Page 23 of Crazy In Love
Axel
She’s part sweet old lady, and part gangster. She’s totally working you. She hit me up for twenty bucks when I stopped by to check on Melody yesterday.
Easton
Hey. She asked me for twenty bucks last week because she said she needs new pantyhose.
Rafe
Twenty bucks? Why is she hitting me up for hundys? She asked me for a hundred bucks so she could take Melody to the pumpkin patch before it officially closes at the end of the month.
The pumpkin patch is free, you dumbass.
Archer
Can we circle back to the actual conversation, and not the fact that you are all getting hustled by my nanny. Bridger, apologize before the game next week. I will not be doing this again to cover your ass.
How is this covering my ass? I don’t even want to play pickleball.
Easton
Lalalalalallalala (this is me tuning your ass out). I didn’t hear that. Be there today and bring a good attitude. And fucking apologize, you stubborn pricklicker.
The texts kept coming through, but I ignored them as I leaned back on my fancy toilet and thought about it.
They were right. I was a fucking billionaire.
I’d put her through hell, apparently, and the girls were involved now.
And that’s when it hit me.
It was time to take care of business.
I was ready to put this beef with Emilia Taylor behind me.
And I knew exactly how to do that.
“Game day, boys. We’re down a few players, so everyone needs to show up today.” Easton glanced over at my father, who was apparently subbing for Clark. “Dad, just—do what you can do.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, son. I have played pickleball, and I was considered an athletic god when I was in college,” he said, and everyone roared in laughter.
My father, Keaton Chadwick, was one of the best people I’d ever known. He had a heart of gold, and he loved his family fiercely.
But athletic?
No.
No, no, no.
I once got partnered with him in a family basketball playoff game, and he actually scored more baskets for the opposing team than our team.
“You’ve got this, Dad,” Rafe said, clapping him on the shoulder.
Just then, Henley, Lulu, Eloise, and my mother came walking toward us.
“Good luck today,” Mom said. “Keaton, don’t overdo it. You don’t need to get injured.”
“Don’t you worry, Ellie Belly. I’ll be fine for the concert next weekend.” He turned to look at me. “You best apologize soon, because next weekend we’re going to see Jelly Roll, and we won’t be here.”
