Page 16 of The Winslow Brothers

“Not gonna lie, Flynn,” Ty interjects with his very much unwanted opinion. “It’s kind of lame that you brought Remy to our aunt and uncle’s lake house for his bachelor party.”

Technically speaking, I know driving an hour outside of the city to bring Remy to Greenwood Lake in the middle of the night doesn’t hit high on the wild debauchery scale of bachelor parties.

But this is exactly what we all need right now. Especially Remy.

Every summer growing up, my mom’s brother Brad and his wife Paula would rent out this lake house, and we’d spend several weeks of our break here. After our own dad left for greener pastures or some bullshit, spending time at this lake house became such a tradition that, several years ago, our aunt and uncle went ahead and bought the place. Now, every May through October, they stay here permanently, and we kids try to visit on the weekends when we can. They never had kids of their own, and with the five of us kids always spending time with them, they didn’t really need to. We were more than enough surrogate mayhem.

Hell, since our own father abandoned our mom when we were all pretty young, Uncle Brad didn’t hesitate to step up and fill the shoes of the male role model we all needed.

“So, now that we’re here, what are we going to do?” Remy asks, and I look down the sloping yard and toward the dock, my eyes stopping on our uncle’s boat. He follows my gaze, and when herealizes what I’m thinking, he chuckles. “You want to steal Uncle Brad’s boat in the middle of the night?”

Normally, I don’t condone stealing anything.

So, we’ll just call itborrowing.

And if all hell breaks loose, we always have Jude to blame.

I grin at Remy, but just before I can open my mouth to agree, someone beats me to it.

“Hey, assholes! Don’t even think about stealing my boat!”

All four of us look up and to our left and find our uncle standing on the wraparound back porch in all his nightly glory—flannel robe, flannel pants, and slippers.

Good ole Brad Robinson. Always with the perfect timing.

I swear to God, the man has a sixth sense of knowing when we kids are up to no good. Even now, with all of us being full-fledged adults, he still knows. Healwaysknows.

“This was all Flynn’s idea,” Jude blurts out. “I am merely an innocent bystander who did not know what these bastards were trying to do. They basically kidnapped me, Uncle Brad.”

I smack Jude upside the head. “Pretty sure what he’s trying to say is that we’ve all had a bit of a rough night and needed to take a little ride on the water.”

“Bad night?” My uncle scratches his head. “Wasn’t it your bachelor party, Remington?” His gaze moves toward my eldest brother. “How in tarnation could that end in a bad night?”

“Jude did most of the planning.”

“Oh, gotcha.” My uncle bursts into several hearty chortles. “Makes sense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jude asks, glancing around at all of us with his hands held out in a questioning gesture.

“It means you’re fucking crazy,” Ty offers, and Jude just shrugs.

“Pretty sure what you’re trying to say is I’ma fucking crazy good time.”

“No.” Ty shakes his head. “I meant you’re crazy. And not to be trusted.”

My two younger brothers revert to idiots again, staring each other down, but before another Winslow Fight Club can break out, my uncle pushes a low whistle from his lips. “If you two assholes start wrestling on my lawn and wake up your aunt, I’m getting my shotgun.”

“Whatever, Uncle B.” Jude cracks up. “Like you’d actually kill the closest things you’ve ever had to sons. Especially me. Your beautiful baby boy. The apple of your eye. Your biggest treasure in life.”

Our uncle is unfazed. “Jude, your mother brought you into this world, and she’s given me permission to take you right fucking out of it if I have to. And I think we both know that she knows just how important sleep is to your aunt Paula.”

I can’t not smile at that. Uncle Brad, everybody. The man whose years of helping our mom raise four wild boys have made it impossible for him to take any shit.

He’s not wrong either.

Paula is like a cat. Shelovesto sleep. She covets that shit like it’s gold. My mom made the mistake of trying to wake her once and almost lost a finger.

“So…” My uncle pauses, looking out toward the lake. “You guys just planning on standing on my lawn and clucking like a bunch of hens, or you want to take the boat out for a spin?”

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