1. Gavin

ONE

GAVIN

Me: I’m at your front door.

Aiden: Mine?

Me: No, Beckett’s.

Aiden: What are you guys doing?

Me: Taking Finn to the park.

Brooks: Have fun. Need me to bring anything for dinner tonight?

Aiden: Can I come to the park? Which one? I can be there in ten minutes.

Me: No.

Brooks: LOL

Aiden: Why? You nervous Finn will be more interested in hanging out with me? That he’ll leave your grumpy ass sitting on the bench while we play tag?

Brooks: Aiden, remember he’s your coach now. That’s why he’s grumpy.

Me: I’m not grumpy.

Beckett: You really are. It’s weird when I’m known as the fun brother.

Aiden: You’re not. Don’t worry. That would still be me.

Beckett: Duck you.

Me: Still standing at your door. You gonna open it anytime soon?

Beckett: It’s open. Livy and the babies are asleep upstairs, so grab Finn and get out.

Me: LOL. See? You’re still the grumpy one.

Beckett: No. I’m the tired one. You’ll understand when you have kids.

Me: Yeah, that’s not going to happen. And no way would I follow in your footsteps and end up with 25 of them.

Beckett: I have five. You going to come inside or what?

Aiden: Beckett, want me to pick up Addie and Winnie? I am the favorite uncle, after all.

Beckett: Sara and Brooks are taking them so I can nap with my wife. Any other questions?

Aiden: Jeez. You are the grumpy one.

I chuckle as I pocket my phone and head inside the brownstone, where my brother lives with his twenty-five kids. I tease him because, for a while, he really did live with a shit ton of kids, but truthfully, I’m jealous of the life he has now. Up until this year, I didn’t think I wanted that kind of life. Had zero interest in settling down or having kids. But now?

Well, now the only woman I want that with is gone, and everything in my life is wrong because of it.

I scrub a hand over my face and push her from my mind. There’s no going back.

“Uncle Gav!” Finn shouts loud enough to rattle the walls. At the same time, Deogi comes bounding toward me. He’s some type of oversized mutt Beckett brought home as a surprise for his kids last year. Liv was less than impressed, but she certainly had a surprise of her own when, that same night, she told him they were having twins.

I give the dog some loving while eyeing my brother.

Beckett throws his head back, defeat and exhaustion evident on his face and in his drooping posture. My brother, who is always well dressed, without a hair out of place or a whisker on his face, is covered in a five o’clock shadow gone wrong. So very fucking wrong.

“Your beard is gray,” I say, and that little dig makes me feel a modicum better. God, I am grumpy.

“And your face is ugly. Let’s not point out obvious facts.”

A low laugh rumbles out of me. Jesus, I need to spend more time with Beckett. He might be the only person I like these days, and that’s only because messing with him makes me feel slightly better about myself.

“Sure you don’t want to come to the park with us?”

He’s crouched down, giving Finn a quiet talking-to. The way they are together, the way my brother is Finn’s whole world, creates an ache inside me that I don’t understand.

I’m the cool uncle. Finn loves me. I don’t need to be a dad to be content with my life.

Right?

Beckett stands, head still dipped, and holds out a fist for Finn to bump. Then he looks up at me. “No. As much as I’d love some time with my favorite guy”—he looks at Finn and gives him half a smile—“I need sleep.”

I thumb toward the door. “All right, we’ll get out of your hair. Want me to keep the kids tonight? The team is coming over for dinner, but they wouldn’t mind.”

“Nah, Winnie is sleeping over at Delia’s, Finn is going to Shayla’s, and Addie is going to Dylan’s. We’ll just have the twins, and since you don’t have boobs, you can’t handle them.”

Huffing a laugh, I turn to the window and survey the houses that surround Beckett’s. Last year, my brother moved into the house down the street with his wife and her best friends. They lived that way for a while, in a house overrun with kids. Now, though, Delia, Shayla, and Dylan, along with their husbands, have houses on the same block, meaning my brother and his family have help close by.

He has me and the boys too. Aiden may be my biggest pain in the ass, and Brooks might still be on my shit list because of what his lies this past year nearly cost the team, but I love them and know they’d do anything for Beckett and his kids.

As would I.

Finn slides his aviators over his eyes and starts for the door.

“Coat,” Beckett growls.

Finn turns around, decked out in his newest favorite style choice. For more than a year, all he wore was fatigues and tutus. Interesting combination for sure. But he recently transitioned to a new look that he calls his jean tuxedo. It’s literally a jean jacket buttoned all the way up, washed-out denim pants, white sneakers, and his aviators. The boy also likes to wear shiny jewelry.

He’s hysterical.

“Bossman,” he says, sliding his glasses down on his nose so Beckett gets the full impact of his incredulous expression. “You don’t cover the fit.” The six-year-old runs his hand up and down his body, as if to put himself on display.

“You do when it’s thirty degrees out in Boston,” my brother reminds him, pulling a puffy black jacket off a hook at the door.

The way Finn grumbles as he puts it on has me chuckling as I follow him out the door.

We stop at McDonald’s, which is not at all part of the diet I normally follow. As the new head coach of the Boston Bolts, a team my family owns and I oversee, I typically enforce the same kind of dietary constraints on myself as I do on my players. But sometimes a guy just needs an Oreo McFlurry and fries.

“What do you think? Should I text her?” I turn to Finn on the park bench, still scrolling through the chain of text messages that stopped months ago when I told my girlfriend that it was over. Not because I don’t love her or because I want anyone else, but because I couldn’t keep up with the secrets and lies.

Finn twists his lips and studies me, french fry midway to his mouth.

A laugh from my other side gets my attention. The man seated at the end of the bench is wearing an unzipped oversized jacket over his thin frame. White scruff covers his face, and he’s got a navy-blue Bolts beanie pulled over his ears.

“You tell your problems to a kindergartener?”

“Hey, I’m in first grade!” Finn defends.

He huffs a laugh but gives Finn a nod of apology.

My nephew peers up at me, his brow scrunched. “He has a point. You’ve been telling me about Princess Peaches for a long time.”

“Just Peaches. Princess Peach is from the Super Mario game,” I say, deciding it’s probably best to ignore the old man and his judgment.

Finn shrugs, his legs swinging. “That’s how I picture her. Does she drive a cool car at least?”

I snort. “Ya know, Finn, I don’t know if she drives at all.”

That makes my chest ache a bit. That’s the kind of thing I probably should know, but I’ve never seen her drive a car. She lives in Paris, so she walks or takes taxis. If she lived here, maybe I’d know.

I shake my head. She doesn’t live here, and that’s just one of the millions of issues we had.

“You got any great advice?” I ask the old man.

He cocks his head and studies me, his wrinkles deepening. “About what?”

“You’ve clearly been listening, and you were quick to judge my choice in a confidant, so you got any suggestions?”

He narrows his eyes and purses his lips. “I’d need you to start from the beginning.”

Finn spots a group of kids on the playground and takes off without a word, leaving me with the judgmental stranger. I stare at the man and wonder if it’s even worth it. Then I remember the moment I first saw her. And every moment after that.

Every moment is tattooed onto my brain, forcing me to relive it daily. Maybe I just need to say it all out loud. Maybe going backwards will free me…

Or maybe I’m a glutton for punishment and I’m just looking for someone else to talk to about Peaches.

“Well, it all started two years ago…”