I yank my fingers through my hair until my scalp screams. “I’ll grab the door!” I shout, like I’m happy to be useful.
The Josephs and Dawsons are already here, so it has to be the Turners. Sure enough, Lan shoves in first with a pile of presents, a crooked red hat, and some ridiculous Santa outfit.
His little sister, Scout, sneaks by as if she’s embarrassed to be seen with her entire family. Bo, the youngest, gives me a firm handclasp and shoulder bump. Their parents greet mine with wine and complaints about the weather.
Conversations wave with loud humor. Chipper music plays. Cookies bake, filling the air with comfort. It’s festive. So joyous.
And I want to die.
“Give me one of those.” I nod at Lan as he slumps on the sofa next to me with a cigar behind his ear.
“Fuck you. This was mypresent. Bo grabbed me a box when he went on vacation.”
“Tell your brother to grab me one, then.” I glance over myshoulder to where our moms and his dad are. “And fill that fucker with some good stuff. I need to smoke.”
His eyes grow wide as he arches an eyebrow toward his parents. Well, wecallthem that. But they’re his aunt and uncle. Voice dropping to a whisper, he shakes his head. “Kins will end me.”
“So?” My smile doesn’t reach my eyes. “Come on, bitch. I’m your president. Let’s go.”
He studies my expression. For a second, he looks at me like I’m a stranger. “Who the hell are you? This whole dynamic runs onyoutellingmenot to do stupid shit. You flipping the script is—blasphemy, bro.”
We both drop the conversation as the parents wander closer.
I lean in, voice low, gritted. “Thenhelpme. Now. On the deck.”
He swallows. “I’m having flashbacks to that day we were fourteen. Worst day of my life.”
I roll my eyes. “Your uncle’s lost an inch of muscle since then. We can take him.”
“It’s not him I’m worried about.” His gaze flicks toward his aunt.
Granted, she is scary as fuck.
I chuckle. “She’s a brute, sure. And I bet she’d be interested in seeing the texts on my phone about your little ‘business’ last summer.”
That gets him. His face drains. “You wouldn’t?—”
“Try me.” I push the cigar back toward his ear with one finger. “Five minutes on the deck. Rolled my way. Or those texts accidentally find the family group chat.”
A beat. Then he’s up, plastering on a fake grin for the room. “Yo, Aiden, didn’t you say you wanted to check out the new grill with me?”
I rise smoothly. “Sure did. Let’s go see if it’s still hot.”
We walk out together, the cold air waiting to bite our faces. Nervous hands roll the weed with the stash from his pocket within two minutes. We wander away from the living room, and I light up the end, taking a generous inhale.
“So what the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I tell him, choking on the smoke so hard, I get tears.
He chuckles, taking the passed blunt. “M-kay.” As he inhales, his throat strains. “But you never cough that much.”
“You were right about Ashlyn. I lost my head.”
The laugh that erupts from his belly makes me want to punch him. But I’ll wait until boxing next week…
That first toke is making me slow.
“So marry her.”