Full House (Stacked Deck Book 4)

by Emilia Finn

  Finally, he pulls into the driveway of our home, cuts the engine, and allows me to turn back to Miles.

  “Dinner. Lake. Sorbet. And if you remind me, I’ll tell you about the statue in your spare room. I forgot that I never did tell you.”

  “He’s still creepy as fuck.”

  Smiling, I cast my gaze across the estate when my brother slides out of his lowered car onto heavy, booted feet.

  Blue jeans, black shirt, and a hat pulled low over his eyes despite the dark, he turns to us and stares for a moment.

  Finally, I turn back to Miles. “Please?”

  “Fine.” He blows out a heady breath, knocks his knee into mine. “Brooklyn, would you come to dinner with me next Friday night? My daughter would like to come too, so maybe we should get chicken from the diner and take it to the lake.”

  “Oh gosh, Miles.” I press a hand to my face. “I really… I’m not… Wow. You’ve caught me off guard.”

  “You’re a jerk,” he mutters, as Bry turns toward us, rather than our house.

  He digs his hands into his pockets, hunches his shoulders, and makes his way over here.

  “Sure.” I turn to Miles. And just to annoy everyone, I slap a kiss on his cheek and smile when he jolts. “I would love to come to dinner with you and Lyss. I appreciate the invitation.”

  “Brooke.” Bry moves a little faster, though by general standards, he’s not in a rush. He steps off the road and onto the grass out front of Miles’ house, then keeps on coming, and doesn’t stop until his toes touch the bottom step and his dark eyes catch mine. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m coming.” I smile and act like Bry didn’t just bring a metric ton of weird juju over this way. “I was heading in anyway. Goodnight, Miles.”

  “Mm.” It’s a grunt. “Night. Alyssa, come out here, and bring Twain with you.”

  Running footsteps – two very different kinds – race along tile from the living room to the front door. Alyssa bursts outside, giggling and silly in her unicorn pyjamas, and Twain follows right behind her with what I’m certain is a smile.

  “Hi, Miss Brooke.”

  “Hey, beautiful. I was just heading home, so we don’t get to hang out tonight. I’m sorry.” I hate that her smile drops to a pout. “But maybe tomorrow? We’ll do something.”

  “For real?”

  “Sure. You name it. Come on over after school, and I’ll dedicate my entire afternoon to you. Pinky-promise.”

  “Can we write a book? Daddy told me how you wrote those books. I was so mad when I saw someone scribbled in mine.”

  I laugh. Autographs, to children, just aren’t what they are to adults. “I’m sorry for scribbling. And yes, we absolutely can write a book. Tomorrow afternoon. Pencil me into your calendar.”

  “Okay! Goodnight, Twain. Goodnight, Miss Brooke.” Shyly, she looks to Bry, and gives a type of curtsy. “Mr. Bryan.”

  He flashes a wicked grin and winks just for her.

  “Goodnight,” I repeat. “Talk to you tomorrow, Lyss.” I look to her dad, who remains sitting exactly where he started. “Goodnight, Miles.”

  If Bry wasn’t here, practically standing over me, I might lean into Miles and steal a kiss. But I don’t think it would go over well. So I smile instead, tip my chin, and silently laugh as my brother yanks me away.

  “Ouch.” I tear my hand from his grasp as he pulls me across the grass and onto the road. “You hurt me, jerk.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Hurting me? Good. If you did, I’d wonder what kind of sociopath you were, and whether it’s too late to swap you at the hospital.”

  “Not me, dinkus. You and him. You’re being too friendly, and he’s got a world of life experience on you. He’s too old.”

  “He’s twenty-three.”

  “With a six-year-old kid, which basically means he’s thirty-three. And you’re twenty. We’re not doing that.”

  “You smell like perfume.” I lean in extra close, giggle when our feet tangle, and he barely stops us from falling, and bury my nose against my brother’s chest. “You smell like cheap slut. Thought you’d like to know, since we’re sticking our noses into each other’s business now.”

  “She wasn’t cheap. And you’re not allowed to crush on a dad. It’s weird.”

  “You’re weird.”

  “Solid burn.” He rolls his eyes as we move past his car – hot, as I run my hand in the air above the engine – and then onto our grass. “I said no. And if you keep going over there, I’m gonna tell Mom.”

  “Solid burn,” I toss back at him. “But unlike you, Baby Bry, Mom doesn’t scare me. Why do you smell like slut? Who the hell do you hang out with? Don’t they know drug store perfume is just gasoline fumes?”

  “Funny, I bought you drug store perfume last Christmas. You liked it.”

  “No, I told you I liked it to be polite. Then I threw the slut stench into the trash and told you I loved it so much it was all gone already.” I pat his chest and push the front door open to reveal a house alive with people.

  So many effing people.

  “Mom?”

  “In the kitchen, babe.”

  I follow the noise, follow Mom’s voice, and pull Bry into the kitchen where my aunts sit around the island counter just like the one in Miles’ home. Aunt Tink, Iz, Tina, Britt, and my mom. They pack away leftovers from dinner, and sip on glasses of what appears to be lemonade.

  “Hey.”

  As soon as she sees us, Mom changes direction and brings back a dish of something that smells like heaven. “I’ll heat some up for you guys.”

  I release Bry’s hand and step into my Aunt Tink’s waiting arms. She doesn’t have to speak, doesn’t have to ask. She merely holds an arm out, and I go to her.

  But while I do that, I watch the woman that looks a hell of a lot like me fill two plates with lasagna and salad. “Hey, Mom?”

  “Yeah?” Distracted, she licks spilled sauce off her finger and glances up at me. “What’s up?”

  “Bry smells like a dirty slut rubbed herself on him all night.”

  And that does it, as five self-respecting women snap their heads up and study their son and nephew with filthy scowls.

  “Bryan Kincaid,” Mom snaps. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “You can go.” I sit on the couch with Lyss, our postures terrible as we slump in and rest our feet on Twain’s sleeping back.

  Notebook in hand, and armed with a dozen different colored pens, she and I are equipped and ready to write the next great American novel.

  And her poor dad doesn’t know what to do with his time.

  “Miles?” I tilt my head to the side. “You’ve been dismissed.”

  “But I… she…” He looks from me to his daughter, back and forth, while she adopts the same attitude that comes so easily to me.

  She tilts her head, smirks, and shoos him away with a flick of her wrist.

  “I don’t know how…” His eyes flick to the front door, then back to us. “Brooke…”

  “We’re right here, Miles. Literally inside your own home. We’re writing a book, just like I promised, and you have to work out. Stacked Deck isn’t going to go slow for you just because you wanted to sit with us and get lazy. You need to keep your fitness up.”

  “I’ll be just outside, okay?”

  I swear this is a monumental moment for the obsessive dad. It’s not like he’s leaving her with a random babysitter, and galivanting all over town. He’ll literally be outside – and I have good money on the fact he’ll keep the door open.

  “Brooke…”

  “Miles!”

  “Fine.” He throws his hands up and spins to walk away, only to spin back and storm into the room.

  He crosses the space in a half a dozen long strides, comes up to the back of the couch, and drops a noisy kiss on the top of Lyss’ head. She giggles from his intensity, but her giggle goes wild when he steps to the right and does the same for me.

  Except it’s not my h
ead. It’s my lips.

  Oh god.

  My blood fires when he grabs my chin and yanks my head up so fast that my neck almost snaps. Broad hand under my chin, commanding which way I move, he slams his lips down over mine, and when I squeak from surprise and Lyss squeals with delight, Miles’ tongue taps at my lip and draws a hot sigh from the center of my chest.

  Before I can toss my book aside and reach up to hold him close, he ends it, pulls back with a gasp, and looks at me upside down while I melt into a pool of goo.

  Those dark eyes, so frightening and serious, stare at me for a whole minute. Then he nods just once, grunts, and turns away. “Be good. Both of you.”

  And then he’s gone.

  “Daddy!” Lyss rolls around in place, giggling and clutching to her teddy bear like it’s her only constant. “Daddy kissed a girl! Eww!”

  “Hey now.” Still reeling, breathless, I try to focus on the girl and not her dad. “I’m not eww. I’m Brooke.”

  “He kissed you.” Her voice breaks because of her bubbling laughter. At least she’s not crying, I suppose. “My daddy kissed you on the lips.”

  “Yeah…” I clear my throat and cast a glance to the now empty doorway. “He sure did. I liked it.”

  That elicits another round of howling laughter. “Eww!”

  “Stop saying eww. You make me feel unloved. Come on.” I grab the notebook that slid off my lap. Collect the pens that have rolled away. “Let’s write a book. Then we can show your dad when he’s finished working out.”

  “Okay…” She tries to even her voice, but every couple of minutes, giggles erupt, and she buries her reddened face into her teddy’s neck. “Hey, Miss Brooke?”

  “Yeah, baby?” I remove the cap from my pen, set it on the end. “What’s up?”

  “I liked it too.”

  I frown and look to her. “Huh?”

  “I like that my daddy kissed you. He never does that with anybody, and it made him smile. So I like that he did it.”

  “Oh… well… cool. Thanks.”

  “He’s the best hugger,” she adds. “You should ask for one of those, too.”

  It’s crazy that I should yearn for something as simple as a hug, but I do. My body bows in defense, my stomach swirls because his arms aren’t around me, and my lips continue to tingle, because his kiss sends electricity right down to my toes.

  “Okay, baby.” I sit a little taller, throw my arm over Lyss’ shoulders, and pull her in closer. “Let’s get started before we run out of time. What do you want to write about?”

  “Kisses.” She bursts into laughter when I respond with a grunt. “Let’s write a kissy book.”

  “Okay.”

  So I write in the top corner of a fresh page, ‘kiss’.

  “Who are your main characters, baby? Maybe animals, like in my books?”

  She bobs her head in affirmation.

  “Okay, what kind of animals? We need two main characters if there’s going to be kissing.”

  “Maybe a tiger,” she growls her words. “An angry tiger with big teeth and long legs. He can be strong and fast, but his fur is soft and nice. And when he smiles, it looks scary, because his teeth look like they’re going to chop your head off.”

  “Wow…” I write down her notes. “Scary tiger. Got it. And the other character?”

  “A…” She thinks about it. “Maybe an antelope?” She taps her bottom lip with her finger. “Like the kind in Lion King?”

  I nod. “Okay. Antelope. Wouldn’t a tiger hunt an antelope?”

  “Uh huh. But our tiger doesn’t. Our tiger loves his antelope. When they kiss, it’ll be scary, but it’ll be okay in the end. Because he’ll be careful. And she’ll be careful. Everyone will be careful and happy.”

  Miles

  Dinner Date

  I’m not sure I’ve ever been as scared in my life as I am right now, as I take Lyss’ hand in mine and wander down the front steps of our porch. Instead of heading to our car, we walk onto the narrow road and head left… toward Bobby Kincaid’s home.

  “It’s okay, Daddy.”

  “You look beautiful, baby.” I release her hand, but only so I can pull her in so we walk with her arms wrapped around my thigh.

  We have to move slower when we do this, but it’s worth it. Every single time, it’s worth it. Because with every day that passes, my little girl grows just a little taller. She used to walk like this and rest her cheek on my knee. Now we do it, and her cheek rests on my hip. And fuck, but that ain’t okay with me.

  She wears a cute outfit tonight, a pink sweater with a unicorn that literally looks like it’s shitting rainbows, and a rainbow skirt made of tulle. She wore her light-up shoes too, on my request, since the fact she has flashing lights telegraphing her every move eases my anxiety. When everything else seems to be wild and out of my control, my daughter’s flashing shoes make things just that little bit easier.

  I don’t get to wear rainbows on my shirt, no lights in my shoes, no unicorns or piggy tails. Instead, I wear blue jeans, boots, and a black button-up shirt that makes me feel like I’ve dressed up. It’s just a shirt, just jeans, but it’s neat and makes me feel a little more put-together for the woman I know will take my breath away as soon as she opens her door.

  She’s too pretty for me, too smart, too everything. It blows my mind that she’s so fucking stubborn about us getting dinner, when she has so much to offer us, and all I’m bringing to the party is a metric ton of emotional baggage I’m not sure I know how to work through.

  Sometimes, someone walks through your life, and their only mission is to fuck you up so bad that you’ll never be the same again. But there are other people too, they move through your life, and change things. They cleanse the black someone else left. They weave love and kindness and happiness where there was only bitterness before.

  Karla hurt us, and Brooke seems determined to help make it better.

  Slowing then stopping at the bottom of Brooke’s porch, I draw in a heady breath, and let it out again on a grunt.

  I never spoke to Bobby about dating his daughter.

  I chickened out, I panicked, and though I spend my workday training with Ben, Evie, and Mac, I know damn well where to find Bobby. I know where he hangs out, and I know that he deserves a man for his daughter, a real man that isn’t too cowardly to ask for permission first.

  Shit. It’s our first date, and I’ve already screwed it up.

  “Come on, Daddy.” Lyss squeezes my hand with impatience, drags me up the steps.

  When we reach the door, and I do nothing but stare, she huffs and presses her finger to the doorbell.

  She’s excited for dinner and the lake. And I’m freaking out about everything crashing down before it truly gets going.

  Heavy footsteps thud against a staircase inside. Silence. And then the locks flick.

  The door swings wide and sucks air with the momentum, but it’s not Bobby Kincaid I’m faced with. Not Brooke or Kit.

  I swallow. “Bry.”

  He’s a little more than a year younger than me, and possesses a goofy sense of humor when he’s hanging out with his family. But for me, he saves his pursed lips and narrowed eyes.

  He stands in black jeans, with black hair that needs a cut, and a cream shirt with a muscle car on the front. And as the silence stretches on, he folds his arms over his broad chest – he’s a heavyweight fighter, just like his dad.

  “Iowa.” He nods. Then he looks to Lyss, and replaces his scowl with a grin. “Hey there, beautiful. I like your sweater.”

  “Yeah?” She bounces with happiness. “Thank you! Santa brought it for me last year when I was five.”

  “Really?” He flips both of his thumbs back at his chest. “Santa brought me this shirt!”

  “For real?” Lyss drops my hand and races forward.

  Zero spatial awareness, fearless, she rests one hand on his hip, and with the other, she slides a finger along the frame of the car.

  “I like it,” she murmur
s. “That car is a little bit like yours, huh?” She looks over her shoulder for the briefest second, then back to Bry’s shirt. “Kinda the same, but not.”

  “Right. Almost the same.” He stares right into my eyes, but keeps his voice light for Lyss. “You here to see my dad?”

  He’s making me say it. Brooke is a grown woman, but he’s going to make me say it anyway.

  “No, we’re here for Brooke. We… Uh…” Stop fucking stuttering! “We’re going out to dinner.”

  His heavy brows wing up in faux surprise. “With my sister? You’re here to take my sister out to dinner?”

  “We’re going to the lake!” Lyss announces while still in his space. “We’re getting chicken, and taking it to the lake. Do you think the mosquitoes will get us still? I don’t like mosquitoes. They make me itchy.”

  “They make me itchy too, cutie.” Bry slides a hand over her cheek – so fucking gentle, considering his demeanor when he looks at me. And fuck it, but I can respect that.

  I told Brooke already; Lyss is number one. So if Bryan wants to give me a hard time, but still treat my daughter with kindness and respect, then I won’t hold a grudge. For as long as he cups her face and makes her smile, I can’t even get mad at him.

  He looks to me. “Chicken at the lake?”

  “Yeah.” I push aside my nerves. Stand taller. “I asked Brooke out for dinner, so if you could let her know we’re here…”

  “Daddy kissed Miss Brooke on the lips.”

  Bry’s fiery eyes snap back to mine. “Really?”

  Fuck.

  “Bryan.” That voice, her voice, snaps from somewhere deep in the house, then comes the sound of racing feet that means she’s running down the stairs.

  Bryan blocks the entire doorway, so I don’t get to steal a look until she’s right here and pushing him aside. She’s not afraid, when Bry makes it his mission to intimidate as many people as he can.

  She shoves him aside and resembles the fighter she swears she’s not, then catches his hand when she shoves so hard, catching him off guard, that she almost slams him into the wall.