Page 97 of Forty

“Yup,” Forty answers. He’s come up behind me. He gently tilts my chin down a hair. “Look right underneath.”

There is a bullet mounted on a shiny wooden plaque.

“Is that my bullet?” I kept thinking I should ask Larry where it went, but then I’d forget.

“Yeah.” Heavy stomps over until he’s standing beside us. Forty winds his arms tight around my middle.

Whoever made the plaque carved pretty vines and flowers around the edges. It’s sweet. And creepy.

“Who made the plaque?”

“I did.” My gaze flies up to Heavy. He raises his bushy, black eyebrows.

“You do woodworking, too?”

“I do whatever needs to be done for this family. Go look at it closer. Get up on a chair.”

Okay. I roll one over and climb on up. It’s not until I’m inches away that I see it. My name—Nevaeh—written out in curling vines.

I trace it with the tip of my index finger.

“If it’s up there, it don’t come down.” Heavy sniffs. “You’re in, Heaven Backwards. If you’ll have us. Anyone gives you any shit, punch ‘em in the face.”

“That was my plan.”

Heavy chuckles, deep and rumbly.

“Hey, Heavy?” I can’t tear my eyes away from the plaque.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry I tempted you with my hot body when we were kids. I was trying to make Forty jealous.”

Heavy stiffens. I swear, the temperature in the room drops. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to have noticed how long it took him to ask me to cover up when I flashed him back in the day.

Maybe in Heavy’s mind, he wasn’t supposed to be the kind of guy who struggled for a minute to do the right thing.

“I’m sorry I came between you and your brother,” I say, quiet. “I won’t do it again.”

Heavy dips his chin in acknowledgement, and then his eyes start twinkling. “I wouldn’t rule out anything yet. Shit do get weird around here late on a Saturday night.”

Forty growls, and Heavy laughs.

“I’ll be in the commons.” Heavy slaps Forty’s back and heads out.

Forty has eyes only for me.

“You’re gonna fall off that chair, aren’t you?”

“It’s really unsteady.” I rock my hips, get it to roll back and forth, squatting like I’m on a surf board. “Would you catch me?”

“Yes.” His brown eyes sparkle, following me as I sway, entranced. A smile plays on his lips. “Would you fall on purpose?”

“You’re onto me.” I wind my arms around his neck and wrap my legs around his waist, hooking them at the ankles. He carries me the few steps to the conference table.

He lays me down gently, ass at the edge, and pulls down my leggings, somehow working them over my boots. Then he draws up my knees. “Does that hurt?”

“Nope. The stretch feels good.”

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