Page 1 of His Greatest Treasure

1

OLIVER

I’ve always wonderedif it was acceptable to show up to family gatherings with earplugs in.

While I’m used to even louder and far more crowded dinners, the ones I spend with just my parents and younger brother seem to put those to shame in the volume department. Maybe it’s my brother, Jamieson’s, brute tone or my father’s gruff one, but for some reason, their every comment bounces off the walls and makes my ears ring.

My mom is the gentle one, her voice soft and soothing in that typical motherly way. It’s the reason I’d always insist on her reading me books before bed and my father being the one to attend my sports events, knowing he’d make the opposing teams nervous with his pissed-off shouts.

“I’ve got the rest of the season tickets for you guys,” Jamie says between bites of pasta. His lips are covered in Alfredo sauce when he slurps a noodle into his mouth and adds, “You too, Ollie. I expect you to at least show up for a handful of games this season.”

I twirl my fork in the saucy pasta and grimace at his lack of table manners. “Sorry, I couldn’t make out what you were saying over your mouthful of food.”

“Just tell me you’ll come this season.”

“I came last season too.”

It was his first in the CFL after being drafted out of college. He’s one of the youngest on the BC Pythons’ team at only twenty-two.

Jamie huffs, stabbing more noodles with the prongs of his fork before bringing them to his mouth and tapping his lips. “You came to two games.”

“I worked a lot last year. My job is unpredictable,” I say past the guilt clogging my throat.

Mom eyes me across the table. “Leave your brother alone, Jamie.”

Our mother is a dainty woman with blonde hair that should have grayed with age but hasn’t and sharp blue eyes. She’s the smallest one of all of us, and we always pick on her for it. Dad used to bench-press her in the backyard gym when we were kids because Jamie and I thought it was the funniest thing in the world. Now, I think she’d swat him hard enough to bruise if he tried it.

Small in size, but not bravery or attitude. Somehow, she puts the three of us in our places with ease. Dad might have the towering size and scowl to intimidate any living soul he comes into contact with, but against her, he doesn’t stand a chance. He’d never attempt to intimidate her, though. They’re as in love as two people can be.

Jamie swaps his fork for a beer, taking a quick sip from it. His glare is weak when it lands on me. “A little old to have mommy fighting your battles, aren’t you?”

“Old enough to beat your smug ass with ease too,” I mutter.

“That never ends well for you.”

“Or you, if I remember correctly.”

“Christ alive. Just when I think you’ve both grown old enough to move past the beating each other up phase, you go and prove me wrong,” Dad says.

Mom smiles at him amusingly. He curls his arm around the back of her chair and leans into her space.

“I’ll never be too old to beat Ollie’s ass,” Jamie boasts.

“Your coach would put out a hit on me for injuring you during the season. Don’t tempt me to risk it.”

“Maybe I’d put the hit out myself.”

“I’ll run you over with the fire truck when I know the ambulance is out on a call,” I deadpan.

He sucks a breath through his teeth. “Fuck, you’re a dark son of a bitch, Oliver.”

Dad’s loud laugh cuts through the room, and just like that, we let the fighting go. Sure, Jamie and I like to give each other a hard time—mostly because he’s got the personality of a golden retriever puppy while I’m more like a Rottweiler—but I love the guy. We’re close, only four years apart in age at twenty-six and twenty-two. We’ve given each other a few bruises over the years, but it’s mostly all talk.

“You’re on shift tomorrow until when, Oliver?” Mom asks while swirling a chunk of garlic bread in a puddle of sauce.

“Four on, four off. I’ll be free in time for your game Saturday.” I kick Jamie’s foot, and he grins wide, happy with the news.

“Do you own my jersey, big bro?”

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