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Before any more proverbial fucking shit hit the fan, I was singing the damn song for her.
“You know, Declan isn’t the only one who can make sugary sweet speeches,” I began as I settled on a stool with my guitar. I adjusted the mic and pivoted enough to be facing Mom. “I suck at sugary sweet speeches, but I know one of the other idiots at the table can.”
“Nolan!” Finn and Lucas shouted together.
“No one writes epic speeches like Nolan does,” I said. “Anyway, since we’re over here dedicating songs to people, I’m dedicating—”
“This ain’t how the Fall Games work!” Cole cut in loudly.
“Calm your tail, Stone,” I chastised with a cocky grin. “You’re looking a little green under the scruff. Worried you’ll lose the second round too?”
A round of oohs rolled through the bar as his eyes narrowed.
“One day, Byrne—”
“Not today. Today, I’m singing to my mom,” I interrupted. That shut him the fuck up. No one would fight me for singing to her. I knew I wasn’t fucking winning. This was just the start of a very long grovel to her. I owed Mom more apologies than I could make. I couldn’t begin to imagine the three fucking years of not knowing. I didn’t deserve her.
And so, I sang my fucking heart out. I put everything I had into strumming and singing ‘Live Like You Were Dying’ because Mom loved it. It wasn’t a fucking apology, but it’d make her happy. All I cared about was that misty-eyed look on her face while she swayed and soaked up every line of the song. As I plucked the last few chords, no one in the bar made a fucking sound. It was crickets as Mom walked across the bar and onto the stage. She hugged me fiercely.
“That was beautiful, baby boy,” Mom whispered.
“I love you,” I said quietly. She leaned back touching my cheeks.
“Well, how the fuck are we supposed to follow that?” Roan demanded, breaking the emotion in the room. I laughed and leaned closer to the mic while Mom left the stage.
“Language, Roan!” she chastised.
“You aren’t, you furry jack-butt,” I told him so the whole damn room could hear me. Fuck this censoring thing. I sounded pathetic as shit. “Mom, can I please go back to swearing? My threats aren’t working like this.”
“No,” she called over her shoulder.
“Brady, it’s your bar—”
“Boy, you’re dumber than you look if you think I’m going to fucking argue with your mama,” Brady replied, inciting a burst of laughter from around the bar as I frowned.
“I don’t look dumb. And why does he get to swear?”
“I ain’t wearing tight pants,” he shot back, making everyone laugh harder. Fucker. I liked my pants.
“Get off the stage!” Sam shouted and got to his feet. He threw his arms out in drunken dramatics. “It’s my turn, you furry sap!”
“Fine!” I retorted and matched his attitude with a big eye roll. We traded places, and I readied myself for whatever chaos my brother was about to bring to the stage. Knowing that fucking smirk on his face, it’d be good.
And then the fucking slideshow started.
Sam came with a fucking slideshow.
Of his kitchen.
After being set on fire.
“This,” Sam announced loudly into the mic, “is my kitchen after Finn set it on fire.”
“I said I was sorry,” Finn yelled with a groan.
“Oh, I know,” he replied. “You and Killian can be roommates at Mom’s. That’s not the point.”
“I’ll make him all the good snacks—”
