7. Turkey Trots and Dizzy Thoughts
7
Turkey Trots and Dizzy Thoughts
OLIVER
“What do you mean, what the hell are these?” she snapped as I got to my feet. “You forget how to read, Hart?”
“Right, but they’re all overdue.” I held the stack out. “What’s going on, Leigh? What aren’t you telling me?”
“I lost my job after the accident,” she said flatly, shrugging like it meant nothing. “I was out for a month, and when I came back, paparazzi followed me to work, trying to get a story. Didn’t go over well with the crotch stain that was my manager.” Rather than sitting down to eat, she plopped onto the marble floor and tugged on her tennis shoes. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but the job market sucks right now. I’m about a day away from selling feet pics. But I’ll figure it out.”
“You have nice feet,” I deadpanned.
“Exactly.”
“But, Leigh, why didn’t you say something?” I didn’t even bother hiding the hurt in my voice. I couldn’t.
“I’m not looking for a white knight, Ollie. I got myself this far—I’ll get myself out.”
Frustration eclipsed my worry, and I closed the distance between us. Greyson caused this. And now he wasn’t even keeping tabs? I could kill him for it.
Dropping to one knee in front of her, I shook my head. “You didn’t choose to get in that accident. You didn’t choose to have a psychopath ransom your sister, pull that trigger, or drive off a goddamn bridge. None of this is your fault.”
“No,” she agreed softly, tightening her laces as red crept up her throat. “But it’s not anyone else’s fault, either. Evil people do evil things. Bad things happen to good people.” It sounded rehearsed—like something she’d said a hundred times just to survive it. “It’s fine, Ollie. I’ll figure it out.”
I held up the stack again. “This is figuring it out, Leighton?”
“Ollie, I love you, so I’m not gonna say what I want to say right now. But I am gonna beg you to drop it.”
“Yeah, no . That won’t be happening.”
“ Ollie ,” she warned as we stood. Hands on hips. Eyes flaring.
“Don’t ‘Ollie’ me, Trouble . Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I don’t want your fucking money, Oliver! That’s why!” Her voice cracked with the emotion I could see she was trying to shove down. “You’re beautiful, and you’ve got a gorgeous heart, and of course you’d wanna swoop in and save the day—but I don’t want a fucking dime from you.” She huffed, expression twisted somewhere between grief and fury as she yanked her ponytail tighter. “ And I knew you’d look at me like that .”
“Like I’m worried about you?”
“I don’t need your pity, Hart.”
“And you don’t have it, Rhodes . You’ve got my anger. My disappointment. You think between me and Greyson, we don’t have enough connections to land you somewhere solid? That we couldn’t help you rise above a shitty market?”
“I don’t need to cheat my way into a job.”
“Cheat?” I choked on the word. “You think I’m offering you some backdoor shortcut? Jesus.” I followed her to the door and shut it before she could slip out like we weren’t mid-argument. “Listen to me.” She turned, glaring. I dropped my hand from the doorknob. “Nobody gets anywhere without help. A hand up. The right meeting at the right time. I’m not trying to be your knight in shining armor—I just want to help. But you have to let me.”
“Not all of us are cut out for corporate ladders.”
“Fine. You like hospitality? We own a dozen restaurants in the city.”
“That feels an awful lot like a handout.”
“I’ve worked in kitchens, Leighton. Dad made us all get jobs in high school to understand what work actually meant. The people in food service are some of the hardest-working people I know.”
“Still—”
“Don’t want to work for us? Fine . I know half the restaurant owners in this city. I can make a call, see who’s hiring. But you’ve got to tell me you’re looking. I had no idea. Did you even tell Alice? Paxton?”
Her nose wrinkled. Eyes hardened.
“Jesus Christ. You’re so fucking stubborn.”
“And this is, frankly, none of your business.”
“ You’re my business.” The words came out before I could stop them. “Harts take care of their own.”
“I’m not a fucking Hart.”
“You’re family .” My voice lowered. “If it matters to you, it matters to us.”
Her mouth parted slightly, eyes widening like I’d slapped her. But before either of us could speak again, there were footsteps—and the door flew open.
In one panicked motion, I yanked Leighton away from the frame, catching the door with my opposite hand just before it cracked her shoulder.
“Oh fuck—I’m so sorry! You okay?”
My eyes snapped shut at the sound of her brother’s voice.
And in walked... a giant inflatable turkey.
Leighton burst out laughing, full-blown jovial now, like our argument hadn’t just happened. She wiped every trace of tension from her face in a heartbeat as I stepped aside to let the walking mascot in.
“Oh. Hey, Ollie. Didn’t expect to bump into you here,” Paxton said from behind the stupid little mesh face window.
“Hey, Rhodes. Just came to drag Leighton’s ass to the fundraiser.”
“Beat me to it,” he laughed, ducking under the threshold. The more I got to know the guy off the field, the more I liked him. He had the same flair for chaos I did. Or used to.
“If it’s all the same, I think I’ll ride with Pax.” She looped her arm through the turkey’s and shot me a glare that dared me to challenge her. “We haven’t had a lot of time to chat about his season.”
“That’s fine,” I said through a tight smile, trying not to take the bait. “We’ll catch up later.”
“I’m sure.” She squeezed her brother’s arm as his face dimmed behind the costume.
“Did I interrupt something?” he asked, voice sharpening with concern.
“Nope. Just our brother-in-law behaving very... brotherly , ” Leighton chirped.
Brotherly? Oh, absolutely not.
“We’re not in-laws,” I said, narrowing my eyes.
“Yes, but ‘our sister’s brother-in-law’ is just too wordy, isn’t it?” She grinned, twisting the knife. “After all. We’re all family . Right?”
Should’ve known that line would bite me in the ass.
Swallowing my irritation, I forced a tight smile. “Right.”
“Okay, what did I miss?” Paxton asked, his inflatable head bobbing as he looked between us.
“Nothing, Pax. Let’s get out of here.” She glared at his tail. “How the fuck did you drive here in that?”
“Dally drove. I rode in the back.”
“Dallas is here?” she gasped, whirling for the hallway.
Of course.
My jaw tensed.
Dallas Miller was one of our best receivers and a local media darling. And maybe— maybe —if he weren’t plastered across every billboard in a twenty-mile radius, I wouldn’t want to punt his ass to another city.
Note to self: if there’s a trade option for Dallas, make it happen.
As Leighton dragged the oversized turkey through the door, I threw up my hands and barked, “At least take your breakfast with you!”
* * *
I wasn’t so self-absorbed that I took for granted how blessed my life was. There had never been a time I couldn’t put food on my table or keep the lights on. I’d never felt that kind of stress. But with a life of privilege came a bit of a god complex—something that sure as hell wasn’t helped by the paparazzi following my every move, gossip columns foaming at the mouth for an inside scoop, or the ability to auction off photos with my kids in the name of charity.
The allure of the spotlight wore off sometime during adolescence, before dad started scandalizing our name in the media, but after I’d had my heart broken one too many times by girls who wanted the bank account, not the boyfriend.
So, in some bizarre way, I could admire what Leighton was doing—if only for the selfish reason that she was so determined not to make this about money. Not about my resources. Not about the name.
I wasn’t used to that. And if I’m being honest, it irritated the absolute shit out of me.
She’d made her point. So why the hell wouldn’t she take the help?
Much to my disappointment, I didn’t see her for the entire fundraiser. She and the giant turkey had vanished back into Pax’s truck, and I watched her peel out of the parking lot with the windows down, Dallas Miller riding shotgun and AC/DC blaring loud enough to wake the neighbors.
I wasn’t particularly accustomed to problems I couldn’t fix. Not with time. Not with effort. Not with money. And certainly not with the resources at my disposal.
Problems like my brother endangering our family by bankrolling mercenaries to fight monsters most people didn’t even know existed.
Problems like the woman who held my heart in her hands refusing to let me help—even when she so clearly needed it.
Or problems like my goddamn ex-wife stepping into her red Porsche just as I pulled into the driveway, tossing her black-and-white hair over her shoulder with a flirtatious finger wave like she hadn’t just declared emotional war by showing up uninvited on Thanksgiving morning.
Fuck. My. Life.
That smug little smile of hers could only mean one thing: I was in for a world of pain when I went inside.
Sure enough, I opened the front door to find Oaklyn—our nanny—standing in the entryway with her duffel in one hand, eyes red, and makeup smudged.
She was wiping at her face as she made for the door.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Hart. I quit.”
“What? Why? ” It came out as more of a growl. All anger. No confusion. I already knew the answer. But still—I asked. I had to.
As she tried to sidestep me, I gently caught her elbow, lowering my voice. “Oaklyn, you’ve been doing a great job. What did she say to you?”
“N- nothing ,” she stammered, voice cracking on the word. “I’m just not a good fit for this. Thank you.”
“You can’t just leave us hanging—at least give me time to find someone else.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hart.” And with that, she slipped out of my grasp and marched straight to her sedan without another word.
The door shut behind her like a period at the end of a brutal sentence.
And the hits just keep on coming.
Leighton
“You sure you're okay, Punky?” Paxton asked as we rode the elevator up to my floor. “You’re still looking a bit peaky.”
Despite waking up on the wrong side of the bed to another “friendly reminder” email about my past-due car payment, I’d thrown on my game face and made the most of the morning. We’d had a great time. I’d had Paxton’s back through the entire event, and—if I’m honest—it was pretty damn surreal to stand beside him, snapping photos for eager kids who just wanted a signed print with their favorite quarterback. Who also happened to be my favorite big brother.
I’d told Pax and Dallas I was too exhausted to run, but still wanted to help. He’d parked me at the photo op tent at the halfway mark. A win-win—stay out of the sun, and out of range of my nosy not-a-brother-in-law, while still helping the cause.
But around eleven, the ground started tilting under me. My heart fluttered, once, then again. It hadn’t acted up in a while, and I took it as a sign to get the hell off my feet.
“Yeah,” I finally answered as we reached my floor. “I swear I'm alright.”
“Did you get enough water in?” Pax pressed, one hand hovering protectively near my shoulder, like he was ready to catch me.
I batted the big, beautiful, overbearing ass away. “Yes, Dad . I drank plenty. It was probably just the heat.”
“I’ll still feel better once I know you’ve seen a cardiologist.”
Right. Because those are just lining up for me right now. With my referral stuck in Anchorage’s backlog, it would be months before I got an appointment. Might be faster to fly home and wait another four to six weeks.
“My annual is in February,” I hedged. “I promise I’m diligent.”
“I know,” he muttered as we reached my door. “But aren’t you supposed to check in if there are any changes or symptoms?”
“Geez Louise, what is it with the men in my life today?” I muttered under my breath.
Having a major cardiac event as a teenager was traumatic enough. Add eleven siblings, and that trauma came with a never-ending rotation of protectors. The whole family had put their lives on hold during my surgery and rehab. Even now, years later, if I so much as jogged too fast, I got scolded from thirteen directions.
It hadn’t helped that we lived in a town small enough for the sheriff to personally swing by and tattle to my parents. It wasn’t until I moved to Emerald Bay that I could so much as take a hike without someone catching up “just to check in.” I knew it all came from love—but my god, it was suffocating.
“What?” Pax asked.
“Nothing,” I sighed as he keyed in the door code and held it open for me. “If any red flags pop up, I promise I’ll make a call. It was probably just the sun, and I feel fine now.”
Which was only kind of a lie. The sun hadn’t been that hot, maybe low eighties. And I’d been wiped all week. The guilt scraped at my insides. Fatigue. Lightheadedness. The same symptoms I’d ignored before the first time.
But cardiology care wasn’t cheap—even with insurance—and I didn’t have money sitting in the couch cushions. Every job I’d applied to in the last six weeks had ghosted or rejected me outright. Degree or no, experience trumped ambition, and nobody wanted to train someone “just eager to learn.”
I knew Pax would help me out if I asked. Hell, he’d cover all my bills and drag me to the damn hospital himself. But I didn’t want to turn to him. Didn’t want to call my parents or beg someone to bail me out. And I especially didn’t want to be another leech in Oliver Hart’s life. He deserved someone who didn’t look at him and see dollar signs.
At twenty-three, I should be able to pay my own goddamn bills—and that included managing my defective ticker.
I must’ve been too wrapped up in my own head, because I didn’t hear what Paxton said next until he stepped in front of me, blocking my path with his brows furrowed.
“If you need something, you know you can tell me, right?”
“I know,” I chirped, turning on the cheer. Everything was fine. My heart was fine. The perfect job was coming any day now, and I’d be right as rain in a matter of a few weeks. At least, that's what I was telling myself as Paxton lowered those concerned Rhodes gray-blues on me.
“I mean it, punky.”
“I know you mean it, bubba.”
His expression softened immediately at the old nickname. When we were kids, Kaia and I couldn’t pronounce “brother” properly, and somehow all six of them became bubba- something .
I squished his face between my sweaty palms. “Now let me pass the fuck out for a few hours before dinner and I promise, all will be peachy keen.”
“Honestly, a nap sounds great,” he muttered, already pulling out his phone. “First time in years I’m not playing today.”
Which was code for: I’m nervous, so I’m texting the group chat for backup. I smirked, watching him type. Probably just tattled to the sibling hivemind.
* * *
Hart House was absolute chaos by the time we stepped inside that evening, after an hour-long video chat with my mom and the siblings who made it to Florida. The decadent aroma of roasting turkey, stuffing, and cinnamon-spiced something embraced me like the warmest hug. Combined with the symphony of laughter and mingling voices, it created the homiest vibe I'd ever felt in this gargantuan museum of a house. Maybe ol’ Suit Daddy did have a heart after all.
A broad grin stretched across my face as Kaia’s exuberant laughter rang off the walls. People can say whatever they want about twins, but having a built-in best friend—and rival—was the highlight of my childhood. Nobody, and I mean nobody , has your back like your literal other half. Something about sharing a womb really cements that sibling loyalty.
I’d just slipped out of my peacoat when the heavy thuds of familiar footfalls had me turning just in time to see my six-foot-four brother bounding toward me like an overenthusiastic Great Dane. Maverick might be the baby of the family, but at two-hundred-and-lord-knows-how-many pounds, I couldn't help but panic as he barreled forward, looking far too eager for my liking.
“There she is!” he boomed in that bass voice that still startled the shit out of me every time he opened his mouth. From the bowels of the house, Chip, Alice’s Maltese, began yipping frantically, gradually getting closer.
“Mav, don’t you dare!” I screeched, throwing my hands up. Too little, too late. He snatched me off the ground, crushing my arms into useless T-rex limbs between us, and spun us in a full circle, my feet dangling at least eighteen inches off the floor.
“Put me down, you overgrown Labrador! Jesus Christ. ”
“Not a chance,” he growled, squeezing me tighter as he buried his face against my shoulder. “I fucking missed you, beautiful!”
“Can’t…breathe,” I croaked, wriggling uselessly against his absurd biceps. The yipping grew louder, accompanied by the begrudging chuff that announced their German Shepherd’s arrival.
“Mav,” Pax drawled from somewhere behind him, dry as ever. “If you break her before dinner, Alice will demand your head.”
“He has a point!” came a familiar but delightfully unexpected male baritone, right as I reached to pinch the ever-living shit out of the arm I could get ahold of.
“ Ouch, ” Mav complained, finally setting me down as more footsteps signaled the arrival of another branch of our chaos tree. “Haven’t seen you in months and that’s the greeting I get?”
Chip was now a furry pogo stick between us—promptly piddling all over the floor.
“Ah man, gross ,” I groaned, scrambling back as a maid magically materialized with paper towels and disinfectant. I scooped up the overly excitable rescue to prevent another panic pee and burst out laughing when I finally looked up at my “little” brother.
Like Pax, Mav was all Rhodes—towering, warm brown hair, tan skin, and telltale blue eyes. But where Pax was all thoughtful consideration and furrowed focus, Mav was a living dimple with a megawatt smile and boundless energy.
“I see you got properly boa-constrictored,” Kaia noted, beaming over her glass of white wine as she closed the distance and threw an arm around my neck with an actually-acceptable level of enthusiasm. “’Bout damn time you got here,” she muttered, smacking a sloppy kiss to my cheek before passing me off to Alice.
“Don’t listen to her,” Alice insisted. “You’re right on time.”
“Thanks for hosting, sissy.”
“Of course.”
“And you!” I squeaked, dropping the dog into her waiting arms and whirling to meet the expectant, sparkling brown eyes of her best friend.
Max might’ve had a decade on me, but that bright smile and open arms felt like a sliver of home—a little piece of Mistyvale, personified. I threw myself into his hug, burying my face in his chest.
“You came!” I squeaked.
“I did, and you look nearly as fabulous as I do tonight, darling.”
Max was always—always, without fail, even on rainy days—dressed to the nines. Tonight was no exception.
“Aww, thanks, Maxi.”
Before I could say more, Mav demanded, “And what am I, chopped liver?”
“Max just has good taste,” I jabbed.
“And I would like some credit,” Mav said, straightening his tie. Emerald Bay green.
I snorted. “Brown-noser.”
“Come on now, I thought it was a nice gesture.”
“For Pax, or our hosts?”
“Mmmmm, both,” he decided. “But mostly whoever is currently feeding me.”
“That would be me,” Alice said with a rare full-scale grin.
“Or at least your fancy chef,” Mav teased.
“I’ll have you know I baked every pie myself.”
“And the turkey?” I challenged, narrowing my eyes with a smirk.
“Seasoned via my nose… after Greyson’s chef cleaned out all the nasty inside stuff.”
“There it is,” Max said with a victorious laugh, tugging me along beside him.
“You’ll eat it and enjoy it,” Alice sniffed.
“Speaking of things we eat and enjoy,” Mav cut in, “who the fuck ever decided to eat an egg?”
“What?” Pax balked.
“Come on. It’s weird, right? Just plops out their ass with no warning and some Johnny looks at it and goes, ‘Looks like breakfast’? Make it make sense.”
“How are you still alive?” Paxton jabbed.
Kaia snickered. “Did Mama drop you on your head, and I’ve just forgotten or…?”
“Oh, piss off,” Mav scoffed, exploiting that ridiculous reach to ruffle her hair, sending me into a laughing fit as she swatted him away.
Home. This felt like home.
No wonder I’d been so downtrodden. These were my people. I was never built to fly solo. I wondered, for just a moment, if I could convince Pax to stay with me and Kaia for the winter.
“What the hell are you even on, kid?”
“It’s like pineapples,” Mav shrugged.
“ Pineapples? ” Alice coughed.
“Well yeah —who the hell looked at that spiky little motherfucker and thought—” Maverick's words cut off like a record scratch as the front door opened.
Emmaline.
She slipped inside, shedding her trench to reveal a gorgeous, curve-hugging gold dress that somehow made her blonde hair even blonder. Curls half-pinned, tied with an emerald bow, she looked like a goddamn storybook.
But her bright smile dimmed the instant her eyes landed on the huddle of Rhodes in the foyer.
Maverick went statue-still.
An uncomfortable silence settled between us, as one by one, we all looked between the two of them.
“Evening, everyone,” Emmaline said, clearing her throat.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Alice chirped, clearly trying to cut through the what-the-fuck-was-that still hanging in the air.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Emma echoed woodenly. She’d just come back from college over the summer, and based on the palpable tension between her and Mav…
“Do you two know each other?” I blurted.
“Oh. We’re acquainted ,” Emma replied in a tone that said it all. “Met at school.”
Before I could demand context, Ollie rounded the corner, looking so unfairly handsome in his perfectly tailored black suit—ridiculous turkey tie and all.
“Hey, Trouble,” he said with that crooked smile. “You got a sec?”