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The tightness in my chest eases a little.

“So how is my cousin, anyway?” Thomás asks. “Where is his bitch ass?”

Shrugging, I blow out a heavy breath. “He had some stunt work come up, but he'll be here soon. I think he's okay. Been drinking a lot.”

Not that I'm one to talk, but it's true.

Carlos's brows furrow slightly. “So long as it's not vodka, he's fine.”

Going still, I open my mouth to tell him that it is, in fact, vodka, when a young boy appears at his side with a soccer ball under his arm. He tugs on Carlos’s sleeve, and the two share a conversation in Spanish.

“Wanna play?” Carlos asks, gesturing to the boy who runs off kicking the ball.

“Uh, sure…”

Abandoning the food, which I really wanted to eat, I follow him and Thomás over to a large field behind the house. It’s wide and uneven, grass chewed up in long tracks. A few portable ramps sit near the fence line, along with dirt mounds and an above-ground pool filled with mismatched foam pieces. I remember this place from that Fourth of July all those years ago. Christian and Taylor practice their stunts here.

“So,” Carlos says, gesturing to a group of kids kicking the ball in the middle of the field. “These are all my little cousins. Well, most of them. You saw a few dancing with my sisters. And that's my tío, Ruben.”

He gestures to an older man playing soccer with the kids, and I glance back over my shoulder toward the party. “No dad around?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. Mom left him when we were all little. It was just her, Christian, and us.”

“Oh.” With a frown, I return my attention back to Carlos. “How old were you?”

“Like… I don't know, seven? The girls were babies.”

So that would have made Christian what? Eleven? Twelve?

My chest tightens in a way I don’t like.

“Damn,” I mutter, watching his uncle scoop up one of the kids and spin her around. “I'm sorry.”

Carlos shrugs nonchalantly, but there's something careful in his expression. “S'okay. We had Christian when mom needed to work longer shifts. He made sure homework got done and dinner happened. Nobody died, so, yeah. We had it pretty good.”

The ball rolls toward us, and one of the kids sprints after it, tripping over his own feet before face-planting into the dirt. Ruben—the uncle—is there in a heartbeat, hauling the kid up to brush him off like it’s nothing. When he notices us, he calls out to Thomás in Spanish, then turns to me. “You play?”

Feeling a little awkward, I shove my hands into my pockets and shake my head. “Not since, uh, summer camp when I was a teenager. I don't remember much.”

To be honest, sports were the only thing I liked. Being surrounded by all of the other kids felt safer than being isolated with a certain counselor.

“It's okay, I'll teach you.” The man waves us over, and before I can come up with a polite excuse to decline, he tosses the ball toward me. It hits my shin and rolls a few feet away.

“See?” he laughs. “You’re a natural.”

A couple of the kids giggle, one of them darting in to steal the ball. Instinct kicks in like muscle memory as I chase after them, an involuntary grin on my face. Carlos and Thomás jump in as well.

For a while, it’s just noise and motion. Dirt under my shoes, the sting of cold air in my lungs and the night sky stretching out above us. I miss an easy block, and a little girl darts away triumphantly with a toothy smile.

Is this the kind of life I could have lived if I'd been raised… differently? Is this what Logan had? Family get-togethers and playtime with our younger brothers?

Thomás jogs past me, stealing the ball back with an exaggerated spin that makes me stumble. I go down on one knee hard, sending an ache up my hip, but… I’m laughing—genuinely laughing while one of the kids helps me to my feet.

No one's yelling at the kids for being kids, like my grandparents used to do. Ruben just calls out encouragement, and Carlos throws me a thumbs-up when I miraculously score a goal.

This is what Christian grew up with. Family, love, support. Maybe a mother who worked a lot and had a child raising children, but… I don't think she was absent, despite all of that. Not from what I can tell.

I swallow hard, eyes tracking the ball when it sails across the field again. The music swells behind us, and somewhere near the house, people cheer as the dancing and singing continue. The stars are clear overhead, scattered across the sky as they twinkle down on us. Ever watching.