Page 34 of Lace 'em Up

It’s so pretty it takes me a minute to process all that’s on it.

Games and practices. Vet appointments for Zeus. Skating sessions for King. Travel schedules with the team. And?—

“You have a schedule for when you call and text your family?”

Eleven

King

Her smile is fucking breathtaking.

Even though she’s giving me shit, the sass dancing in those emerald eyes.

I want to kiss her.

She’s bright and happy and beautiful.

A siren calling me to shore.

And, for a moment, I don’t care that a shipwreck is imminent.

I just?—

“You seriously have a schedule to contact your siblings?” she asks, jerking me out of my thoughts—thank fuck.

“I have a lot of siblings,” I hedge.

Grinning, she runs a finger down the page, reciting from my notes, “Jakob text every Tuesday. Jensen on Thursdays. Leif on Wednesdays. Annie on Monday, Friday, and Sundays. Tanner on Saturdays.” Her eyes flick up, green depths dancing with mirth. “Poor Annie—” I sigh. “Does she get a moment of space with five overbearing brothers?”

“I resent that,” I tell her, even as my heart starts thudding. Why did I show her this shit? It’s dumb—ridiculous that I need a schedule. Why can’t I be a normal sibling who just?—

“Calls for Annie on the first and twenty-second, for Leif on the fifth and twenty-eighth, Jakob the seventh and twenty-first, Jensen the third and nineteenth, and Tanner on the sixth and twenty-seventh.” Her mouth quirks. “What happens if they call you and mess up the schedule?”

I shrug. “I’m flexible.”

Plus, I have erasable pens and can adjust the schedule as needed.

“Sure you are,” she says lightly. “Because this”—she waves a hand at my binder—“screams flexible.”

I open my mouth to reply—not that I know what I can say in response.

Pandora’s Box has been opened.

She’s seen behind the veil.

There’s no saving me, not now.

“I’m impressed though,” she says before I get a chance to reply, to attempt to dig myself out of this hole. “Two days per sibling—” Another mischievous glance. “At least Annie is spared extra phone calls from her protective older brother.”

God, she’s pretty.

“Annie,” I say, reaching a hand toward my binder, “can put any of us in our place any time of the day.”

That makes Rory smile.

Not a surprise, I suppose, considering that this is a case of like recognizing like—a strong woman recognizing strength.

“Now, as for Mom,” she says, tapping a finger on the paper. “I see that you call her every?—”

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