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“This is more like it.” Travis grinned, slapping the oldest Blackwell on the shoulder. “Rebecca let you out to play?”
“More like I ran when she gave me the opportunity.”
“What’s that mean?” Travis asked, reaching down for a beer and tossing a cold one to Hudson.
“There are at least thirty women in my house, six babies, four toddlers, and two dogs.”
“I thought you liked women and babies,” Travis said with a chuckle.
“I do. Especially mine.” Hudson cracked open his can and took a long pull. He wiped foam from the corner of his mouth. “But a guy can only take so much. I bolted when they all started in with their war stories.”
“War stories?” Travis repeated.
“Labor. Delivery. Contractions.” He winced. “Stitches.”
“Stitches?” That one had Travis scratching his head. Man, giving birth was a hell of a lot more complicated than he imagined. He frowned. Stitches?
Hudson shook his head, the look in his eyes dead serious. “You don’t want to know.”
Travis decided to take his brother’s word for it and turned to Nash. “Since when does the Coach House deliver on the lake?”
Nash handed him
a slab of pizza. “Since I took the night off to kick back.”
Zach sidled in for a slab and scooped out a beer for himself. “Honey working tonight?”
Nash practically growled. “Sure is. Thought you’d be polishing a barstool at my place instead of out here.”
Zach was too busy shoving pizza down the hatch to notice the particular undertone to Nash’s words. “I might head up there later.”
“You do that.”
Zach caught it that time and gave Nash a look, but the man had turned away to secure the boat properly.
Travis chewed off a piece of double cheese and looked at his brothers. Hudson shrugged, and they all sat back, content to listen to the waves rush up against the shore, eat their pizza and wings, and listen to some vintage Zeppelin.
The boys sat on the dock for a good hour or so. They polished off both boxes of pizza, all the wings, and not one fry was left behind. Travis gathered the empty containers and trudged into the boathouse, looking for the recycling bins. Hudson followed him and they got it all squared away. They made their way back outside just as the motor on Nash’s boat revved, and watched Wyatt and Zach head out.
“Where they going?” Hudson asked.
“Your hockey pal wanted to see Pottahawk island. I told them to take my boat instead of hauling yours out of the boathouse.” Nash got to his feet, and the three of them headed down the beach. Hudson grabbed the cooler while Nash and Travis gathered some kindling for a fire.
The sun was low in the sky as vibrant reds and oranges lit up the horizon. Twilight would be setting in soon. Already, Travis heard an owl hoot in the distance. The air was still heavy from the heat, but a breeze made its way across the lake, teasing whitecaps that disappeared as soon as the waves hit the shore. Boats still zipped along the water; laughter and voices echoed in their wake.
God, Travis loved this time of day. That in-between when darkness was about to fall. It was always quiet—even with the laughter and voices. It was hard to explain, more of the stillness that accompanied nightfall.
The three of them had a fire going in no time, the well-worn pit a center for the semicircle of chairs. Travis leaned back in his chair, sank his feet in the sand, and closed his eyes. He should be content. He should be relaxed after a long day of hard work and a belly full of pizza and wings. Tired, even.
But he wasn’t.
His mind was racing, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Ruby. He’d managed to get her cell number from Coach Hoder, but she’d not returned any of the calls or text messages he’d sent her. How in hell was he going to get her to fall back in love with him if he couldn’t even get her to answer a damn phone call? What was it going to take?
“You okay over there?”
Travis lifted up his head, opened his eyes, and spied his brother Hudson staring at him.
“You look like you want to hit something.”
