Page 73 of 10 Signs You Need to Grovel

E plants his hand on my shoulder. “She still has feelings for you, Des.”

Feelings don’t begin to cover my thoughts on Sadie Jones, but E’s doing a mighty fine job of reading my likely pained expression as I stare at her through the window. “She’s been a bit tough to read.”

He sips his water, considering her. “Every time your name comes up, she blushes something fierce.”

“She’s holding back. Because of Max, she says, to protect him from getting his hopes up with us, but I don’t know. I think something else might be going on with her. Reservations about me, maybe. Or her business partner might be into her. He said some stuff that didn’t sit well.”

“Did you ask her about him?”

“She said they’re just friends.”

“Then I suggest you believe her. Unless she also claims I told her you puked your guts out when you learned about Max. I swear I never said a thing.”

Lip curled, I advance on him, but he’s already jogging toward the door, laughing, trying not to spill his water. Pain in my ass.

I join my aggravating family outside and sit on the grass with Max and Mom and Lennon. Candy Cane bounds over and licks my face. Macaroon follows, getting in on the slobbery action. “Someone toss a toy before I get eaten.”

Lennon picks up a ball and throws it at my head.

Max cracks up.

“Lennon,” Mom says sternly, always being a mom.

Lennon does a body roll on the grass, grabs for the ball, and beans me in the head with it again. “He started it.”

Hard to believe we’re adult men.

“You better believe I’ll finish it.” I’m on him in seconds, grabbing him in a headlock. I jut my chin toward Max. “You need to noogie him.”

Max laughs at our antics. “What’s a noogie?”

“A kiss on the forehead,” says a thrashing Lennon.

Nice try. “Knuckles,” I say. “Grind your knuckles into his forehead.”

Mom sighs.

“Get him good,” E shouts.

“Children,” Sadie mutters from behind us.

“I think it was WITSEC,” Delilah says. “It stunted their emotional development.”

She’s not wrong.

Max crawls over hesitantly, like he can’t believe he’s allowed to torment his uncle. He glances at Sadie, then at me, then at Lennon, who bucks and squirms, trying to elbow me. Lennon gets in a solid jab to my ribs, but I’ve always been stronger. Guy doesn’t stand a chance.

Finally, Lennon goes limp. “Fine. Get it over with. I can take it, Max.”

Max sits beside him, still seeming indecisive. The opposite of me.

Growing up, if I caught any of my brothers vulnerable, they were getting a noogie or a wedgie or some form of torture. One time Callahan fell asleep in the old barn on the back of our property, so I ran around, searching for frogs to dump on him, but luck was on my side. I caught a four-foot black racer snake. You can imagine how his wake up went.

Max has a different gleam in his eye. Defiant, yet kind. He leans down gently . . . and kisses Lennon’s forehead.

How the hell did I get lucky enough to have such a sweet kid?

We spread out and take turns roughhousing with the dogs. Except Max, who doesn’t participate in the roughhousing. Being aggressive isn’t in his DNA, which makes me regret pushing him to noogie Lennon, even though Lennon deserves to be noogied. What if he’s worrying I won’t like him because he didn’t act like his buffoon father? What if he thinks there’s something wrong with him for being gentle?