Page 3 of His Greatest Treasure

The studio has been open since before I was born. It’s a space for families who can’t afford the expensive cost of regular dance studios. Every year, Mom takes in as many applicants as she can and helps dozens of kids learn to dance the way she loves to. The studio covers everything from the lessons themselves to the competition costs, ballet shoes, uniforms, and costumes.

It’s been nearly three decades of love, blood, and a whole lot of sweat from an entire team of people to make the studio what it is now. Yeah, she might delegate a lot more now that both she and Dad are officially retired, but my guess is that she’ll be ninety yearsold and still helping out if she has her way. And I want her to have her way. She deserves it.

Mom’s blue eyes meet my hazel ones as she tilts her mouth into a warm smile. “I’ll certainly try, love.”

“Just let us know whatever you need from us whenever you need it, and we’ll take care of it,” I promise gruffly.

Jamie pats my back harder than necessary. “Damn right we will.”

“Oh, we got lucky with you two. I feared because of what a little shit your father was when we met that you’d be his karma, but that couldn’t be further from it.”

Dad scoffs in mock offense. “A little shit? I’ve never been little.”

“A big shit, then. Better?” she asks, batting her lashes up at him.

He pinches her cheek and laughs when she swats at him. “It’s more appropriate.”

“Oliver’s a big shit too. He just hides it all behind his gruff exterior,” Jamie says, smirking at me. “Isn’t that right, Olliepop?”

My childhood nickname—the one I despise more than anything else—grates against my nerves the way he knew it would.

“I’ll tie you up by your fucking old man briefs if you don’t stop poking me,” I threaten.

He pouts. “But I love it so much. Your anger is such a warm comfort at the dinner table.”

“If you’re going to throw punches, please do it in the backyard,” Mom begs.

Dad stands and starts to clean up the dirty dishes from the dining table, his grin subtle enough to make me believe he’s trying to keep it from stretching into a full-out grin.

“It’s your turn to scrub the dishes,” Jamie tells me, no longer pouting. “Am I remembering correctly, Dad?”

I snap my eyes up at my father and glare when he nods, suddenly placing the stack of plates in front of me. The mess of food he’s piled on the top one makes my stomach roll.

“Why so green?” Jamie asks, knowing damn fucking well why.

Mixed food like this . . . isn’t for me. I’ve always had a sensitive stomach, and the sight of Alfredo-slicked noodles mixed with soggy bread and cut-up lettuce from the Caesar salad has me swallowing repeatedly to keep from throwing up right here.

“Stop being an ass to your brother, Jamie, or I’ll have you cleaning the dishes with your tongue,” Dad muses.

My brother pats his stomach like a heathen. “I’m still starving, so I’m up for the challenge.”

“You’re repulsive,” I mutter before standing and clasping the dishes in my hands.

Without breathing through my nose and risking smelling the mix of food, I suck in air through my mouth and slip into the kitchen. Soft footsteps follow me, and a second after I’ve placed the dishes on the counter to be rinsed off, Mom settles beside me. Rubbing a hand over the middle of my back, she leans her cheek against my arm.

“Thank you for helping Sunday, sweetheart. I know you feel it’s your responsibility, but it still means a lot to me.”

I drop my arm to her shoulders and squeeze. “Anything for you, Ma. I mean it.”

“Want some help with the dishes? I can clear the plates, and you can wash them?”

“Go sit down and relax. I’ve got the dishes.”

The stainless-steel dishwasher a few feet away taunts me, but we never use it during family dinners. Even if I wish we did.

With a nod, Mom leans up on her toes to kiss my cheek before leaving me in the kitchen. It isn’t even three minutes later that Jamie appears and brushes me aside to take over the washing so I don’t have to stick my hands in the water and risk touching the bits of food missed with a rinse.

We wash the dishes in silence, but for the millionth time in my life, I’m reminded exactly why I love my family as fiercely as I do, loud to the point of ear pain or not.

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