Chapter 1

“Move it, Quinn!” I hear Jax bellow, clapping his hands. “Come on!”

I race between two other players, shuffling the soccer ball between my feet and feeling my black and orange jersey sticking to my back.

I love soccer. I love soccer. I love soccer.

No, I don’t. I hate soccer. I’m thrilled it’s the end of my senior year, and this is my last game.

“Over here!” I spot Maya Velasquez out of the corner of my eye, calling to me.

I swing back my right foot and shoot the ball over to her just as I see someone dive into my space.

“Suck dirt, Caruthers.” And then all I see is a green jersey crashing into me and shoving me to the ground.

“Ugh,” I growl, wincing.

Damn it! A silvery ache shoots through my ass and my back as I peer up, squinting against the sunlight. Simone Feldman, from the Weston team, smirks down at me with a gloating expression in her green eyes.

But then, much to my enjoyment, someone knocks into her, making her stumble. She falters, but she doesn’t fall, and I laugh, seeing her knocked off her high pedestal. Thank you, Dylan.

I glance to the left and see exactly who I expected to see. Dylan, my brother Jared’s daughter, who’s only two years younger and on the same team as me, runs backward, toward the goal, grinning at me.

Simone and everyone else move on, leaving me behind, too.

“Get up, Quinn!”

I hood my eyes and groan, recognizing the voice behind me. Standing up, I spin around to see Madoc as he tosses his black suit jacket on a bleacher and loosens his light blue tie. He must’ve rushed here after work to see the game.

“Shake it off!” he orders, clapping his hands like Jax. “Let’s go!”

I roll my eyes and turn back around, powering on. There are a million other things I’d rather be doing—journaling, cooking, swimming . . . homework, laundry, getting a cavity filled—but Madoc, Jax, and my dad, for that matter love having their kids in sports. For my brothers, it’s exercise and good, clean fun. For my father, it’s trophies on a wall and another extracurricular for my college resumes.

Not that I need soccer anymore, anyway. My admission to Notre Dame next fall is secure.

“So.” Madoc comes up after our win, hooks an arm around my neck, and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “I had this great idea where you could maybe intern with my campaign over the summer.”

“You mean you had this great idea where you could get free, easy labor.”

I hear him tsk like that’s sooooo not what he was thinking, but I know Madoc. He’s my most fun-loving brother, he’s easy to talk to, and I always feel most at ease around him, but he’s also used to getting anything and everything he wants.

And while I’m sure he wouldn’t mind paying someone to work with his campaign, he can bend me and boss me around a lot easier than someone he barely knows.

“Come on,” he says, trying to work me already. “You’re polite, well-spoken, and you follow directions. Plus you’re family. I won’t get accused of getting kinky with an intern.”

I snort, despite myself. He can always make me laugh.

But I tell him, “I have other plans. Ones that are far more fun than sitting in a cubicle all summer and cold-calling voters, begging them to make you mayor.”

“Plans? Like what?”

I shrug and pull out my ponytail and elastic headband. “I thought of traveling.”

I don’t look at him, but it takes him a moment to respond.

“Why haven’t I heard about this until now?” he asks.

Because I haven’t made definite plans. Because I haven’t told anyone. Because I have no idea where I want to go or what I want to see.

Because Dad will never let me go.

“Have you talked to Dad about it?” he asks.

I stuff my towel and hair ties back into my backpack, ignoring him.

“Quinn, as much as I’d love to see you spread your wings, there’s no way he’s going to allow it.” He hands me my water bottle. “You know you need months to prepare him for something like that, and he would never let you go alone.” And then he adds, his tone turning clipped, “And if he did, I wouldn’t. Besides, I thought you both decided you’d take the summer and get ahead with some courses at Clarke before going off to Notre Dame in the fall.”

Jesus.

I keep my expression impassive, trying not to look annoyed. In a few months, I really will be gone, and then I’ll miss Madoc—and everyone else—so I’m trying not to act like a brat.

I swing the backpack strap over my shoulder. “Yeah, I know. Forget I said it. It’s just something I was tossing around.” I roll my eyes at him, turning it into a joke with a smirk. “I guess I’ll try to wait until after college to start living my life.”

“’Atta girl.” He gives me a light punch on the arm, grinning. “Besides, you know Jared has events lined up all summer, and with Pasha busy setting up the production line in Toronto, who’s going to handle his scheduling? And then Jax and Juliet will need your special touch up at the summer camp for the planning of the fireworks show on the Fourth, and—”

“And yada yada yada . . . I know!” I grumble. “I can’t be replaced. No one else can do what I do, right?!”

“Of course not, Quinn-for-the-Win. We need you.”

I shake my head and walk around him, heading for the locker room.

God, I love him. I love all of my family. But each one of them knows how to manipulate me.

None of them would tell me to go. No one will say “Just do it!” or “What do you want to do for your summer, Quinn?”

Jax and Jared assume I’m fine. Madoc wants all of his family around him all of the time. My nieces and nephews are too caught up in their own lives to care what I’m doing, and my parents . . . well, they want me happy. But they don’t want me to make any mistakes, either. Hell, a two-day sex talk preceded my very first date.

But I’m their baby. Their second chance.

Not that there was anything wrong with my brothers. They turned out well. But I gather my parents didn’t have much to do with that, either.

No one knows what I want. No one looks closely enough.

No one except Lucas.

After my shower, I quickly dress in some jean short cut-offs and a gray V-neck and dry my hair. I unclasp the strap of my backpack and slide off Lucas’s baseball cap that he gave me before he left town three years ago. I always carry it with me.

Three whole years, and I haven’t seen or talked to him. After grad school, he moved to New York for a job, but his architectural firm had him assigned to a project in Dubai. He’s been living in the Middle East, for the most part, since he left Shelburne Falls. It doesn’t feel like he is ever coming back.

I know he isn’t technically part of our family, but Madoc had mentored him since he was eight, and he’s been a part of my life since I was born.

After he left, I sat down a few times to write him—letters, e-mails, Facebook messages—but something always held me back from sending them. Like maybe I was afraid he wouldn’t write back.

Maybe, just maybe, he tolerated annoying little Quinn Caruthers and all of her stupid questions while he was stuck here, but now he doesn’t have to anymore. Why should he even bother, right? I don’t fit into his life anymore. He’s twenty-nine now. Important, busy, sophisticated . . .

And he hasn’t written me, either, so . . .

Pulling the light blue Cubs cap down over my eyes to shield the sun, I start the walk to the bike rack in front of the school.

“You know, I still can’t believe that you don’t have a car!” someone shouts behind me as I unlock my bike. “It’s like a thing in our family, Quinn!”

I laugh to myself, recognizing Dylan’s tone. Yes, car-love definitely runs in our family. So much so that one of my brothers—her father—owns a company that designs and engineers performance automotive parts, while another brother runs the town’s racetrack.

Looking over my shoulder, I see her pull up in her dad’s old Mustang Boss 302—which he gave her when he bought his brand new Shelby.

She grins at me through the open driver’s side window.

“Outdoor air pollution is one of the top ten killers on Earth,” I tell her, unwinding the lock from the bars. “Thousands of people in this country die every year due to air pollution, and the best way to decrease it is by walking or riding a bicycle.” I smile, trying to look smug, and stuff the lock into my backpack. “I’m just doing my part.”

“Can you do mine, too?” Kade, my nephew, strolls up and throws his duffel bag into the bed of his truck, chuckling to himself.

“And mine,” his twin, Hunter, says, doing the same. They both must’ve just gotten done with their workouts in the school’s weight room. Bulking up for the junior year football season in the fall.

I twist my lips to the side, disgusted at the gas-guzzling penis-enhancer Madoc bought his sons that won’t make their manly areas any bigger despite what teenage boys like to think. He purchased the big black truck for them in hopes they’d learn to share—and be forced to go places together since they fought a lot.

The pollutants from it are probably strong enough to kill cockroaches . . . underground . . . in Antarctica.

Actually, I’m not that concerned with pollution. I just enjoy riding a bike, because it’s something where I don’t fall in line with the rest of my family, and it gives me an excuse to take longer to get home. More me-time and all that.

Dylan smiles at me, a gentle look in her blue eyes. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

I nod and slip my backpack on my back. Pulling out my bike, I hear Kade and Hunter’s truck fire up behind me, and they, along with Dylan, charge out of the school parking lot, mostly empty now since school ended two hours ago.

Climbing on my bike, I push off and pedal out of the parking lot, inhaling the fresh scent of lilacs that carries on the light wind around the school.

I love this time of day, right before parents get off work but after school lets out. The streets are quiet, and the sun is falling to the west. It’s warm, but it’s not beating down on my shoulders and neck like it does during midday. Glimmers of yellow peek through the cluster of leaves overhead, and I speed down streets lined with cars, hearing kids in their Rollerblades playing hockey in a driveway.

Since it’s Friday night, I don’t have to worry about rushing home to do my schoolwork or study. It’s nearly the end of the year, after all. Final papers and projects have already been turned in, final exams are scheduled, and graduation practice is in full swing. I’m in the homestretch.

It’s also Dylan’s big night. In addition to just getting her license and her father’s old car a few months ago, she’ll be making her debut at the track tonight. I have to be there.

But first . . . I cruise around a corner and keep pedaling into the center of town. My hair blows behind me, and I love the feel of the wind in my clothes. I smile to myself, thinking about how the boys keep begging to get me a car, but wouldn’t they just flip their lids if they knew I might actually be interested in a motorbike instead?

As I race up to High Street, I turn right and ease on the brake as I pull up next to the curb in front of a shop on the corner of Sutton and park my bike.

Standing and gazing through the old wooden French doors with chipped red paint, I see everything looks the same as it was yesterday when I came here. Cobwebs block my view, but I can make out the broken-down counter of the old café, the stools with cracked vinyl, the empty, dusty shelves, and a chair overturned on the floor with random bits of debris scattered around.

Stepping to the left of the door, I peer through the display window, its shelves also coated with a thick layer of dust.

I would take those shelves out. Potential customers want to see the inside of a store before they enter, so yeah . . . take out the shelves, so they can see what kind of place it is.

I chew my bottom lip, the excitement sending off a wave of butterflies in my stomach.

I’d also paint the outside brick a cream color, like a pastry, and then I’d paint the doors turquoise, my favorite color. It would make it bright, like summer. Inviting, happy, quaint . . .

Perfect for a summer business.

I’d also add a few tables with umbrellas out front, a menu with not only pastries and baked goods, but also an assortment of refreshers and maybe some ice cream.

And I’d leave the doors open all day, so the neighborhood can smell the breads and sweets all the way down the street.

“Hey,” I hear someone call to me.

I turn my head and see a guy come around from behind me. He’s wearing jeans, a white T-shirt with writing on it, and he’s young, probably about my age, but I’ve never seen him at my school.

“What’s your name?” he asks, and I spot a group of guys standing down the sidewalk from where he came, talking and laughing.

I turn away, looking back at the old bakery. The For Lease sign in the window has a phone number with it. I’m not trying to be rude to him, but he doesn’t get personal information about me simply because he thinks he’s cute. Especially if I don’t know him.

“You go to Falls High, right?”

I ignore him again, turning for my bike to go home.

But my cap is plucked off my head. I whip around, seeing him hold it high and away from me, grinning.

He waves the hat back and forth. “What do I have to do to get you to talk to me?”

“Asshole,” I say. “There. I talked. Now give me the hat back.”

But he just laughs.

I dart out my hand, trying to snatch it back. “Give it to me!”

That hat hasn’t left my possession in four years. If I’m not wearing it, I’m carrying it on my backpack. Lucas will come home someday, and he’ll want it back. My stomach starts to churn, thinking about how I can’t lose it.

“It’s kind of old and ratty, isn’t it?” the guy, whose name I don’t care to find out, comments. “I can take you to a Cubs game and get you a new one.”

I shoot forward again, grabbing for the hat, but I just miss it as he pulls it away.

“You still didn’t tell me your name,” he chides, smiling like he just loves this little game of his.

I bare my teeth, breathing hard. Moving forward, I slam my palm into his chest, pushing him backward and making him stumble. Taking my chance, I reach out and grab the hat out of his hand.

He shakes with laughter and grins at me as I squeeze the cap in my fist.

But then his face falls and his eyes focus over my head. “Can I help you?” he asks, an annoyed tone to his voice.

A shadow falls over me, and I feel someone at my back. Twisting my head, I see Jared, my oldest brother, hovering over me and looking at Asswipe like he’s just dying for the kid to give him a reason.

“Oh, no,” I hear someone say. I look behind the guy and see another kid heading up to us. He swings an arm around the shoulder of the guy talking to us and pulls him back. “I’m sorry, Jared. He’s new in town.” He pulls the guy back until they both turn around and head away, the scared one mumbling something in the new kid’s ear.

And then they’re gone.

I sigh and twist around, facing Jared. “I handled it,” I tell him. “You’re really embarrassing sometimes.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “The sister of the head of JT Racing driving a bicycle is embarrassing.”

I growl under my breath and pull the hat down on my head again. I’m not having this conversation. Jared, Madoc, and Jax had just been waiting for me to turn sixteen, get my license, and pick out a car. They couldn’t wait to work on it, make modifications, whatever . . .

They’re still frothing at the mouth for me to change my mind.

“Do you want a ride home?” he asks. “I was heading there, anyway.”

I glance at his pickup, parked at the curb, with his eight-year-old son, James, and Madoc’s daughter, A.J., sitting in the backseat.

But I turn away. “I’m cool. Heading for the biker bar first,” I say nonchalantly, climbing on my bike. “Maybe do some cocaine. Have unprotected sex.”

“Wait!” he calls.

He heads for his truck, still idling. “This was sent to our house accidentally.” He reaches through the passenger side window and pulls out a yellow package.

Stepping up, he tosses me the bubble mailer, and I catch it, instantly feeling something solid inside. Turning it over, I see that it’s addressed to me, but the top left-hand corner is empty.

“There’s no return address.” I glance up, holding out the package to him. “You don’t want to check it for anthrax first?”

He rolls his eyes at me and walks for the driver’s side of his car, Seether’s “Remedy” blasting from inside.

But I can see a hint of a smile under his scowl. “I’ll see you tonight,” he says. And then he jerks his eyes over to the sidewalk where the group of guys is loitering. “And you!” He points to the jerk that was hassling me. “There’s two more of me in this town. Don’t forget it!”

The guy instantly tenses and turns away, trying to act like Jared’s not talking to him. I laugh to myself and stuff the package in my backpack.

Sometimes I hate how my brothers hover. And sometimes I love it.

•   •   •

After getting home and parking my bike in the garage, I head straight for the kitchen.

My dad is probably still in the city, and my mom is usually out running errands night and day now. Since Madoc is running for mayor, she’d enlisted herself as his event coordinator and is constantly meeting with venues, caterers, musicians . . .

This is the time of day I like best. No one is home, there’s no pressure, and, for a little while, I’m relaxed.

Dropping my backpack on the kitchen counter, I grab a Fresca out of the refrigerator and jog upstairs to my bedroom. I want to get in the pool before someone shows up to distract me.

Slipping on my white bikini and grabbing a towel from the bathroom, I grab my backpack off the counter downstairs along with my drinks and carry everything through the doors leading onto the back patio.

The rush of the waterfall spilling over rocks as it cascades down into the pool immediately relaxes me, and a smile pulls at my lips. When my parents moved us back to Shelburne Falls from Chicago and decided to put in a pool, the waterfall was one of the things on my wish list. It reminded me of the trip to Yosemite our family took when I was eleven. Nearly everyone opted to stay at camp and swim or fish, but Jax, Lucas, and I hiked the Mist Trail, past two waterfalls.

I can still feel the cool spray hitting my arms and legs as we hiked the steps. I can still hear the thunder of the water and feel the force of it rushing past us. And the smell . . .

Evergreens, water, and earth. Like sunrise in a cave.

My dad knew how much I loved the trip and had the waterfall put in, even though I only mentioned it once. He does so much to try to make me happy. And even though we still keep an apartment in Chicago, since my parents have to be there so much and it’s easier than living out of a suitcase in a hotel room, I’ve rarely been back since moving here before freshman year. I’m not a city person.

Taking another sip of soda, I set my stuff down on one of the patio tables, feeling the late afternoon sun warm my shoulders. I dig in my backpack for my iPad, but then pause on the envelope Jared gave me.

I’d nearly forgotten. Pulling it out, I survey the front of the package again, seeing that it’s addressed to me, but it was sent to Jared and Tate’s. That’s weird. I’d never used their address. And there’s no return address, but the postmark reads Toronto. I eye it curiously. I don’t know anyone in Canada.

As soon as I tear away the top of the package and peek inside, I’m hurrying to reach in and pull out the book the envelope contains.

A used book.

It’s a hardcover with a tattered paper cover, the edges slightly torn and curling. Peeking back inside the envelope, I see that there’s nothing else. No note. No business card. Nothing.

Setting the envelope down in confusion, I’m wondering who would send me an old book.

In search of clues, I fan the pages so that the scent of aged paper wafts into my nostrils. The book is in decent shape, but the edges of the pages are slightly tattered, and the spine is broken in.

Closing the book, I read the front cover. Next to Never. There’s no author. That’s strange.

Turning the book over, I scan the back cover, reading the synopsis.

And quickly stop, rolling my eyes. I toss the book back down onto the table.

Romance. While I’m intrigued by who would send me a random book, I don’t care to waste my time.

Instead I walk to the edge of the pool, step in, slowly descending up to my calves, and then my thighs and waist. Pushing off, I dive beneath the surface, completely submerging myself as the cool rush of water soothes my body and caresses my scalp. I pop up through the surface, pushing my hair back, and then return to the edge of the pool, reaching up to grab the envelope again.

Toronto.

Pasha’s in Toronto, I guess. But I’m not close with her, and I don’t get the impression sappy chick novels are her thing. And I don’t know anyone else there, so . . .

In fact, the only other person I know that lives outside of this state is Lucas. I highly doubt, though, he’d send me a romance novel. Especially when he hasn’t kept in touch.

Tossing the envelope down, I reach up and grab my iPad, tapping my finger on the search bar and watching the cursor start blinking. My hands shake for a moment as I hesitate, but then I just start tapping away.

Lucas Evan Morrow.

The blue circle starts spinning, and my heart flips in my chest as my stomach starts to cave. I don’t want to see search results, and the other part of me just wants them to pop up really quickly to get this over with.

I still have time. I can turn off the iPad right now, because the only thing better than knowing is wondering, right? I’m a curious girl, but what if I don’t like what I find? I’d gone all this time without Googling him. I’m happier that way. What if he’s gotten married? Is serious with someone? Has he turned into a jerk with male-pattern baldness and a beer belly? He’s almost thirty now, so what’s the point of obsessing—

And then . . . a flutter hits my belly as image after image starts to load onto the screen.

Oh, God.

I lick my lips, all of my questions fading away as I’m suddenly lost.

There he is.

There are images upon images. Him at meetings, grand openings, parties . . . some of them are official—Lucas shaking hands with other businessmen and foreign sheiks—and then, in some, it doesn’t look like he even knows he’s being photographed. Head bent down and that look of stern concentration in his brow that I remember so well.

He’s beautiful. A sudden sob lodges in my throat but I catch it just in time.

I’ve missed him. I didn’t realize how much until now, except now I understand why I’ve refrained from looking him up. It hurts too much.

I grew up with him, talked to him and saw him regularly, and, in all this time, he hasn’t written or called or come home. He forgot about all of us, just like I’d told him he would.

No. I don’t want to see his life that I’m not a part of.

But as I gaze into his eyes, like the blue of the Pacific ten minutes after sundown, I also realize it’s something else, too. As my heart pounds, tears that I hold back stinging my eyes and every muscle in my chest tightening at the sight of him, I realize as I look at his gorgeous face that it’s more than missing him.

It’s longing.

His clothes have changed. He is almost always in a suit in nearly every picture, looking taller and older, with his tie tightened, and a flexed jaw like he’s in a constant state of preparing for a confrontation.

Where’s the guy with greasy hands who helped my brothers in the garage and taught me how to play in the dirt?

“Hey.”

I pop my head up, hearing a call behind me. Hawke comes through the doors from the kitchen, and I turn the iPad over, hiding the screen.

He throws a towel onto a lounge chair and walks up to the pool, pulling his shirt up and over his head.

“Turn around,” he warns.

I roll my eyes and do what he asks, knowing why. Behind me, I hear the shuffle of clothes as he strips off his shorts and shoes, getting naked, and pulls on swimming trunks, no doubt. Hawke is my nephew but we’re not related by blood. A fact he uses to test the lines in our family. We would never hook up, but he likes to remind me that we can if we want to. You know . . . “for practice.”

As soon as I hear the splash of water, I turn around and see his dark form gliding under the water toward me. He pops up, flipping back his hair, longer on the top, shaved on the sides, and his lip and eyebrow rings glimmer in the sunlight.

“Hi,” I say. “You weren’t at school today.”

“Had some stuff to do.”

He floats backward, and I can tell I’m not going to get any more information. Hawke skips school rarely, but lately, it’s getting more frequent.

But although I’m curious, I’m not really worried, either. He keeps his grades up and doesn’t seem to be getting into trouble. Hawke knows how to take care of himself. I just hope his mom doesn’t find out. She pushes education. A lot.

Growing up, it wasn’t “if we go to college,” it was “when we go to college.”

“Are you off-roading tonight?”

He stands back up, shaking his head as he walks toward me. “No, but I can if you want to come with me,” he teases. “I’ll let you drive.”

“I don’t know how to drive.”

He stalks closer, a playful look in his eyes. “It’s time you learned.” He puts his hands on the edge of the pool at my sides. “Enough fucking around. If you can’t practice on me, who can you practice on?”

I nearly laugh. “You mean practice with you?”

He shrugs. “Either or.” And then he grabs my iPad from behind me, flipping it over. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” I burst out, suddenly on alert as I dart out to grab it.

But his eyebrows shoot up when he no doubt sees what’s still on the screen. His eyes fix on me, and a drop of water falls from his hair down the side of his face.

“Still?” he inquires.

My shoulders tense, my guard going up, and I snatch the iPad back, turning it off again.

“They would never let it happen,” he states.

His words loom around me like a cage, and I don’t need him to clarify. I know what he’s talking about.

My wonderment with Lucas at eight had turned into a crush by the time I was fourteen. And now, at seventeen, it still sits there, this small, constant flame in the back of my heart. Despite the distance, the loss of contact, him being twenty-nine years old and a full-grown man . . .

Oh, Jesus. Hawke is right.

Madoc might come to terms with it, as well as Tate and Juliet. But Jared, Jax, and my father?

They only see in black and white.

I force down the tightness in my throat and put the iPad away, turning around to Hawke.

“So . . . ,” I broach, changing the subject. “This ‘stuff’ you’re doing . . . is it illegal?”

He hoods his eyes. “That’s insulting.”

“But still . . . is it illegal?”

He splashes some water on me. “Forget it. I’m not telling you shit.”

“Why not?”

“Because one look from my dad and you crack.”

I laugh and splash him back. That’s probably true.

“What are you reading?” he inquires, reaching over me. I see him take the hardcover book off the table.

“Be careful!” I wince. “Your hands are wet.”

“‘What if you met your soul mate too late?’” He reads the back cover. “‘Would you let them go or would you hurt the ones you loved and risk everything to be together?’” He stops, wrinkling his eyebrows to look down at me with mischief in his eyes. “Lucas is only like thirty. It’s not too late.”

“Shut up,” I bite out, trying to grab for the book.

But he holds it up, pushing my hands away as he continues to read.

“‘On a cold winter night, Jase sees a young girl in an empty parking lot, and he doesn’t know what to do first: get her name or get her into his bed.’” Hawke busts out laughing, shaking as he turns his eyes back on me. “What the hell is this crap?”

“Just . . .” I snatch the book and throw it back up on the table. “Stop being an asshole for five seconds. It’s none of your business.”

“Women are totally into porn. I knew it.”

His gloating smirk is pissing me off. “It’s not porn,” I tell him. “I don’t think it is, anyway. Someone sent it to me in the mail.”

“You don’t know who?”

“No.” I shake my head and lean back against the edge of the pool. “And there was no note, either.”

“Mysterious,” he mumbles and then looks over at me again, waggling his eyebrows. “Are you going to read it? See if he gets her into his bed?”

This is why he’s my least favorite relative. He’s constantly trying to bait me.

But he’s also the one I’m closest to. Hawke always thinks of himself last, and I admire that about him.

“You do know what happens when you get into a man’s bed, right?” he asks.

“More than what happens when a girl gets into your bed, I hear.”

He chuckles. “Don’t test me, Quinn. Remember that we’re not actually related.”

I look over at him again, seeing his cocky smile, while his hands dance back and forth underneath the water.

“Oh, and what are you going to do?” I retort. “Convulse on top of me for fifteen seconds and then fall asleep?”

He lunges for me, and I squeal as he wraps his arms around me and picks me up off my feet.

“No!” I scream, but my stomach flips, and I’m laughing anyway.

He tosses me a couple feet, and then I’m free-falling.

My laugh follows me under the water.

Yep, definitely my least favorite relative.