Page 9 of Anti Player

“Thanks, Mad Pie,” I say. It’s automatic. It’s a nickname I gave her when we were really small and she wanted to play with Henry and me, but Henry didn’t want her playing, so I called her Mad Pie and she hated it and left us alone. As time went on, Icontinued to call her the annoying nickname to remind myself she was my best friend’s little sister and she was off-limits. When I moved out to New York, Brett took me in and he and I bonded. Where I used to look up to him as Henry’s older brother growing up, he just became Brett, my friend. A friend I’ve respected since childhood.

I kick around the soccer ball with Asher and show him a few tricks. “See, I can bounce the ball on my knees a hundred times.”

“Really?” Asher asks, interested.

“It takes a lot of practice. It’s about balance,” I explain, bouncing the ball. I stop and pass to Asher.

He begins to bounce the ball on his knee and gets three in a row. “Good job,” I praise and the kid smiles. He’s cute and has small freckles on his cheeks, just like his mom. “Keep going. You can’t give up. A good athlete keeps practicing and doesn’t give up.”

The kid keeps trying to bounce the ball and each time gets a little better.

“Dinner is ready,” Maddie calls.

I walk over to Brett’s dining room table.

“Holy shit, this was the best choice I made all day,” I say, looking at the spread.

“Language,” Maddie scolds, watching me wide-eyed.

“Can I sit beside you?” Asher asks me.

“Sure, kid,” I reply, and I pull out the chair beside me.

“What is all this?” I ask Maddie because she makes things I haven’t seen before.

“That’s shrimp creole,” she points at the dish with shrimp. “That’s garlicky braised lamb shanks with mushrooms, and that’s baked goat cheese salad.”

Brett and I eye each other like excited little kids.

“It’s really good having you here, Mads.” Brett grins.

Maddie smiles.

“What’s for me, Mommy?” Asher asks.

“You can eat the salad and then I made you some baked chicken,” she says to him.

“How did you have time to make all this?” I ask.

“Brett made a grocery order to some fancy schmancy grocery store close by, they delivered all the fresh ingredients, and I got cooking,” she explains.

We sit down and dig in. I start with the salad and when I place one of the pieces of breaded goat cheese covered in thyme in my mouth I groan. “This is delicious.”

“Maddie is the best cook. I swear I think she’s outdone my mother,” Brett says.

“Don’t let her hear you say that.” Maddie giggles. I love the way they interact. The Noble kids were always close. Not like my siblings. When Mom divorced Ryan, my half siblings, Jack and Jane, lived with us until I drafted, and then they left to live with Ryan since Mom wasn’t on top of things. Ryan apparently didn’t know about Mom’s neglect and he was pissed. He picked them up and I haven’t heard from them since.

Asher digs into the salad and eats the chicken on his plate.

“Wow, he eats the fancy stuff,” I say, impressed. “Jack and Jane hated eating healthy food.”

“That’s not true. I remember coming over and cooking for them. They would eat my food,” Maddie says thoughtfully as she takes a bite of salad.

“It must have been my shi. . . I mean bad cooking,” I reply, taking another bite.

We move on to the first course, which is the shrimp creole. Brett and I go crazy over it.

“You need to go back to culinary school. You were meant to be a chef,” Brett says to Maddie.

---