Page 540 of The Winslow Brothers

“Because I didn’t need one.”

Great. I sigh, and then gently set the fish bags on the ground.

Stepping up to the booth and paying my fee, I tighten Izzy’s carrier straps and check to make sure her head is good and secure. Her eyes flutter, and I know immediately that she’s giving me a wink.

She’s confident in me, and I’m confident in her. Together, we can handle anything.

Assured she’s comfortable and ready for action, I climb onto the foot pegs on the bottom sides of the bar structure and reach up to take it into my hands as gently as possible.

It’s simple at first, hanging calmly as the clock starts to click. Flynn shifts Roman in his left arm and then boosts Ryder farther onto his hip on the right.

The boys giggle and squeal and try like hell to make Flynn release them so they can crawl on the ground, but he’s stalwart, a true warrior, and keeps them locked up tight so he can remain my support.

I don’t know what it is, but my arms start to feel some kind of sympathy pains or something because when the clock rounds its way into the second minute, I begin to feel the burn. My palms are also starting to get sweaty against the sun-warmed metal bar, and Reebok gets a twinkle in his eye at the signs of my weakness.

Dammit.

The bar starts to spin as I try to double over my grip, and the stress on my shoulders as it gets looser and looser is too much to handle.

I have to give in, putting my feet back to the pegs and climbing down, defeated. I couldn’t risk it, though, knowing an uncontrolled fall from the bar would be way too jarring for a baby as young as Iz.

Flynn pats me on the shoulder in consolation, and I hang my head with a shake. “I’m sorry, Iz,” I whisper down at her sweet face. “I know I’m letting the team down.”

But I swear, she tries to crack her first smile at me.

“Thanks, babe,” I tell her, grateful for the support.

Subtlety gone, Flynn and I plant ourselves there as Reebok pays his money and tries his hand. I widen my stance and put my hands to my hips, and Flynn boosts the boys higher so they can get a better view. The fish can hang out on the ground a little longer.

“No way this guy is going to do this, right?” I remark under my breath, to which Flynn replies with a snort that says,no fucking way.

I nod, confidence renewed.We got this.

Reebok climbs the pegs and grabs the bar, his cargo shorts billowing in the wind. The clock starts its count, and the longer it goes, the sicker to my stomach I start to feel.

He’s got a smirk on his face and a glimmer in his eye, and his baby boy is staring me down in a way that screamsI know something you don’t.

Flynn shifts next to me as we approach the last fifteen seconds of his count, and even without him saying anything, I know he’s feeling the nerves too.

This fucker is about to tie this shit up. I can hardly believe it.

The buzzer sounds, and the dad climbs down and picks up his baby’s arm to high-five it. The attendant presents him with a big, stuffed bear, and Flynn groans, ending the sound with the words, “Fuck me.”

I nod. Tell me about it.

Steely-eyed and more determined than ever, I scoop up the fish, and we turn from the booth and head down the road to the main stage. We need something we know we can win. Something that’s a shoo-in. We need a tiebreaker and a clincher in one, and as soon as I spot the banner draped across the top of the performance platform, I know exactly what it is.

“Flynn, look.” I point. “Over there.”

He follows the line of my finger and then looks back to me, perplexed. “A hot dog eating contest?”

“It’s the perfect way to put this competition to rest.”

Flynn scoffs. “If you’re the one doing it, maybe. I suffer from far too much indigestion. Dais’ll kill me if I come home all fucked up.”

I frown. “Well, shit. I was planning on meeting Maria for dinner later, too. I can’t eat, like, fifty hot dogs.”

Right then, as if he’s been flying below the radar, Reebok appears directly in front of us, meeting our eyes over his shoulder as he adds his name to the hot dog eating sign-up list.

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