Page 459 of The Winslow Brothers

The sky is a dusky denim color from the light of the sun, the ball of fire just barely starting to make its way above the horizon, and the normally bustling city streets are filled by a few lingering delivery trucks and the scent of fresh bakery flour. Only the weary are up at this hour, preparing for the rush of the rest. They are the backbone of the community—the holders of the coffee and the start of so many’s days.

A yawn catches me off guard as I step off the curb in front of the hospital and cross the street to the other side. I pull my phone from my jeans pocket to glance at the time, only to find I’ve not only missed a message from the illustrious Cleo, but an entire text thread that further explains what my brothers were up to last night.

C: Sometimes, if we’re lucky, life gives us the kind of second chance that reminds us how right it was the first time.

If that isn’t the most vaguebook shit I’ve ever read, I don’t know what is. I know she’s trying to bait me into something here, most likely revolving around her trying to give me one of her kooky predictions, but I’m not biting.

Truthfully, I don’t even know what I would respond with if I had the energy, and I decide to leave it for now and thumb into the chat that contains more details on my brothers’ shenanigans.

Thatch: Yo, Remy, we’re all wondering where in the fuck you are? What gives, man? Truthfully, your ass better have a damn good reason that revolves around something awesome like a set of magically growing tits or else I’m gonna be pissssssed, son.

Obviously, Thatcher Kelly initiated this thread, and about ten minutes after I didn’t respond, the conversation rolled on like I wasn’t even in it.

Thatch: Seriously. Where’s your brother?

Jude: Hell if I know.

Ty: Apparently he’s decided being a little bitch is way more important tonight.

Wes: Guess we should cancel poker night and head home.

I kind of want to laugh. Surely the stress of spending all day with my sister, planting a garden that’s most likely going to die, has worn my brother-in-law out.

Thatch: We’re not canceling.

Kline: I’m kind of a fan of canceling. Georgia and I are two seasons deep intoGame of Thrones,and I have a strong suspicion she secretly started season three tonight after the girls went to bed.

Kline Brooks is also one of Wes’s best friends and has become a good buddy to the Winslow family. However, his continued presence is more by choice since he’s one of the nicest, chillest guys out there. Unlike Thatch, who just takes it upon himself to set up shop in your life.

Wes: Yep. It’s settled. You should definitely go home. And so should I.

Thatch: You guys are dicks.

Wes: Says the guy who is texting instead of dealing the fucking cards.

Jude: I can’t believe you’ve talked us into texting the whole night, Thatch. This is the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever been a part of, and trust me, that’s saying something.

Thatch: Listen, if you want to be the one to tell Cassie that she can fluff off about her No Noise Rule, go ahead. I like my nuts where they are.

Ty: You’re scared of your wife, dude. You realize that, right?

Wes: Honestly, I don’t blame him on this one. I’m a little scared of her too.

Kline: Me three.

Thatch: I knew I loved you supportive bastards for a reason. Now, type a little quieter, would you? Less aggression in your thumbs. Once Remy gets here, we can just play instead of texting so much.

Flynn: He’s not coming.

Thatch: What? Did you talk to him?

Flynn: No.

Ty: Not gonna lie, you guys are boring the shit out of me.

Jude: Same, bro. Same.

Wes: Yeah, I’m out. Bye.

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