Page 30 of The Chance

Well, not so empty.

While the original owner of this storefront has refused to sell it to anyone, he does charge us rent to keep it that way and in turn, we provide the security.

Which means that we sometimes use this space.

Over the years, I’ve collected a few things that just don’t move well. Things I would legit cry over if any part of it got damaged. Things that take me back to my teenage dirtbag days with my brother and all the games he lost to me. So, when we all agreed to keep our homebase closer to Ma and the town that two of my four brother’s partners are from, I stashed the shit here.

And it still brings a smile to my face when Jordan drops the paper bag he’s been carrying to pull the drop cloth from the first Pac-Man inspired pinball machine and plug in the actual arcade tower right next to it.

It’s only the two units for now, but I’ve got my eye on more.

“Peeballs,” Makkin whispers in awe.

“Uh-huh. Pinball.” I maneuver their little bodies so I can drop into one of the folding chairs and prop them on each of my knees. “But lunch first.”

Jordan sits next to me and starts handing out little boxes of nuggets. Elle nibbles, while Makkin shoves an entire fistful into his mouth.

My own box is tucked into my hand, but with the little bodies against me, I can’t reach to actually feed myself without squishing them.

“Tyro,” I mutter and throw him a look. “Feed me.”

Navy eyes dart to my mouth when I drop it open, and his throat moves with a swallow. He stares for a long, charged beat, his eyes darkening.

His lips part just slightly.

His breath quickens.

And then I nearly choke when Elle shoves a half-nibbled nugget between my gaping lips.

I cough and chew, swallowing the bite nearly whole as Makkin giggles and jams another nugget against my mouth. “Eat, Unckie!”

Making a show of stealing the nugget from his tiny fingers with my teeth, Elle squeals and wiggles an escape while Makkin just laughs and does it all over again.

By the time the nugs are gone, I feel like my face is covered in grease and breading. The little heathens have retreated to the arcade games with cleaned hands, and I’m in desperate need of a shower.

“Do you want any?”

The question catches me so off guard that I double take my bodyguard.

“Demons?”

Jordan’s hat is pulled low, the bill covering his eyes, making him look guarded. But he nods.

Something squeezes in my chest as I swing my gaze back to the tiny curly-haired heads and matching pj’s. Makkin lets loose a war cry and mashes the button on the pinball while Elle just gently guides the Pac-Man around the little map in the screen, eating away at the white dots.

“Maybe … someday,” I answer, though the doubt is strong.

As much as I want a family, my own little gaggle of Hell raisers, I know that I couldn’t do it alone. Nor would I want to. Having no one to share the little moments with? Moments just like this one where the kids get to experience the same thing I did when I was young? Learning and growing together. Discovering all the things for the first time.

Just me and a kid or two?

That’s more depressing than the idea that I’ll never have them at all.

Because at least then … no one would be missing out on anything.

I shrug in an attempt to dislodge the pang in my chest.

No one except me.

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