Page 23 of Forever Never
“I yell at everyone a lot,” Remi said, feeling defensive.
“So does Mom,” Ian said.
“Ian!” Kimber snapped.
“See?” the boy said smugly.
“Let’s keep the yelling to a minimum tonight,” Gilbert suggested, precisely arranging his bartending paraphernalia on the counter.
“Kimber, you mind heating the corn?” Darlene asked. A pro at redirection, she hurled two bags of frozen veggies at her eldest daughter.
“So, what are we making tonight?” Remi asked her dad as she snooped through the ingredients on the counter.
“Manhattans. Brick said I can try my hand at some bar shifts this summer.”
“He did, did he?”Great.Her own family had replaced her with the man who’d chased her off the island in the first place.
“Remi Honey, we finally got that Bluetooth speaker thing you got us out of the box last night,” Darlene announced. “Why don’t you play some music for us?”
8
He stabbed at the doorbell as he’d done a thousand times before, knowing full well that Chief Ford would complain about his insistence on formalities. But he wasn’t the type to just stroll into his boss’s house on a Friday night.
“Get in and get out,” he reminded himself, shifting the paper bag to his other arm. “No need to linger. Don’t think about her naked.”
“Uncle Brick!” Ian threw open the door and launched himself at Brick’s right leg.
“Hey, kid,” Brick said. Reggae music, most likely Remi’s doing, poured out of the kitchen. He heard voices coming from the back of the house and smelled roast turkey. But the siren song that lured him inside was the promise of Remi’s presence.
Not that he’d be doing anything about it. After the earlier disaster, he’d recommitted himself to not being attracted to her.
He plopped his hat on top of Ian’s head then shed his coat, perversely hanging it on top of Remi’s parka.
“Hi, Uncle Brick,” Hadley said from the foot of the stairs.
Most confused her quiet demeanor for shyness, but the kid was a natural observer, lurking in corners and committing everything she saw and heard to memory. If the girl ever witnessed a crime, Hadley Olson would be able to tell the cops the perp was left-handed, how many tattoos he had, and what color his eyes were.
“Help me leg cuff him, Had!” her little brother demanded. “We can get him this time!”
Ian had the brain power of an adult, but he still played like a typical seven-year-old.
“It’s gonna take more than you two scrawny mosquitos to stop me,” Brick said, knowing his role by heart. Since they were toddlers, it had been their favorite game with him. In another few years, he probably wouldn’t win.
With a roll of her eyes that was too close to teenage angst for Brick’s liking, Hadley reluctantly sauntered over and grabbed his left leg.
“Is that Brick I hear?” Gilbert called from the back of the house. “Come on back, bartender.”
Carefully, Brick made his way toward the sound of adult voices, a kid attached to each leg.
“It’s not working, Ian,” Hadley observed.
“Try to weigh more,” Ian insisted.
Brick couldn’t help but crack a smile as he rounded the corner into the Ford family’s airy kitchen, a space that had felt like home to him for the last decade and a half. Likeahome, he corrected, nothishome. Growing up, home had been a never-ending series of rentals that rotated every few months depending on which parent was following their dream or scheme at the time. They bounced around from places like Reno and Las Vegas to Oklahoma, Kansas, Montana, and even a stint in Florida when his father got a hot tip on a land deal.
Sometimes he had his own room.
Sometimes he and Spencer didn’t even have their own beds.
