Page 6 of Nicole
I walked past her into the kitchen and set the bag on the table. “And a whole lemon quartered for you. I should get extra brother credits for that one. You know the looks I got from the woman taking my order?”
Ginny ignored me and pulled out a container, popped the lid, then placed a lemon wedge between her teeth. “Stop keeping score.”
“How else am I supposed to prove I’m the best brother on the planet?”
She tossed the yellow rind in the trash. “This doesn’t even begin to make up for some of the things you did to me when we were kids.”
“I was an angel.”
She snorted. “Yeah. Of the one-third variety that got kicked out of heaven.”
I grinned and ducked when a lemon wedge flew at my head.
“I’m scared of dark, tight spaces because you used to put a bean bag on my head and sit on it!”
“Classic. Speaking of big brothers, where’s Owen? Uncle Drew needs to impart some wisdom. He has a lot to learn before urchin number two arrives.” I pointed to Ginny’s stomach.
She glared at me but her lips twitched. “Stop calling my darling offspring urchins. And Owen’s in the backyard throwing the football with Eric.”
Ginny returned to pulling food out of the restaurant’s disposable containers, so I moved to the sliding glass door that led to the backyard.
“This time I want you to run a quick slant route.” Eric, Ginny’s husband, had his head down beside their nine-year-old son in a two-man huddle. “Ready?”
Owen moved down the invisible line and crouched into a runner’s starting position. “Ready.”
“Hike,” Eric called, falling back a few pivots and cocking the ball, ready to throw.
Owen sprinted forward, then turned to run a forty-five-degree angle toward the middle of the “field.” Eric tossed the ball, and it landed in Owen’s arms with a soft thud.
“Touchdown!” I yelled, hands thrown up like a ref making the call. “Now, where’s that victory dance I taught you?” With one hand on the back of my neck and the other gripping an ankle, I started pumping. Up, down. Back and forth. I let go and crossed my wrists in front of me, galloping in a tight circle like I was riding a horse. Finally, I ended in a muscle man pose, left arm extended out front, right arm curled behind me, flexing my not-NFL-grade muscles for all they were worth.
“Excessive celebration.” Eric booed. “Fifteen-yard penalty.”
I laughed and hooked an elbow around my nephew’s neck, pulling him to my side. He looked up at me with a wide smile, and I winked down at him. “Totally worth sharing my awesome moves with the world though, am I right?”
He patted my shoulder. “Sure, Uncle Drew. You keep telling yourself that.”
I tried to replicate the look Ginny and Eric shared so often over their son’s head. The one that saidWhere’d this kid come from and what happened to my sweet baby boy?“Where’d he pick up the sass mouth?”
Eric’s brows hiked. “I believe that would be from his uncle.”
“Oh.” I ran my knuckles over Owen’s head. “In that case, keep up the good work.”
He swatted my hand away. “Is it safe to go inside yet?”
My questioning gaze shot to Eric. He picked the football off the ground and tossed it between his hands.
“You know how hard the third trimester can be.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Ginny appeared in the doorway. “No man can ever know until all their organs are squished together, they have a watermelon constantly kicking them from the inside, and their ankles decide to see if they have what it takes to moonlight as water balloons.”
We three males stared at each other, not daring to utter a word. Ginny may’ve been exhibiting signs of a spitfire, but the tide could change and waterworks be turned on at any minute.
Eric looked past me—the martyr—and his eyes softened the moment they landed on his wife.
Emotion started to collect in my throat. Grief. Longing. Nothing I wanted to face or entertain.
Time for an eviction notice.
