“Ed Sheeran.”
“Taylor Swift.”
“Fleetwood Mac.”
“Stephen Kellogg.”
The diverse requests come thick and fast, and I already regret asking.
As I ignore every request so far and strum the first few notes of California Dreaming by the Mamas andPapas—an oldie, but goodie—Victoria settles on the ground next to my feet, all wrapped up in an enormous blanket.
Her phone chimes between songs with an alert that there’s someone at the door. She turns it to Artemis who’s sitting to her left. “Isn’t that your sister?” She’s already on her feet racing to the door, probably so Athena—if that’s who it is—doesn’t wake our sleeping kiddo.
Less than a minute later, Victoria comes back out of the house, Athena de la Peña striding close behind. “Is this true?” Athena holds out her phone to Artemis who jumps to his feet.
Whatever’s on the screen, even sitting outside in the firelight, causes Artemis’s face to visibly pale. “Does he know?”
“Quién? Papá?” She rolls her eyes—she might beat out Victoria for having the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen—“Síííííííííííííí.” She flicks him right between the eyes. “Pendejo. Check your phone.”
Apollo and Ares are looking at the screen now too, and all three brothers pull their phones out. It’s clear from their flaring nostrils and stiff postures that whatever is going on is bad, really, really bad.
“Shit.” Artemis turns his phone to his sister. “Twenty two missed calls and…” He scrolls the screen. “More text messages than I can count.”
Apollo pats his brother’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. There’s nothing he can do about it, right?”
Artemis shrugs. “I’ll need to call the legal team.”
“I’m sorry, Raffi. We really need to leave.” Ares speaks for the group. They give Victoria a quick hug, then me, and try to reassure us they’re okay before hurrying away.
“What the hell was that about?” Tate voices the question on everyone’s mind.
It takes a good thirty minutes and texts from all three brothers to the group chat to insist it’s nothing “that bad,” before any of us relax and open another beer. But soon we’reback for another round of s’mores, and kicking back with some tunes.
I have no idea if I believe in heaven, but if I did, it would look like exactly this. My family, my friends, tasty food, and great music.
Victoria
(SIX MONTHS LATER)
It’s cold as fuck.
I don’t know why my darling boyfriend thought it would be a good idea to launch his foundation and have a fundraiser the week before Christmas, but it’s cold as fuck.
I’ve never seen Raffi so nervous, or so fucking handsome. Not even when he strode across the stage after four years of school to pick up his diploma. This is next level. He’s fighting with a bow-tie in our bedroom mirror.
In the past six months, he’s moved out of the hockey house and in here with Mom, Wyatt, and me, he’s stopped playing hockey, and he’s busted his ass at school.
From a student who was scraping by in his classes while balancing his hockey schedule, he’s now bossing it. He’s in his senior year, and he’s doing himself, and everyone who knows him proud.
“Are you going to stop staring at me and help, Firecracker?” His grumbling frustration makes me swallow down a laugh. I’m not gloating and being smug until he admits he was wrong, and I was right.
“But you insisted on ordering a self-tie bow-tie, Raffi.” I shrug. “You said you had it under control.”
He growls, folding the fabric for the fourth time. “Clearly, I don’t have anything under control right now, Victoria.”
“What’s that? You were wrong?” I cup my hand around my ear and lean into the room from the doorway.
He turns from the mirror, pointing his flaccid tie at me. “You—” He cuts himself off, jaw dropping comically. “Holy fuck. Wh-I—” He scratches the back of his neck before pointing at me again. “You—Fucking hell, Victoria.” He swallows, hard, and takes three strides toward me.
