Page 22 of Game Changer

“What? Was polite.”

“Is there any reason you shouldn’t be?” I force a laugh—yes, force—because yeah, that’s yuck behavior.

“Something I couldn’t shake with his ex—or whatever she is—yesterday. Acted like a kicked puppy.”

“I can assure you Boone’s not a puppy kicker, or his ex or whatever, which, by the way, it’s he who wants things to work out with them, and she doesn’t seem to want it, so I wouldn’t say he’s the bad guy in this.”

“So, you think she is?”

“Not saying that either, not after yesterday. It’s the first time I’ve met her. Yes, she seems skittish, but I can promise you that boy would never hurt someone on purpose.”

“He’s full of testosterone; he’s a football player, Syd.”

“He plays offense,” I snip and realize I’m being ridiculous. “I am not fighting with you about Beau Boone or the lovelyLindsay, who I believe just felt out of sorts around me, but she and I are going to be best friends.”

“You have a lot of best friends.” Liam chuckles.

“You can never have too many.” I wink.

Standing back, I survey the dessert bar in the back corner of the Brewery. The table is covered in a crisp, black linen cloth, the perfect backdrop for the colorful array of treats. Basketsful of homemade chocolate chip cookies, platters full of frosted cupcakes with intricate designs, and delicate macarons line the table. In the center, proudly standing tall, is a black-frosted, three-tiered cake adorned with a gold Knights’ emblem, and yes, I mastered that thing and have at least twenty edible Knights’ emblems in the freezer at all times, because that’s now what every kid wants on their birthday cake around here, even the girls.

Smaller jars hold toppings for the sundae bar Riley and Lauren, who own Brooks Brewery, insist on every New Year’s, and there is a space open for Aunt Tessa to place Lucas’s birthday cake.

I can hear the laughter and chatter of the staff who are being dismissed to leave and get ready for tonight as the Ross family, which means all of us, will take over as hosts and staff for the evening so that everyone can celebrate the new year. We started this a couple of years ago, and it has become an annual occurrence. We’ll be driving people home so they don’t drink and drive, and we will be having one hell of a good time doing so.

Within an hour, the place is filling up; some people are drinking, others head straight for the buffet lines and fill their plates. Glasses are clinking, the twinkling lights hang above us,the hums of conversation involving well wishes, congratulations and, of course, this is gonna be our years. It’s a warm and inviting scene, one that we have created with love and care, hoping to bring joy to everyone around us.

Harper stands beside me, resting her head on my shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Lord, no.” I laugh. “I would not burden you with what’s going on in my head right now.”

“Then quickly make up a story; tell me something good, Sydney.” Harper yawns.

I can’t help but laugh. “Did you just yawn?”

“I did. Let me be brutally honest with you,” she whispers, “I would rather be home and in footy pajamas, sitting in front of a fire with my hot as hell husband strumming his guitar than all dolled up here tonight, and I know that makes me an asshole, but it can’t be helped.”

From behind me comes a loud laugh. “Please tell me that you shared with Sydney, too, so I’m not the only one here thinking you’re a giant baby right now.”

I look her over—and I am talking from top to bottom—inspecting her as if it were my job. Then I shake my head. “As two women who have grown children inside your bodies and pushed them out of your vaginas, I would expect more from you.”

“No way,” Harper gasps. “It’s not possible.”

“I call bullshit.” I shoo her away. “Go take a test, and then, by all means, go put on those damn pajamas and get freaky with your hot husband.”

I hear someone coughing—no, choking—from the end of the table, and of course—of freaking course—it’s Boone.

“All righty, you all have fun. I’m going to get changed.”

I watch as the mother and daughter, dressed similarly, take a spin around on the dance floor. They are dressed in a coordinating color—a pale pink. Lily’s little dress has gold glitter, and as she whirls around the dance floor, blonde curls bouncing with every spin, her face lights up with joy as she follows her daddy’s lead.

I glance over and see Lindsey walking off the dance floor. I smile when our eyes meet and wave her over.

She points to the bathroom and holds up one finger, mouthing, “The bathroom.”

Unsure if she’s using it as an excuse or maybe wants me to follow, ’cause you know we ladies don’t use the restroom alone, typically, I decide to stay put. And that’s when the song changes.

I watch Boone swoop up Lily and proceed to sing along to the song, Kane Brown’s “For My Daughter.”

---