My heartbeat traveled up through my throat to my ears, and I focused on the pulse of it as an awkward silence fell over the table. We all just sat there, shell-shocked, looking at Mallory before one by one, our attention turned to Mom.
Her lips were pressed together, eyes wide, hands still holding that damn hot dog which surely had to be cold by now. Mr. Nelson cleared his throat like he was about to say something, but Kylie nudged him, warning him not to — not yet.
Not until Mama had the first word.
She looked down at the hot dog in her hand, as if she’d only just then remembered it was there at all. She set it down, wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin — which didn’t make sense, since she hadn’t taken a bite yet. Then, she looked at Mallory again.
This time, she had tears in her eyes.
“That is…” she whispered, shaking her head as the tears pooled and began to run down her cheeks. “The most wonderful news.”
The whole room let out a breath in sync, my brothers and I sharing looks of relief as Mallory’s shoulders deflated. “Really?”
Mom nodded, swiping at her tears. “Really. A grandchild,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe it. I’m going to be a grandma!”
Jordan started clapping, which led us all to join in, and before I knew it, Mom, Logan, and Mallory were on their feet, hugging each other while Mom blubbered. I didn’t miss how Kylie dabbed at the corner of her own eyes, and I pinched her side, teasing her.
“Softie.”
“Bite me,” she said, but smiled all the same.
The room became a flurry of tears and congratulations, everyone taking their turn to stand and hug the soon-to-be parents. When it was my turn, I hugged Mallory tight, telling her I knew she was glowing, which earned me a hard eye-roll from her. Then, I turned to my older brother, hugged him with a hard clap on the shoulder, and told him the truth.
“You’re going to be the best dad.”
He smiled, socking my arm. “Thanks, but I think that title already belongs to someone else in our family.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But, if I had any money to bet, I’d bet that you’re going to be just like him.” I frowned. “With a touch of OCD.”
Mallory laughed at that. “Oh, yeah. I can already see how fun this is going to be. Who wants to take bets on how many baby wipes and bottles of hand sanitizer he’ll stock up on before the due date?”
Jordan and Noah started calling out numbers as Logan flicked us all off, and after a few more jabs, we were all seated again, the conversation alive with wedding and baby details.
I eyed my oldest brother at the end of the coffee table, who was typing something on his phone, and was otherwise quiet. His brows were furrowed, lips tight.
“Everything okay, Jordan?” I asked.
The table quieted, which wasn’t my intention, and I could feel my brother’s uneasiness at the attention as he tucked his phone away. “Fine. Just got some staff news, that’s all.”
“They fill the new trainer position?” Mr. Nelson asked. Even though he never had a son, he was at every single Friday night football game in Stratford, and had been as long as I could remember.
“Seems so.”
“Anyone we know?” Logan asked.
Jordan nodded. “Sydney Kelly.”
I didn’t miss how Mallory stiffened, or how Logan quickly grabbed her hand in his without taking his eyes off our oldest brother. “As in, Police Chief Kelly’s newly ex-wife?”
“The very one.”
Silence fell over the table.
“Well,” Noah said after a long pause. “She used to work at the hospital, didn’t she? Before their kid was born. I’m sure she’ll do a good job.”
“Maybe,” Jordan said, noncommittally. “It’s just… it’s the first staff change I’ve had in the years I’ve been head coach. I’m not sure how the team will react.”
“Hey, with you as their coach, they’ll react however you want them to. They look up to you,” I reminded him. “You set the tone.”
Mom nodded. “I agree. And I think having a woman on the staff will be a nice change.”
“I’m sure the players won’t mind,” Kylie added. “Sydney Kelly isn’t exactly hard on the eyes.”
“Yeah, I bet the biggest problem you’ll have is keeping them from getting purposefully injured, just to have her hands on them,” Noah teased.
Jordan chuckled, though he still seemed worried, and Mom must have picked up on it, because she asked Mallory if they’d thought of any baby names, effectively changing the subject.
“Hey,” I said, lowering my voice and leaning across the table so it was clear I was talking to Jordan. “Take a walk with me real quick?”
A short ride down the elevator, and we were on 11th Street, Jordan visibly more relaxed as soon as the fresh air hit him. I walked beside him in silence until we hit the end of the block and turned right, rounding past one of the food stands we’d raided.
“Big change, adding a woman to the staff, huh?”
Jordan sighed. “Yeah. I’m not worried about the fact that she’s a woman, just that she’s never worked with football players before.”
“Think you can teach her all she needs to know before the season gets in full swing?”
“Guess I’m going to have to.”
I nodded, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “Have you been reading Dad’s journal?”
Jordan looked at me, watching me for a moment before his eyes grazed the buildings around us. “Yes.”
“And?”
“Nothing to tell yet.”
I sighed. “Look, I know if it was important, you would have said something. But… isn’t there something? Even if it doesn’t feel like a big deal to you.” I lowered my voice, like anyone in that big city gave a rat’s ass about the drama in our hometown. “I’ve been going crazy, wondering what you’ve found. I mean, Kylie and I spent months trying to crack that hard drive open, and then we do, and I hand it over, and I’ve been so caught up with everything, and I just…”
“I know,” he said, cutting me off with a sigh. “I know.” Then, he looked around, too, lowering his own voice as we rounded the next corner. “For the most part, it’s been boring. Daily logs of what he was working on, meeting minutes and notes, lists of stuff he needed to do the next day. But… there is something.”
I perked up. “Yeah?”
“You know how he was tasked to clean out that office, right?”
“Yeah…” I said, slowly, because that wasn’t a secret to anyone. It was the whole reason he was the one and only one to perish in the fire that day. “And?”
“Well, he found something I don’t think he was supposed to find.”
“What?”
Jordan stopped walking, and I did, too, turning to face him as his eyes locked on mine.
“A will.”
“A will?”
Jordan nodded. “Robert J. Scooter’s will.”
My jaw dropped. “I thought he didn’t have one.”
“That’s what that whole town thinks,” Jordan said, then he shook his head and started walking again. “He hasn’t written about anything more, yet. And it’s been a dozen entries since the one that mentioned he found the will. All the ones I’ve read after it are talking about the new brand launch, which I guess he got tied up in.”
I shook my head, confusion throbbing in my head. “That doesn’t make sense. If he found a will, why didn’t he tell anyone? And what happened to it? What did it say?”
“All things I’m hoping we’ll find out, baby brother,” he said. “For now, that’s all I got. And I’d like to keep it between us.”
I nodded, and the conversation ended there, but the wheels inside my head spun on for the rest of the evening.
A few hours later, when the leftover food had been stored in our small fridge and the trash cleared from the table, I hugged my brothers goodbye — all of them and their significant others flying back home the next day. I hug
ged Mom, too, and kissed her head, promising that we’d text her first thing in the morning so she could come over and we could get to shopping.
“Now, I mean it, Dad,” Kylie said, wagging her finger at her old man. “I’m coming home in just a few months for that wedding, and if I come home and that apartment is filthy or there’s evidence that you’ve only been eating food that you can pick up at a drive-thru on your way home from work, you’re not going to like what happens next.”
Mr. Nelson chuckled, one eyebrow lifting as Kylie continued.
“And there’s a note on the fridge with all the bills and their due dates. And don’t forget to water the plants on Wednesdays. Watering Wednesdays, just like that guy said at the flower shop we stopped in at today.”
“Longbourne,” I said.
She pointed a finger at me. “Right. Just like the man at Longbourne said. And if you change your mind about the cleaning service, their number is on the fridge, too. They can come every couple of weeks to give the place a real scrub down. Oh, and don’t forget to check on Betty. It’ll be good for you to volunteer at the nursing home every now and then, get you out of the house for something other than work.”
I chuckled, placing my hands on her shoulders with an apologetic smile at Mr. Nelson. “I think he’s got it, babe.”
She deflated under my hands, then broke away from them completely, wrapping her dad in a fierce hug. “And most of all, don’t forget that I love you, and I’ll miss you. Every day.”
“I’ll miss you, too, Smiley,” he said, kissing her head on a chuckle. “Why don’t you walk me downstairs and help me call a cab?”
“Deal.”
They disappeared through the door, the parade of my family following after, and then, I was alone.
I looked around the space, somehow empty and crammed all at the same time. Part of me was exhausted, but the other part of me was too excited to even think about sleep. So, I turned on my Bluetooth speaker, hit play on my favorite playlist, and cracked open the first box that needed to be unpacked.
I was humming along to a Florence + The Machine song when Kylie came through the front door, eyes red and puffy, a folded piece of notebook paper in her hands. I dropped what I was unpacking at the sight of her, sweeping her into my arms as she wiped her nose on the back of her wrist. She leaned into my touch when I held her, letting out a long sigh.
“It’s okay, baby,” I said, running my fingers through her hair. “We’ll see him soon.”
“I know,” she said. “It’s not that. It’s this.” She held up the notebook paper.
I frowned, pulling back to study it with her still in my arms. “What is it?”
“A gift,” she said with a wobbly lip. “Every single one of my mom’s favorite places in the city is on that piece of paper. He said he thought it could be a new list of adventures for you and me to check off together.”
My heart squeezed, and I pulled her back into me, holding her tighter as she curled her hands in my t-shirt. “He’s an amazing dad.”
“The best there is,” she agreed. Then, she let out a groan, pulled back, and swiped her hands over her face. “Okay. Let me go wash all these salty tears off my cheeks and then let’s get to work unpacking, shall we?”
I chuckled, kissing her forehead before I released her. “Deal.”
For the next couple of hours, we unpacked, box by box, bit by bit. We didn’t have much, but we didn’t need much, and the more we filled that tiny apartment with little things that made us, us — the more it felt like home.
When most of the work was done, I pulled Nelly out of her case, tuning her up before I sat on the edge of the coffee table and began to play.
“Mmm,” Kylie said, sitting on the table behind me. She wrapped her arms around my middle as best she could without interrupting my playing. “I like the sound of this one. What’s it called?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
She crooked a smile. “You writing a song for me, Michael Becker?”
“What can I say?” I shrugged. “You’re my muse.”
“Cheeseball.”
I smirked, dropping my guitar carefully into the case before I turned quickly, tickling Kylie before she could escape. She laughed and writhed in my arms, and when she was breathless and maybe two tickles from kicking me, I stopped, holding her with my eyes searching hers.
“I was thinking…” I said, swiping her hair out of her face. “Maybe we could carry on one of my family traditions in our new home.”
“Oh, yeah? And what tradition is that?”
I kissed her nose, releasing her long enough to cross the room to where my phone was, and then I put on a familiar song — one I knew would need no explaining.
As soon as it started, recognition hit Kylie’s eyes, and she smiled, watching me as I made my way back to her. I held out my hand for hers, and when she stood, she wrapped her arms around my neck, and mine found her waist.
“Same song and everything?”
“Same song and everything,” I echoed.
“Why’s that?”
“Because it meant something to my dad, and still means so much to my mom, to my brothers, to me,” I answered honestly. Then, I smirked. “And, because it’s true. You do look wonderful tonight.”
Kylie smiled, lying her head on my chest as we swayed, the soft melody of the Eric Clapton song I’d listened to my whole life making it feel a little more like home. “I love you, Mikey.”
I tilted her chin, waiting until her eyes found mine before I answered. “And I love you.”
We danced until the last note played, until I swept her into my arms and up the ladder to our loft bed. Then, I spent the night reminding her in every single way I could that she was mine, and I was hers, and that those three words I’d said were true.
And in that little New York City apartment with my best friend, a new adventure officially began.
I knew it’d be the best one yet.
The final Becker Brothers book is coming March 19, 2020. Pre-order Jordan’s book – Old Fashioned – here!
Want more Kandi Steiner while you wait for Old Fashioned to release? If you loved Manhattan, you’ll love The Wrong Game. Keep reading for the prologue and first chapter!
Gemma
This is not the conversation we were supposed to have.
On the drive home, I saw every word that would form. I saw how they would be born, first in my mind and then in my mouth, each one standing strong and brave as it slipped from my lips and landed on his ears.
I knew what I’d say. I knew what he’d say. I had a plan.
My particular brand of anxiety was having an ungodly amount of stress over that which I could not control. It’d been this way since I was a young girl, and it’d only worsened with age. I made lists, and plans, and deadlines. I gave myself goals, and when I met them, I celebrated only long enough for me to decide what I would tackle next on the list.
It was all about being in control.
So, unlike a normal woman discovering her husband’s infidelity, I did not cry or scream or throw objects across the room when I learned the truth. No, instead, when I found the first sign of his indiscretions, I made a check list. And I checked items off that list with a mixture of both dread and satisfaction.
Perfume that wasn’t mine staining his shirt? Check.
Text messages from an unknown number, slipping through the cracks of my husband’s technology-ignorant fingers onto our shared computer, but missing from his phone? Check.
Hotel rooms booked on a card I shouldn’t have known about, one I only discovered by receiving the statement in our teal mailbox? Check.
We painted that mailbox together, by the way. It was one of the first things on the list I’d made when we bought our house. We’d both been covered in that teal paint — the color I loved so much in the store, but actually rather hated once it was splashed on our mailbox.
But it didn’t matter the day we painted that mailbox.
On that day, my husband kissed my paint-splattered lips and told me I was the only woman he would ever love.
And I believed him.
My husband was the kind of man who looked at me so adoringly, who said the sweetest things, that I was certain I could have tossed him into a pit of gorgeous super models and he wouldn’t have so much as even looked at them, let alone touch them. In fact, he’d be searching for me, calling out my name, seeking me out.
My entire relationship with him, I’d believed every word he’d said — perhaps blindly, it would seem. I believed him when he cried the day he asked me to marry him, and when he told me over breakfast one morning that no one in this world made me happier than him. There was never any reason to suspect him. There was never any reason to not feel safe.
And yet…
The last little box on the list I made when I first suspected my husband was cheating on me was visual proof. I had the clues, the emails and texts, and late nights with no alibi. But it wasn’t until I followed him, until I saw with my own eyes that his hands could hold another woman the way he held me, that his mouth could kiss hers, that his smile could beam for someone other than me.
And when that box was checked, I still didn’t cry. Or scream. Or throw anything, though I did debate shoving my heel down on the gas pedal of my car and leaving it there as I drove toward where they stood, kissing and laughing, pulling luggage out of my husband’s car.
No, instead of letting emotion rule me, I did what I do best. Just like with the rest of my life, I made a plan.
I focused on what I could control.
I could control me, what I would say, what I would do. I could control who I told, how our families would find out, how we would go about the divorce. I could control who got what, how assets were split, and where we each would stay as the signatures were scrawled against cold, lifeless pieces of paper that would end our young marriage.
I could control how I would tell him that I knew, and could temper my emotions as I told him.
Perhaps all of this was why, sitting across the table from my husband, my heart was beating rapidly, loud and thunderous in my ears as it threatened to bang right out of my ribcage. It could have been why my breath was shallow, my eyes dry from not blinking, my mouth clamped shut without a single word to offer, though I had so many planned in my head.
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