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She chuckles, shaking her head as she finishes putting together the sandwiches and preparing a pitcher of lemonade.
“Cooper’s an adult. I can’t stop him from getting tattoos just like I can’t stop you from being with Alec—not that I would. You know how much I adore him. Your brothers are going to be thrilled about this.”
I worry my lip. “I’m not so sure. They don’t really like anyone. They didn’t even like Mason, they just kept it to themselves until the end.”
My mother holds up a finger. “They liked Jonathan.”
“Yeah. One guy. Out of a hundred.”
“Everyone loved Jonathan,” she says, smiling sadly.
“Except Alec,” I say as a memory pops into my mind. It was a house party for the hockey team, shortly before Jonathan died. Or … wait … was that the night he died? I was sitting on a couch with my legs in Jonathan’s lap, and we were both kind of tipsy. I wasn’t much of a drinker, but I used to try to show up at them, for a few hours at least. Anyway, he was reading my palm, pretending to tell my future, talking about how many kids we were going to have, the house with the white picket fence and the pool … and then he went to spit in my hand. I giggled and nudged him away and looked up to find Alec staring at me with so much hatred in his eyes they were practically black.
That look Alec gave me is still ingrained in my mind, even now. I hadn’t even known he’d been back from college, but his face was twisted in sheer disgust. It made me feel like I’d done something wrong, but then, later on, right before I left, I saw them out on the back porch by the keg having heated words. They shoved each other before some of their teammates broke them apart.
Funny, I hadn’t thought about that for years, almost like I’d blocked it from my memory. But Alec’s hatred for Jonathan made the hate he showed me look like child’s play. Knowing what I now know, I can see his beef with Jonathan was simple jealousy. But back then, Jonathan was my everything. Nothing anyone could possibly say or do would’ve made me think otherwise.
My mother asks, “So when is my next grandchild due?” Mom asks as I sit down and dive into my sandwich.
“Early December.”
“You’re going to have to tell your brothers sooner than later because you’re going to be showing soon.”
I look down at my belly, pressing my t-shirt down. It’s not quite as flat as it used to be, but not bulging, either. It just feels full, bloated.
“You’re petite, like me,” she says, “and the women in our family show early.”
That doesn’t stop me from reaching for another sandwich. “I guess there’s no bikini season this summer for me.”
“What about supper this Sunday? You could tell them then? No sense in dragging this out.”
I shake my head. “Not this Sunday. Not until I’m a little further along.”
“Okay. In a few Sundays. Invite Alec over, and you can tell them together. It’ll be better to do it among family. They won’t overreact in front of the kids.”
I nod. “That makes sense.”
My father lets out a loud snore and cracks an eyelid.
“Oh. Stassi. Hi,” he says, kicking out of his recliner. “What did I miss?”
I glance at my mother, and we share a secret smile.
29
Alec
I wake up in the early morning with muscles stiff as hell and an ear-to-ear grin on my face.
I crane my neck to the side and see the reason. Stassi’s curled under my arm looking like every man’s fantasy, clinging to my side, her silky hair splayed out over my chest.
I reach out and tuck a white-blonde lock back, away from her face, so I can get a better look at her. Not that I haven’t seen her a million times before, in life and in my dreams. But this is still relatively new. She’s been coming over to my place every night this week, and yet I still can’t get used to the sight of her curled around me. Her smell on my sheets. Her clothes strewn around my room. The smile on her face, knowing I put it there.
If we have a girl, I hope she looks like her mother.
It’s not possible to get enough of her. Looking at her now, I only want more. I shift in bed, adjusting my morning wood, and then I grab my phone, scrolling through it one-handed as Stassi sleeps soundly in my arm.
A minute later, her eyes flutter open.
“Hi,” she says sleepily.
“Hey. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
She yawns and stretches before sitting up and blinking at the morning sunlight coming through the window. The sight of her perfect, pert tits makes me want her again. But we went so many rounds last night, I don’t know if I have anything left to give. I’m spent. Drained. I need to charge.
