Page 31 of Every Promise Broken

Taking a seat at the table, I place the wine down in front of both of them as Whit finishes getting everything set up. “Thank you.” The words are softly spoken, and he flits his gaze up to meet mine for half a second at most before returning to his task.

“Hope you boys are ready to have your asses handed to you by an old lady,” Nana chirps before taking a sip of her wine. She’s always been the most competitive one out of all of us. Aside from Whit. His fierce, competitive nature took me by surprise the first time I witnessed it.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Whit chimes in, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’re first, Conrad.”

“Well, hang on,” I grumble. “I haven’t even had a chance to organize my squares yet.”

“Maybe if you spent less time ogling your husband and more time paying attention, you’d be more prepared,” Nana murmurs, causing me to choke on my own spit. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest.

“I was not.”

Without even looking up, I already know Whit is red as a tomato.

“Sure, you were,” she goes on. “Now, go. It’s your turn.”

My eyes give a quick scan to my squares, laying down H-O-M-E. “There.”

Doing the math quickly, Whit jots down the score on the pad of paper beside him. “Nine points. Big scorer starting us out,” he deadpans. Nana laughs.

“I’m sorry, was thatsarcasmI hear?” I ask, dumbfounded.

Lifting one of his shoulders into a shrug, he doesn’t bother looking up. “Maybe it was.”

“My turn,” Nana announces, swiftly laying down her squares. “Mega, double word. Fourteen points.” Clasping her hands in front of her on the table, she grins, very pleased with herself as Whit jots down the score.

“Good job,” he offers.

“Oh, she gets a ‘good job’ and all I get is sarcasm?”

“Correct.” Throwing me a pleased-with-himself grin, he lays down his word on the board. “Zappy. Triple word score, making it sixty-three points.”

“Zappy?” I drawl before taking a swig off my beer. “I don’t think that’s a real word.”

Whit’s eyes narrow as they slice over to me. “Yes, it is. A sixty-three-point word, to be exact.”

Sitting forward in my chair, I level him with a look. “Prove it.”

He holds my gaze, jaw flexing as he bites down on his molars. It’s a real word; I know it is, but I’ve always secretly loved seeing how worked up he gets when playing these kinds of games. His need to be right, to win, shines bright, bringing out a whole new side of him.

Glowering at me from across the table, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. My gaze glides over to my nana, where she’s watching the exchange with an amused look on her face. Her eyes glint as they meet mine.

“Zappy describes someone or something that is energetic, lively, or fast moving.” Whit flips the phone around to show me the screen. “Per dictionary dot com.”

Scrubbing a hand over my mouth to hide the smile trying to break loose, I hold Whit’s gaze. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

With a sneer, Whit locks his phone, pocketing it as we continue the game. Each of us taking our turn, it goes in similar fashion. Whit and Nana end up ganging up on me and my poor-scoring words while the two of them battle it out for the winner. In the end, Whit takes the win using the word cake, and he practically vibrates in his seat with so much excitement you’d think there was cash on the line.

Nana swipes her empty wineglass off the table as she stands, pointing a finger toward Whit. “I’m getting you next time, boy.”

He chuckles, and the sound washes over me like warm bath water. “We’ll see about that, ya old bat.”

She scoffs. “Who the hell do you think you’re calling old?”

“You,” he teases, affection in his tone. “Maybe if you had your glasses on, you could’ve seen the board better and could’ve chosen better words.”

I chuckle to myself as I pick up all the pieces, neatly putting them away in the box before tucking it in the hutch again. After I grab my empty beer bottle and Whit’s empty glass off the table, I take the one out of my nana’s hand, bringing them all into the kitchen. Once I toss the bottle and finish cleaning the glasses, I place them on the drying rack before slipping on my boots and heading out to do one final check on everything.

This is normally something I do much earlier than this, but I got swept up in the game. Typically, I’m in bed by now, fast asleep. When I was younger, I remember I used to give my dad shit all the time for going to bed so damn early. He was a creature of habit. Up with the sun, in bed before nine. But as I got older, I realized why he was like that. All ranchers are.

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