Page 92 of Messing With My Brother's Best Friends

“Not one of those fancy schmancy ones with frigging goat’s cheese in it again?” A gruff voice announced that Bruce, Kendall’s dad, had arrived.

“One time, Dad,” Kendall replied with a sigh. “One beetroot and goat’s cheese—”

“I dunno what was in it, but I know it tasted like shit,” he announced, but his tone softened the moment he spied what was in her bowl. “You made that potato salad, with the sun-dried tomatoes and the stinky feet cheese.”

“Parmesan?”

“Parma-get-in-my-belly,” he enthused, setting his beer down and wrapping an arm around Kendall’s waist. “Let’s put that down on the trestle table and then you can have a beer with your old man. Finn’s here with the kids. No Cheryl though. She must have the flu.” I watched her get steered away from us, unable to focus on the chatter or the music playing, just Kendall. “So, has any fella turned your head? You need to settle down soon, love, if you’re gonna give your mother grandkids.”

“Give me what?”

Alice, her mother, walked out the back door and took the lot of us in with a slow smile. “What do you have there, boys? Some nice shepherd’s pie?”

“Why would the boys bring shepherd’s pie to a bloody BBQ, Alice?” Bruce said in irritation.

“Why indeed?” Alice was a quieter presence in the Kennedy household, but that wasn’t because she lacked strength. Her steely gaze made that clear right now. She took the three of us in, one eyebrow rising slowly in question. “Connor rang me up earlier to get the recipe, so I assumed it was because they wanted to bring some for dinner.”

“Doubt it,” Bruce blustered. “Not when there’s perfectly good sausages and hamburgers on offer. The only time we ever eat it is…”

I watched the man who’d been more of a father to me than my own think, almost able to hear the cogs in his head whirring. His eyes narrowed as I stepped closer to Kendall. Nothing in his expression improved as Gage did the same, as did Van. The man watched Kendall take a step away from him and towards us, his frown getting deeper by the second.

“Did you make shepherd’s pie for us tonight, love?” he asked his daughter gently.

“No, Dad. The guys made it for me.” Heather had returned with several drinks in hand and a ready smile on her face, but that faded as soon as she sensed the shift in mood.

“And what’re you boys doing making dinner for my daughter?” Bruce grumbled that like we’d committed some kind of cardinal sin. “You always acted like right little bastards when it came to Kendall.”

“When they were boys.” Heather tried to smile, her tone light, but her eyes flicked back and forth, taking us all in before settling finally on her son. She widened her eyes, glaring at him meaningfully to defuse the situation, but Van just shook his head slowly. “That’s all done with, isn’t it? All those bloody pranks.” Heather nudged Alice with her elbow. “Remember when Kendall washed all of the boys’ footy jumpers with her red dress. They wore pink and black for several weeks before I found a dye remover that would work.”

“No more pranks,” Kendall agreed, looking down when my fingers tangled with hers. Bruce caught that too, his expression growing more thunderous by the second, but that was nothing compared to what came next. He went an alarming shade of red when Van grabbed her other hand, cradling it against his chest. Heather’s mouth opened, shut, then opened again, but no sound came out. Kendall leaned backwards when Gage’s hands came to rest on her shoulders, her head finding its place in the hollow of his shoulder, right as she regarded the others. “The relationship between us has changed quite a lot.”

“Mum, the kids…” Finn walked in, his face looking a little better. His eye was a horrendous reddish-purple rather than black. He worked out what was going on, then sniffed. “Well, I kept my mouth shut about what was going on, so don’t blame me.”

“You knew…?” Bruce turned on his son with a growl.

“Calm down, Brucie—” Heather started to say.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Bruce seemed to swell to twice his size, storming up to the lot of us. “What the hell do you buggers think you’re doing with my daughter?”

“What was always on the cards, I’m guessing.” Alice’s voice cut through the noise with all the precision of a surgical scalpel. “Probably some of the same things we used to get up to with those key parties back in the 80s.”

“Jesus Christ, Alice…” Bruce hissed, looking around furtively.

“Fuck, you lot were swingers?” Finn’s eyebrows shot up to meet his hairline. “No freaking way.”

“It was a different time—” Heather tried to explain.

“Jesus, Mum, I promise to clean all of the guttering and repair that crack in the roof tiles if you never mention this again,” Van groaned.

“What’s going on?” Gage’s dad appeared, brandishing a pair of tongs. “Food’s nearly ready. Hello, Kendall! Long time, no see.”

“Do you know what your son has been doing with my daughter, Phil?” Bruce spluttered, stabbing his finger in our direction.

“Gage and Kendall?” Phil shook his head.

“Gage, and Connor, and Van, and Kendall.” Bruce listed us like we were co-defendants, facing a judge for the same crime. “They’re together.”

“What, like we were—?” Phil said.

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