Page 23 of Power Forward

I also managed to order the matching Bluey and Bingo versions for them too, but I’ll save those for Christmas.

I take a seat on the couch in between them, and they curl into me instantly. I wrap an arm around each of them and kiss the top of their heads. I might pull my hair out most of the time, but I do love them more than anything.

“Make sure you’re good for Gigi, okay? No fighting her when she says it’s bedtime.”

“I’m always good,” Isabela argues, and I give her a disbelieving look.

The tantrums have only increased recently, to the point her teachers pulled my mom aside the other day and expressed their concerns. She doesn’t want to share or get involved with the other kids during playtime, preferring to play alone. I have a meeting scheduled with the school during the week to discuss what they mean by her maybe needing “additional support.”

“Can we have ice cream after dinner?” Ryan asks, resting his head back against my shoulder.

“Sure, as long as you eat all of your dinner.”

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees easily and turns his attention back to playing his game.

“Daddy?” Isabela shifts until her feet are in my lap. “Can I come to the party?”

I twirl one of her pigtails around my finger. “You can’t come, peanut, because it’s a party for adults. There’s going to be special adult juice there and loud music.”

She sticks her bottom lip out in a pout, and my spine stiffens on high alert, preparing myself for the tears. Luckily, my mom chooses that moment to walk into the room and claps her hands to get their attention.

“Kids, dinner’s ready. Say bye to your dad, and you’ll see him in the morning.”

“Have fun, Dad,” Ryan says. He wraps his arms around my neck in a tight hug, then jumps off the couch and goes into the family room, but Isabela doesn’t budge.

“Peanut, I’m only going out for a few hours. I’ll be home later tonight,” I reassure her, but she doesn’t loosen her hold on me.

I shoot my mom a panicked look. I don’t want to encourage this behavior, but I also hate the guilt that sits on my chest whenever I do things for me, such as spending a few hours at my teammate’s house and having a few drinks for our night off. We’ve had a run of home games recently, and this is the first night I’ve taken the boys up on their offer of hanging out.

“Your mac and cheese is getting cold,” my mom prompts, taking a step toward the couch.

Isabela huffs and glares at her out of the corner of her eye.

“Come on, don’t be like this. I won’t be long.” I shift to the edge of the couch, and my sudden movement causes her to lose her grip on me. My mom quickly scoops her up and tickles her ribs. Isabela tries to resist, but eventually, she’s giggling, and the bad mood disappears.

“Have fun.” Mom winks at me over Isabela’s head as she heads toward the family room. “Make sure you take photos of all the costumes, especially Ethan’s.” She lets out a contented sigh over her shoulder. “That man is beautiful. It’s unfair, really.”

For as long as I can remember, my mom’s had a soft spot for Ethan. I don’t blame her—he’s a good-looking guy.

“I will. I’ll see you later,” I say and slip out of the house before the guilt can claw its way further up my throat.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing on the step outside of Peyton’s house while he assesses me with quizzical eyes. “Who the fuck are you supposed to be?”

“Bandit. You know, the dad fromBluey.”

He blinks, a clueless expression on his face. He’s dressed as a spartan warrior, and the lack of fabric shows off his impressively strong body. The opposite to mine because I might as well be wearing pajamas.

“The TV show?” I add, then roll my eyes and shove the six-pack of beer into his chest. The movement causes him to stumble backward. “The kids picked it out, okay? Just roll with it. Bandit is cool.”

“O-okay. If you say so, dude,” he says in jest, closing the door behind me.

As always, Peyton’s gone all out with the decorations. There are banners and streamers covering the walls. Fake spiders hang from the ceiling, with carved pumpkin lanterns scattered around, and there are so many balloons I’m pretty sure he must have emptied out the store. Dance music pumps from the built-in speakers installed in every room, and the battery-operated candles create the perfect spooky party ambiance. Aside from me, he’s the only bachelor onthe team with a house and usually ends up being the host for any parties.

When I walk into the kitchen, the countertops are covered in copious amounts of food, and I cough out a laugh when my eyes land on a tapped beer keg.

“Are we back in college or something?” I ask, pointing to the stacks of red Solo cups. “Who’s setting up the beer pong?”

“It’s Peyton, what do you expect?” Kendrick snorts, taking a swig of his beer. His wife, Maria, is tucked against his side. “I’m pretty sure he’d still live in a frat if he could.”

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