Page 56 of Storm

“He’s coming off a high ankle sprain. That shit will slow any guy down, especially a two hundred twenty pound receiver. He still caught everything tossed to him and out ran the defensive line.”

Groaning, I roll over and shove my pillow over my head to drown out the godforsaken football talk at—I grab my phone and check the time—fucking six thirty in the morning.

My brother’s voice rises, clearly perturbed by Kevin’s counter argument. “Their quarterback was throwing shit all evening. They weren’t even trying to throw to him. He was everywhere hewasn’tsupposed to be! Not once did he use the ‘backs, and frankly, they’re a running team, not a passing team. A damn fluke, if you ask me.”

Kevin laughs at Cristián’s passion for the sport. “Tell me this. Would you rather have them bulldoze their way through one of the best defensive lines in the team, only gaining a few yards at a time, or throw them off their game and throw when it wasunexpected? I think the coach knew exactly what he was doing, and it’s why they walked away with a thirteen point lead.”

Tossing my covers off my body, I shove myself out of bed and whip my door open. Bracing my hands on the frame, I glare at both of them, cradling their cups of coffee on either side of my teeny tiny counter.

“For the love of God,” I snap out. “Would the two of you stop comparing the dick sizes of your teams and let a girl sleep?”

Kevin turns on his stool so he’s facing me, legs stretched out in front of him. “Good Morning, Miriam. Did you sleep well?”

“No,” I say through clenched teeth. He raises a brow as if he doesn’t believe me, so I drop my hands and stomp to the kitchen. “Yes. What time did you two even wake up?”

“Dad’s been blowing my phone up since he got up for work at five. Apparently, Damián found the cash Loren stole, which became world war three as the two of them ran around the house at one in the morning.” My brother picks at his piece of toast, not caring about the shitshow back home. Popping a piece of crust in his mouth, he grins and says, “Damián busted a lamp over Loren’s head and knocked him out cold for a full thirty seconds.”

He’s full on laughing now, but there’s a muscle in my cheek ticking and I already feel a headache building.Maybe I didn’t get such a good night’s sleep.

Kevin’s eyes are watching me carefully, his features stony and unmoved by Cristián’s relaxed demeanor. With a soft voice, he asks, “How are you actually feeling this morning, Miriam?”

I jerk my head toward him and blank my look. “Fine.” To Cristián, I demand more details. “Where’s dad now? Please tell me he took Loren to the walk-in clinic, and he’s not at work.”

Waving me off without looking, he says, “Loren was bitching all night so I’m pretty sure dad took him in. It’s bullshit because now he’s going to have to go into work later. He picked up an extra shift today.Hermana, do you have any more bread?Or peanut butter?Oh!Will you make me that cinnamon sugar toast? It never tastes the same when I try.”

Relieved Loren is getting seen, I ignore the way Kevin watches me as stretch to tiptoes to reach the little jar of the cinnamon sugar mix I always keep stored. It’s a cheap thing that all the boys always loved on Sunday mornings. An inexpensive replacement for French toast when we couldn’t afford eggs and syrup.

Placing two pieces of toast in the toaster, I ask, “Kevin, would you like some toast?”

“It’s really freakin’ good, man.”

I can tell that Kevin is fighting with himself at me making him food, but my brother’s easy banter has him capitulating. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

Wanting to punish Kevin for invading my space last night, I decide to tease him. “Hey, Cristián. Did Kevin tell you he’s a cop?”

I chuckle when he stands up straight, eyes wide, and stares atel capitánwith a touch of worry. “Seriously, man? Wait, I mean, sir. Shit, officer?”

Kevin’s looking at me like he wants to put me over his knee, but I don’t care. Humming to myself, I pour myself a glass of milk and lean against the counter while I wait for the bread to pop and take a sip. “Sorry, he’s actually a captain.Thecaptain at his station. Isn’t that right, Captain Cooper?”

“Shit,hermana. You got knocked up by the police chief?” Cristián hisses at me, then stammers, “N-not that it’s a bad thing! I respect the hell out of the police force. You all are great,greatpeople.”

He shoves what’s left of the toast in his mouth and chews energetically to keep his mouth shut.

“You’re a shit, you know that?” Kevin asks, then faces Cristián. “Don’t stress about it. I’ve been in the force for quitea few years and I’m very good at not mixing work with my personal life. Relax.”

Cristián nods quickly, but there’s no way he’s going to listen. It’s just what I need to get my brother’s ass on the road and back home. Making up his doctored toast, I make another two slices for Kevin. When he raises a brow, silently asking if I’m going to have any, I subtly shake my head no.

I learned weeks ago that any eating done before ten in the morning will have me worshipping the toilet all day. This baby does not like to be fed before the sun is high in the sky.

It’s not more than fifteen minutes before Cristián is giving me a side hug and rushing out the door to get home, but not before I give him a couple of twenties to cover his bus ride back.

As soon as the door shuts, Kevin is focused on me. “I don’t like that you’re not eating this morning. Do you get sick just from toast?”

“Not if it’s dry, but that’s disgusting. I’ll give it a few hours and eat when I’m at Darlene’s. You heading out soon, too?” It’s a not so subtle way to give him a hint that I’d like him to leave.

I glance at the couch and notice he’s folded the blanket he used and set a spare pillow on top. The sheets are nowhere and before I can wonder, he’s speaking again.

“I threw the sheets in the wash along with the set your brother used. Miriam, are you working today?”

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