Page 17 of The Winslow Brothers

“You’re going to let us take the boat out?” Ty asks. “Without you?”

“Yeah, right,” Uncle Brad retorts. “Like I’d let you assholes take my pride and joy out on the water in the middle of the damn night. I’m coming with. Give me a minute, though.”

Brad Robinson is a man of his word, because not even a minute later, he’s locking the back door and walking down the stairs with a twelve-pack of Budweiser tucked beneath his arm.

I smile at the sight of it. There were a lot of summers when we were teenagers, after Mom and Winnie and Aunt Paula had gone to bed, he’d sneak us boys out onto the lake to share some beers. Still, to this day, Wendy Winslow has no clue that her sons learned how to shotgun beers from her brother.

“Let’s hit it,” he says and proceeds to walk down the stone steps that lead to the dock.

Mind you, the man is still in his robe and slippers but gives zero fucks about it.

Once we reach the dock, Remy and I make quick work of the ropes tethering the bowrider in place, and it’s not long before we’re all packed in the boat and cruising away from the house.

Water ripples around us as we slowly glide across the water. The sky is still dark, and only a crescent-shaped moon and a smattering of stars are visible within its clouds.

For the first time tonight, all is calm.

I don’t have to worry about Jude getting our eldest brother castrated by a stripper. Or some crazy fortune-teller spouting shit that’ll push Remy over the edge.

Just peace and calm and family.

And the lake.

Once we’re a safe distance away from the coastline and there’s no chance we’ll wake up Paula, Brad switches on the radio and fifties’ crooners’ music adds a relaxing soundtrack to the ride.

Jude opens the twelve-pack, tossing each of us beers and handing one off to my uncle, who is too busy with driving to focus on catching a can.

Cold beer popped open, I lift it to my lips and take a hearty gulp.

Damn, this really is kind of perfect.

Remy does the same, and for the first time since we left that strip club, I see his face start to relax. The wrinkles between his brow no longer present.

Thank fuck.

Ty and Jude do their typical Ty and Jude shit, alternating between fighting with each other, laughing, and tossing insults toward the rest of us.

Though, it’s easy to ignore them when you have a beer in your hand, chill music filling your ears, and a warm breeze brushing across your face.

At first, I figure Uncle Brad is just taking us for a short ride around the lake, but when he takes a slight right and heads toward a very familiar alcove, I realize he has some plans.

“Okay,” he announces as he brings us to a stop right beside an old, rickety dock that everyone on the boat knows fondly asThe Plank. “It’s time to vote.”

The Plank was the go-to place for our uncle after our father took off and left my mom to deal with us wolves on her own. Anytime we rowdy boys were fighting or disagreeing or wreaking havoc, he’d bring us here. To get shit settled theold-fashioned way.

“No way, Uncle B,” Jude comments, his face lighting up in amusement. “Aren’t we a little old to walk The fucking Plank?”

“Nope.” Brad shakes his head. “So, let’s decide. Who was the biggest asshole of the night?”

There it is. The big question—Who’s the asshole?Because, as our uncle always used to say,You Winslow boys are going to bring glory back to the last name your father tarnished. And to do that, you have to be man enough to admit when you’re an asshole and apologize for what you’ve done.

I grin.

Rem chuckles.

Ty just sits there, completely unaffected.

And Jude rolls his eyes on a big sigh. Though, his response is a direct result of being the one brother who has been voted to walk The Plank the most.

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