss."
"Not in this family," Vincent said. "Not anymore." He bent over and picked up Biela, who had been digging in the snow at his feet. "We're all winners because we have such a wonderful family."
Hale's frown softened when Chiron tugged on his pant leg. He picked up our son and balanced him on his hip. "Yes, they are." I followed his gaze to find Hart helping Bopp up the stairs and into the house. "All of them."
"That was a reallysweet thing you did for your cousin," I said after we put the kids to bed. I still wore my suit to make hot chocolate on the stovetop, but Hart had changed into an old pair of sweats and a tight t-shirt at his parents' house. He looked absolutely fuckable, sitting at the kitchen table, while I was still dressed like a spy.
