Page 43 of The Final Deal

“Have you heard anything from Mom or Dad?”

“Haven’t exactly picked up the phone when they’ve called.”

“Yeah. Me neither.”

My brother studies me intensely. “You ever get around to makin’ your case against Ty?”

I shake my head and observe the twins. They enter lighter conversation with our friends, laughing and having a better time than we’ve had since I’ve been home. “No. But Ty’s blowing up my inbox about signing paperwork, so maybe if I stall long enough, I’ll find him.”

Robbie blows a heavy breath of air through his teeth and takes a big gulp of beer. “I’m gonna regret asking, but have you tried going to the bridge?”

“Of course, I have. Went with Shannon and Dree last week and nothing except a creepy-ass text from Ty, so he must be watching me.”

“Jesus Christ,” my brother says in disbelief. “I knew he had a thing for you, but that’s fucked.”

“You’re tellin’ me. Don’t stick your dick in crazy, huh?”

“Pff, too late.”

My lips part to ask what that means, but he walks away before I have the chance.

I down the entirety of the margarita in my hand until I give myself brain freeze. At the table, I’m greeted with a sweet smile from Dree and a sneaky ass pinch from Z when I hand them fresh glasses of their favorite beverages, like they’re trading places with who’s naughty and nice out in public while gradually becoming more intoxicated as the evening progresses.

Liam grabs Shannon and drags him up front for karaoke, but not before handing Andrea over to Dree. She occupies her tio’s lap with a bright beam and laughs with excitement as her daddy and his friend sing like shit to “What’s Love Got to Do with It?”, completely parodying the fact that they’re the most talented singers in this joint.

When I glance at Dree and Drea, a peculiar ache tugs at my heart.

Both of the twins would make wonderful fathers one day. But… but I’m not sure how the hell that would work without being backwoods as fuck.

Robbie’s dejected appearance is yet another reminder of my reality: even without the vampires and devils in my circle, I can’t imagine bringing an innocent child into the mess I’ve been dragged into. Not when it’s going to follow me for the rest of my life.

I suppose it’s time to let old dreams die and let some new ones take their place.

Adrian realizes I’m watching him. Then, he leans over and kisses me.

Andrea squeals. “Abby and Tio, sittin’ in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

Adrian tickles her until she shrieks, and the rest of us laugh with her as she tries to catch her breath. I reluctantly look behind me at Zak, afraid of incurring his wrath when we’rehaving such a good time. He doesn’t glare at me like I thought, though—instead, he watches with a smirk as he sips his Crown and Coke.

Everyone takes turns up front with karaoke except Adrian; his singing will legit hurt all our eardrums. But when Zak is ready to give it a go, he takes my hand and tows me up front with him. “We gotta do ‘Walk,’ babe!”

I roll my eyes and shake my head, all with a smile. “Then let’s do ‘Walk,’ hon.”

He pumps an arm victoriously. “Yes!”

The jokester I fell in love with in high school comes out of his shell as he performs a passionate rendition of Pantera’s song, taking the lead and leaving me in the dust. I can’t stop laughing, anyway, as he works his way through the crowd and gets others pumped up with him as they, too, scream the words.

I let him do his thing solo, handing the mic to the DJ without really having used it, and take my phone out to capture the moment. I wonder if he’ll remember this in the morning.

At the end of the song, he spins around and catches me recording. “Babe, we were supposed to sing together!”

I end the video as he hands the mic to another willing karaoke victim and quickly pocket my phone before he can think about stealing it and deleting the evidence. But when he comes for me, he slips an arm around my waist and whisks me away to the bar, helping me up on a stool and ordering us more drinks. He leans in close and kisses me repeatedly until the bartender serves us our drinks; even then, he gives me a couple more until I’m blushing from embarrassment.

“Did you drag me up to the bar just to let the whole place see us making out?” I ask.

“Maybe.”

The eagle tattooed to his throat flutters when he sips his beverage, and his honey brown eyes light up as they watchme watching him. I trace the rose stamped on his right hand that rests on the bar top, fingertips drawing down acrossTimelettered below knuckles. My brother sings “Panic Attack” by Dream Theater and bores everyone to tears in the background. The bartender is probably wary of us showing too much PDA at the bar as we beam at each other a little too brightly.

---