“What is wrong with you?” Penelope asks her youngest son, who looks half-dead on the couch.
“Too many beers last.” Ames rubs his head.
“Or it could have been that you drank them in the hot tub, idiot. You really have that just-legal hangover glow about you.” Travis Jr. claps loudly in his brother’s ear, inciting Ames to try and put him in a headlock.
“At least I can handle my alcohol. Remember the time I came to visit you in the city and you puked tequila all over Rittenhouse Square Park?” Ames fires back.
Fletcher sidles up next to me, looking on as my kids try to pummel each other. “God, those were the days. Remember when we used to fight like morons?”
I nod fondly. “They really were. Were we that cocky?”
“Probably cockier.” My twin shrugs. “Lord knows, I puked up enough tequila to last a lifetime.”
My brother has been sober for just about two decades and has turned his life around from the addiction he just mentioned. There were times I never thought I’d drag him out of the darkness, but I’m sure as hell glad we made it to this moment.
“I think we have the scars to prove the most epic of our fights. There is still numbness in my pinky where you broke it over me smashing your skateboard when we were ten.” I give him a pointed look.
Fletch rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like you didn’t get me back for it. I have seven stitches in my head from when you pushed me off a moving dirt bike.”
“I missed you, brother.” I grin.
We don’t see each other as much as I see the rest of my family. Fletcher and his brood are always on the go, flying from country to country. When they do make it to town, that strange twin connection seems to set in, and it’s oddly comforting.
“Hey, stop setting a bad example for the kids. You’re adults now.” I whistle for my stepsons to stop horsing around.
“Technically, I’m still in college.” Ames tries to justify his behavior.
“Speaking of that, we need to talk about your coding assessment coming up. You’re too slow on the systems side.” He knows he needs to practice, but the kid always tries to fall back on how whip-smart he is.
“Dad, it’s Christmas,” he whines.
Out of all the boys, Ames was the youngest when his father died and when I came into all of their lives. He’s the most like me, and we’ve bonded over our love of coding and hacking.
“Fine.” I motion to Travis. “Now give me my grandson. I have so many presents for him to unwrap, he needs to get started.”
Travis hands over the baby with a grin. The whole family thinks it’s the strangest thing how much I’ve taken to the baby, but they forget that I am technically the first to have kids. I adopted the boys and took off running, integrating myself in every part of their lives.
“Sweetheart, he can barely see two inches in front of his own nose.” Penelope rubs my shoulders.
I send her a pout and bounce the little guy on my legs. “Yes, but he knows. He will always remember the day his grandpa bought him his first Rubik’s cube.”
“I do a double take every time you call yourself that.” Fletcher chuckles, shaking his head at me.
Behind the baby’s back, I send him the middle finger.
“Ohhhh, Uncle Forrest did a bad thing!” Charlotte, one of Keaton’s twin girls, giggles as she points at me.
“Thanks, Forrest.” Keaton delivers his usual disappointed dad-figure grimace.
“Come off it, old man,” I tease him.
“Boys, stop it. We’re having a wonderful morning,” Mom admonishes us, and we both straighten our backs like she’s whipped us into shape.
“What Mimi E says, goes.” Travis sends his step-grandmother a warm smile.
“That’s right, honey. Now, who is going to open the next present? Molly, I see one under the tree with your name under it,” Mom instructs her.
The rest of the morning goes off without a hitch, with everyone getting at least one present they’re obsessed with. Jeremy, Max, Molly, and Jett disappear to go play with their new toys and games. Keaton wants to set up his new Big Green Egg grill out back, and Bowen follows. Fletcher received some new paints from Ryan and goes to try them out.
It seems like in one moment, the living room is full, and the next, it’s empty. Just Penelope and I remain, much like the quiet hour we had before everyone came down.
“You spoil that baby,” she chides me.
“Can you blame me? We’re the grandparents now, that’s our role.” Then we get to hand the kid back.
“You are a GILF, though.” Penelope wraps her arms around my waist.
“Did you really just say that? Never knew you had a grandpa fantasy, babe.” I turn, pulling her toward me hastily.
“Only when that grandpa is super young, fit, and has these sexy glasses.” She taps the bridge of my nose.
“Well, this horny grandpa loves you. More than I can even describe.” I rub my growing erection against her. “And it’s with more than just my heart.”
“Forrest!” P gasps but doesn’t stop as my lips trail from her ear down to her collarbone.
My wife is still the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. She knocks my socks off whenever I get a glimpse of her, and most days, I still can’t believe this strong, independent, snarky bombshell chose me.
“The car or our room, baby. Pick one. Because I haven’t unwrapped my Christmas present yet, and I plan on doing it loudly.”
We still have that electric charge that seems to connect us. Even with grown-ass kids, a grandson, and a decade plus of marriage under our belt, we are insatiable. There’s something raw and magnetic about the way we need to go at each other.
“The car.” She moans as my hands dip into her Christmas-themed pajama pants that are identical to the rest of the family.
Before I nearly throw her over my shoulder and carry her out the door, I push one finger into her and growl at how she soaks me.
“Back seat. Now,” I command, and grip her hand.
We sure do get a few looks as we try to secretly dash out of the house, but who gives a fuck? Our kids know we love each other, and they’re grown men. As for my family? They should be used to us showing up late to everything.
Because of this.
Because I am so head over heels for this woman that I can’t stop the need to get my hands and mouth all over her.
After all these years, we’ve still got that flutter.
Fletcher
Tiny orange and pink slivers of light dance over the horizon, and even though my hand is cold, it doesn’t hinder the stroke of the brush.
My paint mimics the tune of the rising sun, washing over the canvas as the sun spreads its light over the blanket of snow laid out before me. I’ve been waiting for days to come up here, on the rooftop balcony, to paint. And when Ryan gave me this new palette and some brushes for Christmas yesterday, I knew it was time.
I’m just playing around, doing a little freehand with no real intention of creating something spectacular. It just feels good to stretch my artistic muscles after taking some time off these last couple of days.
It’s wonderful spending this much time with my family, but I forget how chaotic it can be. Ryan and I are still traveling the globe for her work and spend months of the year in different countries while she runs her nonprofit. Jett, our son, comes with us and is homeschooled, because we believe the education he’s getting by seeing the world and experiencing different cultures is invaluable. As it is, he speaks French and Spanish, along with our native English.
When we first had him, Mom tried to convince us to settle somewhere, leaning heavily on coming back to Fawn Hill. But we just weren’t the type to live in a small town. Ryan never had roots and didn’t necessarily want them, even though she’s a married woman with a family. Her wanderlust spirit is one of the things I love most about her.
And while I will always love my hometown and the people closest to me there, there are also demons I don’t want
to have to see every day. We try to make it home a few times a year for extended periods of time, but living abroad is where we thrive.
That being said, I miss my family. I feel it in my bones, our deep connections, especially when we’re all together on a holiday like this. I feel the ghost of Dad, maybe more than my brothers, since they got more time with him. Well, I guess Forrest, my twin, didn’t. But I was always the black sheep, the one who needed more attention than the other three.
Until his death, my dad tried to give me that. And after, my brothers picked up the slack. They, and our mom, helped me through getting sober in a way I wouldn’t have survived if it wasn’t for them. That alone ties us intricately together in a way most families are not.
As I paint, I think about how much I’ll miss them, but how much I can’t wait to get to our next destination. Ryan, Jett, and I are spending three months in Puerto Rico, where my wife will be teaching underprivileged girls basic coding and computer skills.
There is a noise from the stairs that led up here, and when I pull my eyes away from the canvas, I see Ryan walking toward me.
My woman looks like an angel, wrapped in a furry white blanket that contrasts the jet-black hair spilling over her shoulders. I can only see her bare feet, face, and hair, but my God, does she take my breath away.
Without a word, she comes to me, scooting me back and climbing onto my lap. Her legs straddle me, and she opens the blanket, swallowing me inside the cozy fabric as well.
“Mmm.” I sigh, molding my lips to the warm skin of her neck.
“Good morning,” she whispers, her lips finding the sensitive skin of my earlobe.
“Jett sleeping okay?” I ask, my hands finding her bare back under the blanket and the layer of her shirt.
“Uh-huh. That kid could sleep through an earthquake, world war, or anything of the like,” Ryan jokes.
We tease about his ability to fall deeply into sleep anywhere, but that’s because of the beginning of his life. He’s our miracle baby, our one and only. Ryan’s pregnancy was fraught with problems from the start, and she ended up delivering our son a month early. He was only three pounds when the nurses placed him in my arms for the five seconds my wife and I were allowed to hold him before they rushed him to the NICU. I had to follow him, but not before I heard the nurses and doctors say that Ryan had just passed out.
While the NICU doctors worked to save my son’s life, Ryan was rushed into surgery. She was losing too much blood, the placenta had attached to her uterus and it was tearing. They ended up having to remove it, a full hysterectomy, to save her life. We would never be able to have another child, but that didn’t matter to me at all.
For weeks, we waited on pins and needles to know that Jett would be okay. We visited the NICU daily, sometimes three or four times a day, while Ryan was recovering from surgery.
When he finally came home, it was like the sun had just come out for the first time. I had been through a lot of tough times in my life, and I thought my addictions would be the death of me at some point. Even after I got sober, there were days years down the line that the craving to drink or use was so bad, I’d have to have Ryan basically lock me in the house.
All of that stopped after Jett was born. I had this precious little life depending on me, and it was as if my brain knew he was all I could focus on. Taking care of Ryan and my son was my sole purpose now. In the nine years that have followed, every day has been a blessing. Our little family unit could not be stronger, and the love we all share is so solid and pure that I thank the universe for all of the fortunes it’s given me.
“He’s an angel,” I say, thinking of our raven-haired little boy in his new Spider-man pajamas downstairs.
“The best one. But enough about the kid, where is my attention?” She presses the smile on her lips into mine.
I slant my mouth to give her better access and slide her hips back and forth against my lap. In a moment I’m hard, and it doesn’t even matter that the air slipping into the blanket the more Ryan grinds against me is frigid.
“I love you, Fletcher.” She moans as my hands slide over her bare breasts.
“Forever.” Our kiss seems endless.
A throat clearing behind us has me pulling the blanket protectively around my wife.
“You’re lucky it wasn’t one of the kids who discovered you up here.” Forrest smirks at us. “I set up a little adult breakfast for all of us before the kids wake.”
“You’re going around to everyone’s rooms and waking them up at six in the morning? Bowen is going to murder you.” Ryan snorts.
“Forrest, we’re kind of in the middle of something.” I try to get my twin off this roof.
“And you’re only home for another two days. You have all the time in the world to play hide the salami when you’re in France or Ibiza or wherever you’re going next.”
“Puerto Rico, but who’s counting?” Ryan quips.
I roll my eyes but relent. “We’ll be down in a few.”
“Good, because I made your favorite breakfast sausage from that deli near Fawn Hill—”
“Forrest, get out of here!” my wife and I yell at the same time.
He gives us a grin before retreating.
“God, I missed them all so much.” Ryan giggles.
“Me too. This family is insane. But I’m glad I’m a part of the nuthouse,” I agree.
“Do you think we should come home after PR? We could come home, be here for the Summer Kickoff Carnival.” Ryan and I make no attempt to move from the position we’re sitting in.
“And get roped into making caramel corn? Have you lost your mind? The one and only time you helped, you almost burned half your finger off.”
Her raspy chuckle is lost somewhere in my scalp, along with her fingers. The sensation is too good, and I almost say fuck Forrest and his breakfast.
“Come on, baby. It’ll be fun. Jett will love it. Anyways, we better go down. They might sic Keaton on us and then we’ll really be in trouble.” Everyone knows my oldest brother is the conservative voice of propriety.
“I’ll be right down,” I tell her as she climbs off my lap, holding on to her hand until the force of her walking away gently pulls our fingers apart. “Just going to clean up.”
The rooftop door shuts softly behind her, and I take a few moments to clean up my paints and brushes. The sun is fully risen now, painting the landscape in its soft glow, and I can’t help but marvel at it.
Yes, we’re a stone’s throw from Fawn Hill, but it’s basically home. And there is no place like it.
No matter how far away I travel or how many amazing places we explore, this small Pennsylvania town will always be it.
And those cooky, spirited, loud, loving people downstairs will always be my family. They’re the best kind of people, and I’m so humbled that my wife and our son get to experience this kind of love with me.
I leave the canvas in its spot on the roof to dry. Maybe Dad will add a little something to it from wherever he’s watching in the sky.
All I know, is for years to come, I will look at this painting that I’ll give to Mom to hang in her house and think of this perfect Christmas. One surrounded by family and love.
Read the Callahan Family series
Did you love the Nash Brothers series? If you’re craving another family series, grab Warning Track, the first book in my Callahan Family series! It’s a set of small town, sports romance novels, and you can grab book one for 99 cents now!
Read on for a sneak peek of Warning Track!
Sneak Peek of Warning Track
Chapter Two
Hayes
This is not my team.
That’s the thought that keeps ramming into my brain like a freight train, each time I pump this barbell up and away from my chest. It’s the idea that fuels the fury raging through my veins during each workout, or frankly, anytime I step into this facility. My muscles burn against the acidic pain, and I heave out a breath, pushing through the frustr
ation as my arms shake at the top of the rep.
In my ears, a Metallica song beats hard and heavy, distracting from at least a minuscule portion of the piss and vinegar I feel at all times now. The first game of my eleventh season as a professional baseball player is just three days away, and even if I fucking hate my current setting, it doesn’t mean I’m not going to kick some ass on that field.
But how I wished I was in Los Angeles right now.
Here I was instead, in the dim, cold spring of Pennsylvania. This time last year, I’d been sitting on the private beachfront balcony of my Malibu residence, gearing up for opening day in Los Angeles. Jimmy Callahan had not only illegally facilitated my trade, but he’d brought me to a town that I fucking loathed because of it.
Packton, Pennsylvania was nothing like the vibrant, sunny city I’d lived in for the past ten years. This place was essentially a small town with a major league baseball stadium smack in the middle of it. There were a few other national businesses here, financial firms, and one decently recognizable home construction company had its headquarters here, but other than the two or three measly high-rises Packton boasted, this was as small a town as I’d ever lived in.
The high school had a homecoming parade, complete with floats down Central Street before their first October football game. I know, because I got stuck behind the traffic of it one night trying to get home after a late practice. Each and every person who worked in a storefront on the main drag tried to learn your name from the first time you entered their business. I couldn’t get a damn coffee without Joe, the owner of Buzz Coffee & Tea, asking me how my day was going. For someone who craved anonymity, it was my worst nightmare.
The weight rack slams as I drop the bar back down onto it, sitting up as my head spins. I was down there for too long, with too much weight compressing me. I should lay off, considering it’s a game week and rough training sessions are frowned upon, but I need to work this anger out.
Nash Brothers Box Set Page 77
