"Mommy! I rang the doorbell seven times! Uncle Blake said I could!"
"It was three times, buddy," Blake laughs, following behind more slowly. His eyes do that thing, the big brother scan, taking in my disheveled appearance, sweeping the entryway.
"It was actually four," I say as I muss his bed head. He bends down and starts to riffle through his backpack. My mind races, wondering how I'm going to navigate this minefield with my brother.
"Aunt Cile made me pancakes with chocolate chips!" Beckett announces, spinning through the hallway. "And we built a fort and?—"
Blake's gaze drops to the floor where Warren's boots sit neatly beside the welcome mat.
"Warren's here?" His tone is casual. Too casual.
My heart slams against my ribs. "He, um—he parked here last night." The lie is clumsy, but it's all I've got to offer. "Must've gotten a ride somewhere. I didn't ask."
Blake's eyebrow quirks upward as he nudges Warren's boots with his foot. "And left his shoes?"
"He mentioned needing to switch out." I force a smile, waving dismissively. "He must've forgotten them. Or he'll get them when he picks up his truck."
I'm rambling. Stop talking, Janie.
Blake studies me for a beat too long. I can practically hear his thoughts assembling the pieces.
"We had fun, didn't we, buddy?" He ruffles Beckett's hair, mercifully changing the subject. "Blanket forts, popcorn, probably way too much sugar. Sorry about that."
"Not sorry!" Beckett giggles, running toward the kitchen.
"Cile and I are heading out to get our Christmas tree with the kids." Blake pulls me into a quick hug. "You good?"
I wince when he pats my back right on a raw spot and nod against his shoulder. I say a silent prayer that he can't feel my thundering pulse.
Only after his car disappears down the drive do I realize my shirt is not just backwards but inside out, the tag sticking up beneath my chin like a flag of guilt.
I close the door and lean against it, exhaling for the first time in minutes.
"Mommy! Can I go swing?" Beckett bounces, his energy radiating from his small frame.
"Sure, baby. Let me just..." I gesture vaguely at my inside-out shirt, still trying to process that my brother nearly walked in on Warren and me.
The backyard swing set still has morning dew on the chains as Beckett climbs aboard, kicking his legs with practiced determination.
"Higher, Mommy! Push me higher!"
I comply automatically, my mind racing through scenarios of what could have happened if the front door had been unlocked, which happens more often than I care to admit. Especially when I've got my legs in the air, being fucked by my brother's best friend on the floor.
"Uncle Blake let me stay up until—" he scrunches his face, calculating, "—nine-thirty! We made a fort with all the blankets, and Emma kept falling asleep, but Tyler and me stayed awake making faces in the flashlight."
"Did you?" My hands push against his small back, sending him soaring.
He giggles, his head thrown back with pure joy. "And we had popcorn with M&Ms in it!"
No wonder he's vibrating with energy. "Have you eaten anything besides sugar today?"
"Uncle Blake made eggs, too." Beckett's attention shifts as quickly as his legs pump. "Can I watch Dinosaur Squad?"
"For a little while."
He leaps mid-swing, landing with the fearlessness of childhood, and races toward the sliding door.
I follow slower, my entire nervous system still trying to calm down. Inside, Beckett settles on the couch, already lost in colorful animation.