1

Jude

July, present day…

Jude loved Independence Day. The red, white, and blue bunting displayed around town, the scent of roasting meat at family barbecues, happy neighbors, enjoying some well-deserved time off, and last but not least, fireworks.

He had vague memories of spending the holiday in Albuquerque with his father when he was a kid, but that had all stopped when he moved to the reservation with Running Eagle. The Navajo saw the Fourth of July as a day of mourning. A time to remember all that had been taken from them. Jude had known enough to keep his mouth shut about waving the American flag, stuffing his face with hot dogs, and lying on a blanket, staring up as the sky exploded with color.

Ronan had been the one who started the tradition of hosting a cookout when Everly was five months old. Jude remembered trying to balance the baby, her bottle, and a footlong dog all at once. After mixing them up, Everly ended up trying spicy mustard that day. She'd put on a fireworks display of her own later that evening, but Jude would carry the secret to his grave, or until Everly's wedding day. The story would be hilarious to tell during his godfather speech.

The party rotated to different homes after that first year, first to Fitzgibbon's house, then to Jude's. With this year's celebration back at Jude's house, he'd come up with an idea to top all others. They were going to have a watermelon-eating contest. He'd bought several large melons, along with the other ingredients he'd need for a kick-ass feast, pork butt, hot dogs for those troglodytes who didn't like his pulled pork, along with everything he'd need to make his famous baked beans and chipotle mac and cheese. Ten was making slaw, and Fitz was in charge of dessert. Not that anyone would be in the mood to eat cannoli after they had his food.

"Explain this to me again," Cope said when he walked into the kitchen to see Jude slicing the watermelon into wedges. "Where the hell did you get the idea for an eating contest?"

"Wolfie and I were watching YouTube videos of the hot dog–eating contest on Coney Island. You know the one where that same guy has won for like ten years in a row. Johnny Bag'a Donuts or something?"

Cope shot his husband a confused look. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Pull up YouTube and search for the Fourth of July hot dog contest." How was it possible that Cope didn't know about the famous event? It was as American as apple pie.

"Is this it?" Cope turned the phone to Jude, who nodded. His finger hovered over the Play button. "Am I going to regret watching this?"

Jude snorted. "Of course not. It's guys eating hot dogs."

Cope pressed Play. Jude stopped slicing the watermelon so he could see the beauty of the contest along with his husband. Jude could watch these videos all day and still laugh his ass off. The starter's pistol sounded, and the contestants began wolfing down hot dogs like they hadn't eaten in a month. "What the fuck?" Cope muttered when the contestants started dunking the hot dog rolls into water, squashing them and eating them with the same speed as the dogs.

"They've gotta eat the buns too, not just the hot dogs," Jude said. "But in my contest, we just have to eat the watermelon flesh, not the rinds."

The look on Cope's face had gone from mildly interested to absolute horror in a matter of minutes. When the contest ended and the champ was crowned, Cope set his phone down. "That man ate sixty-two hot dogs in ten minutes?"

"He's an elite athlete." Jude grinned and went back to cutting the melon. "Now, that's the kind of sport I can get behind."

"Yeah, so instead of you blowing out your other knee playing basketball, you'll just choke to death in front of your kids. Awesome," Cope deadpanned, rolling his eyes. "I can't think of anything more American than having to give my idiot husband the Heimlich on the Fourth of July."

"How can you choke on watermelon? It's mostly water. Says so in its name." Jude waggled his eyebrows.

"Daddy!" Wolf shouted from upstairs. "I got my costume on!" Little feet thundered down the stairs.

"What costume?" Cope asked.

"You'll see," Jude said. Wolf was supposed to have waited for Jude to give their prearranged signal but had jumped the gun. He wished he could wave Wolf off, like a NASCAR pit crew, but that wasn't possible with him stampeding down the stairs like a rogue baby bison.

"Tah! Dah!" Wolf shouted as he leapt into the kitchen, his red cape flowing behind him.

"What are you wearing?" Cope asked, his eyes wide as he stared at his son.

"It's my melon-eating costume! I'm gonna win the Kid Division." Wolf set his hands on his hips and grinned proudly. The little boy was wearing one of Jude's white V-neck T-shirts tucked into a pair of Jude's red boxers. Jude had drawn a picture on the front of the tee of Wolf with bulging cheeks, holding an empty watermelon rind. The cape was part of Wolf's Dracula costume from last year, turned backward, so the red lining was on the outside.

"Kid Division?" Cope asked softly.

Jude nodded. He knew that tone. It was the one that said his usually mild-mannered husband was about to blow his top. The best thing he could do at the moment was damage control. "You're such a kidder, Wolfie." He turned to Cope. "Wolf's my sidekick. There's no Kid Division."

Wolf's face darkened. "Daddy, there is so a Kid Division. You said I was gonna wipe the floor with Everly and Aurora! I've been in training for three days for this contest. You said I was gonna win."

"Did you say he was going to win?" Cope asked.

"I-I, well, I…" Jude was in the shit now. "I mean, you've seen him with my mac and cheese. He loves it so much that he gobbles it up in a flash."

"Dad said I was a ringer!" Wolf grinned.

"Did he, now." Cope turned to Jude. "Uh, snookums, may I have a word with you in the living room?" Cope grabbed Jude's wrist and yanked him along.

"Daddy, I'm gonna have a snack!" Wolf called out.

"Not yet, Wolfie. You need to save room in your belly for the watermelon!" Jude called back.

"Room in his belly?" Cope asked, sounding incredulous. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Uh, where to begin?" Jude tried to think of a clever comeback, but his mind was strangely blank. He knew that if he didn't manage to talk his way out of this mess, he'd be sleeping on the couch tonight, possibly outside on the deck if things got any worse.

"I'm waiting." Cope tapped his right foot on the floor, the same way he did with Wolf when their son was in hot water.

"Let's face it, babe, I've got a big mouth," Jude began.

"Never a truer word was spoken," Cope said, rolling his eyes.

"What's even bigger than my mouth is my—" Cope slapped a hand over Jude's mouth.

"Don't you dare say that next word. The size of your dick is irrelevant to this conversation." Cope shook his head as if he couldn't believe Jude's audacity.

It was on the tip of Jude's tongue to tell his husband just how relevant his dick actually was, but he'd save that for later, as a last-ditch plea to avoid sleeping in the backyard. "Jeez, your mind is always in the gutter. What I was going to say was that my stomach is bigger than my mouth. Ronan stepped up his hosting game last year by renting a fucking pony." Jude rolled his eyes. He remembered how enamored of the tiny horse the kids had been last year, especially Lizbet, who'd cried when Jude tried to pull her away from the animal.

"Is that what this is about? Beating Ronan?" Cope sounded as if he finally understood Jude's aim.

"Not entirely," Jude said softly.

"So what is this about, then?" Thankfully, Cope sounded more interested than irritated, but Jude knew that could change in a heartbeat if he said something stupid.

"I figured with my big mouth, I'd be a shoo-in to win the Detective Division, and with Wolf's capacity to put away a ton of food, I figured he'd win the Kid Division. We could rule the barbecue together."

"Okay, Darth Vader." Cope's lips curved into what looked like a reluctant smile.

Jude set his hands on Cope's hips, pulling him closer. "You've got a pretty big dick yourself, so I figured you'd have a good shot of winning the Psychic Division."

"Wait! What?" Cope sputtered. "The Psychic Division?"

"Yeah, I didn't want you, Ten, and Jace to feel left out." Jude offered a sweet smile. He sure as hell wasn't about to tell Cope that he'd invented the Psychic Division before he agreed to let Wolf participate. "I even got trophies for the winners."

"Trophies? Okay, now I've heard it all."

"Let's face it, I'll never win a trophy for anything, so I thought maybe this way I could be a winner, winner, chicken dinner." Jude put on his poutiest face, hoping it would win him points with Cope, who would undoubtedly tell him that he already was a winner.

"You did manage to snag me, so I suppose that makes you a winner." Cope snorted.

"You didn't come with a trophy, babe. You are the trophy!" Jude pressed a kiss to Cope's cheek. Maybe he wouldn't have to sleep in the yard with the squirrels after all.

Cope burst out laughing. "You're ridiculous. You know that, right?"

"Think about if all three of us win today. We'll carry that victory with us for the next year!" In his mind, Jude could hear their friends cheering his name.

"You really think I can win?" Cope asked.

"I do! You've already got an advantage over the other competitors." Jude wore a shit-eating grin.

"What, you mean that I know there's going to be a contest so I can prepare myself mentally?"

Jude shook his head. "No, because you're used to swallowing me. You always say more than a mouthful is wasted, and you never waste a drop, soooo…"

Cope pulled out of Jude's arms. "This is insane. You are insane." Shaking his head, he headed toward the kitchen.

As Cope walked away, Jude could see his husband was smiling. He was already a winner. All he had to do now was kick his best friends' asses, and the trophy would be his.