Page 56 of The Fake Out

“Avery sent me a few, and Emerson sent about fifty.”

Fifty? I forced myself to not react, but holy hell. I knew he’d taken several, but I assumed he was just sending them to his mom.

“You’re the spitting image of your mother.” My dad patted my shoulder. “But yeah, Emerson’s been the one keeping me in the loop for years. When Chris has a good game or when he snaps a good one of him and some fans. Even photos of the places they travel.” Pop shrugged. “He says his mom insists on not missing out, so he figures I shouldn’t have to either. Nice kid.”

I swallowed, because he was definitely nice, but I wouldn’t call him a kid. He was all man. That single thought pulled me back into memories of the way his hands had run over me. How he’d used his tongue to make me see stars.

Heat crept into my cheeks, and I shifted, taking in Dad’s apartment and avoiding his gaze.

“Why’s the cat got your tongue today?” My father cocked his head to the side, the move causing the light to play off the grays that were getting more and more prevalent in his normally dark hair.

“I’m fine.” I frowned.

His responding smirk was full of mirth. “There’s my little ray of storm clouds.”

On instinct, I lifted a hand, ready to whack his arm the way I had for years, but I froze and clutched it to my chest instead. At this point, I was certain that the memory of finding him passed out of the floor wouldn’t ever leave me completely.

He sighed. “Gianna, I am getting stronger every day. I won’t break. I’m even in my own apartment now.”

A small one-bedroom that allowed him the option of making meals or eating in a group dining room.

“And in another month or two, I’ll be able to leave the rehab facility completely and be back on my own.”

“I know. And it’s good.” But it wouldn’t erase the way it had felt to be so close to losing him.

Chris had been asking about apartments in Avery’s building. He was hoping he and Avery could get one of the bigger apartments and Pop could take over Avery’s one-bedroom. I wasn’t sure whether Dad knew my brother was planning for them to be neighbors, but I didn’t blame my brother for wanting him close by. Especially since money wasn’t an issue. Chris had more than enough to put Pop up anywhere, and he was too stubborn and overprotective to take no for an answer. If I were in his shoes, I’d do the same.

“Are we standing here all day or moving?” He herded me out into the hall and to the elevator.

His movements were so much more fluid than they’d been even a few weeks ago. What would have taken us an hour a month ago—because he’d need breaks—was now an easy walk.

It took us almost no time to get over to the stadium, and with my dad’s handicap parking pass, we were settled in the box with plenty of time to spare before the game was scheduled to start.

“Hey, Pop!” Avery chirped from across the open space. “Ready to kick some Trident butt?”

Beside her, Wren shook her head. “Ass, Avery. We kick ass.”

Avery huffed at her best friend. “It feels weird to say that to a parent.”

Wren snickered, bringing her glass of wine to her lips, but Avery stood up and all but skipped toward us. She gave Pop a quick hug.

“How are my great grandkids doing?”

Avery’s entire face brightened at Pop’s mention of Puff’s soon-to-be babies. “We’re seeing real movement, so the eggs will be hatching soon. Have you watched the feed?”

Avery had set up a live stream so Pop could keep tabs on the hatchlings.

“I check it all the time. I can’t wait to see the little guys.”

Puffette, Puff’s mate—my brother’s name choices; clearly, his creative talent was limited—had laid three eggs.

“I’m crossing my fingers for tonight, otherwise, it will probably happen while Chris is gone.”

My dad shot me a quick look and frowned but schooled his features quickly and turned back to Avery.

Chris was stressed about it, although he was trying to keep that from Avery. He’d been planning to propose and wanted to do it when Puff’s pufflings hatched. It was nuts to me that he was counting on a bird, and it was so unlike him to create a plan where he had no control over the timing. But he was almost as obsessed with his bird as he was with his soon-to-be fiancée.

“Dad’s outside if you want to go bake in the sun with him,” Wren called.

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