6
Saturday, May 24th
Lexi
Water splashes onto the dock, sprinkling my legs and the edges of my towel, yanking me out of the deep recesses of my always-busy mind. The sun blazes overhead, the thick heat wrapping around us like a blanket, ushering in summer alongside our annual Memorial Day tradition—a weekend at Uncle Brad and Aunt Paula’s lake house.
My family is big. So big, in fact, that if I ever had to bring an outsider to one of our gatherings, I’d probably create a detailed family tree—color-coded and annotated—just to give them a fighting chance at keeping everyone straight.
I wish I were kidding. But with Finn’s family merged into our already chaotic mix, our connections are more tangled than ever.
The whole family rundown?
Well, there’s my immediate family—my mom Winnie, stepdad Wes, and my technically half brother Wes Jr. My mom has four brothers—Remy, Flynn, Ty, and Jude—and all four are married with kids. I’m the eldest cousin within the Winslow family; everyone else is closer to my brother’s age.
Remy and Maria have Izzy and Carmen.
Flynn and Daisy have the twins, Roman and Ryder.
Ty and Rachel have Emily.
Jude and Sophie have Hawk and Meadow.
Aunt Paula is married to Uncle Brad—my grandma Wendy’s brother. And Howard is my grandma’s husband.
Finally, there’s Finn’s side—my half family because they all share the same bio dad as my mom and uncles. Finn’s crew includes his mom Helen, sister Willow, and brothers Reece, Travis, and Jack.
See what I mean? Complicated.
Out on the lake, my brother and several of our cousins—Hawk, Meadow, Ryder, Roman, Izzy, Carmen and Emily—are floating on every inflatable device imaginable, from tubes to noodles. My uncles Flynn and Remy are in the water with them, while Ty and Jude execute cannonballs with reckless abandon, sending tidal waves crashing through the crowd, which, of course, cues Meadow’s and Emily’s inevitable, high-pitched shrieks.
Meanwhile, most of the adults have escaped to the house for a brief reprieve, preparing lunch in the relative quiet while we wreak havoc down here.
Finn and Scottie are on the dock with me, canoodling on a towel with Scottie’s body propped up against the front of Finn’s.
I can imagine every experience she has with her newly paralyzed body is both traumatizing and enlightening, but her attitude is commendably positive. She’s been all smiles since we arrived last night and hasn’t even offered an emotional moment over the complete and total upheaval of her life for the last couple of months. Maybe she’s different behind closed doors with Finn, but if I didn’t like her already, I’d be rethinking my stance this weekend.
I flick my large black sunglasses down my nose to get a better look at the water, counting heads in the shimmering churn. I know my uncles are paying some attention, but they’re also playing around, and I don’t want anyone trying to drown on my watch.
Satisfied with the body count, I sigh and push my sunglasses back up over my eyes, evidently earning Finn’s attention. “What’s wrong, Lex? Allergic to the sun?”
“No. Overwhelmed by the chaos, maybe,” I snort. “The sun, though, in measured amounts, has substantial benefits. Most of us don’t get enough vitamin D.”
Scottie giggles. “There are… a lot …of people here.”
“Yeah, I can’t believe how enormous my family is now,” Finn says with a grin. “Every time I glance back up at the house, I wonder how the hell we’ve managed to stuff that many people inside.”
Finn’s transformation over the past few months has been incredible. From crude, guarded, gruff fighter to someone at peace, his shift has a lot to do with Uncle Ty’s patience and the rest of our family rallying around him and his siblings and his mom. For years, their lives were anything but easy. Their dad—the same man who walked out on my mom and uncles and left my grandma to raise five young kids by herself—put simply, is a piece of shit.
But now, the Hayes family is safe and happy, and it’s clear in the way Finn carries himself.
Ironically, his story is not far off from the rest of us, taken under the wing of a loving sector of our family to guide us through a hard time at one point or another. I, myself, wouldn’t be flourishing the way I am now without my mom, grandmother, all four of my uncles—especially Remy—and Wes Lancaster, who stepped up to be a better stepdad than any girl could dream of.
I was never like the other kids. But with my family, that didn’t matter.
“It’s a phenomenon of theoretical physics how Uncle Brad and Aunt Paula managed to cram so many bedrooms into that lake house,” I tease, shaking my head. “Are the walls portals to other dimensions? I’ve been trying to figure it out for years.”
Both Scottie and Finn laugh, Finn leaning down right after to whisper something in Scottie’s ear that makes her both blush and smile. If this weren’t a regular occurrence for them, I might be tempted to spill into the thoughts of a third wheel. Given the circumstances of Scottie’s injury, and the trials of their whole relationship, though, I’m just glad to see them both so happy.
It makes me wonder if I’ll ever have it—the thing my parents and my aunts and uncles and Finn and Scottie and even Ace and Julia, no matter how much they don’t realize it yet, have with each other. It’s a level of closeness with another person I’ve often mused if I’m actually capable of having, or if the attempt would be like fitting a square peg in a smaller, rounder hole.
I know I’m not a freak of nature or anything, but my brain does work differently. Relationship-wise, it’s a challenge.
“Incoming!” Jude yells, razor-knifing into the water with one knee tucked to his chest and splashing all of us once again. Scottie struggles to push herself all the way back up to sitting after startling, and Finn lifts from under her armpits to help her.
“How’s physical therapy going, Scottie?” I ask, steering the conversation away from my swirling thoughts and onto a different track. “Do you feel like you’re making any progress?”
“It’s going well…when I don’t get frustrated,” Scottie hedges. “Adam, the one PT at the Hodge Clinic, says he thinks I’m only a few months away from finding some really solid independence.”
“That’s great,” I reply warmly, pushing up off my elbows and leaning my chest into my knees as a possibility hits me. “My dad, Nick, is a neurosurgeon, you know? World-renowned, actually. And he’s supposed to be back from Germany this summer. I know the teams you’ve been working with from St. Luke’s and Daytona were top-notch, but maybe you should do a consult with him, just for kicks.”
“Really?” Scottie asks. Her voice is both excited and hesitant, and I instantly know why. I’m not great at reading people, but it’s a no-brainer why someone in Scottie’s circumstances would be reticent with their hope. Going from a cheerleader in the prime of her career to paralyzed from the waist down is something no one expects or accepts easily. It took a lot of work to get as comfortable as she is, and any kind of false anticipation of a different outcome could really cause a setback.
“Of course.” I nod. “Next time I talk to my dad, I’ll mention it.”
“Thanks, Lex.” Finn’s deep voice has an extra edge of emotion I’m not sure anyone but I would pick up on, but I notice it all the same. Part of my brain’s chemical makeup is analysis. Every sound. Every face. Every facet. I can’t help but study them all. “We appreciate it.”
I shrug. For as weird as it may be, given how I met Fighting Finn Hayes for the first time—in the middle of a Double C event before he went toe-to-toe with ex-UFC fighter Donnie Marks—we’re family. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him.
Internal laughter plagues me as I realize Blake’s stupid nickname for Finn has rooted inside my brain. I knew I’d remember it, but I never dreamed I’d find myself using it.
“What are your friends up to this weekend?” I ask, the niggling—and lately constant—curiosity I have about Blake rearing its ugly head. Ever since we kissed over a week ago, I’ve been mentally analyzing his charismatic superpowers at every available opportunity. And after my interaction with him on campus last Monday, I might’ve taken my research a step further.
“Julia and Ace are in the Hamptons with their parents,” Scottie answers. “Kayla’s home for the summer, and I think she’s with her family in Florida this weekend.”
“Blake is still at Dickson, I think,” Finn adds, and my stupid ears home in on the sound of his name. “Probably football training shit he has to do.”
“On Memorial Day weekend?” A pang of worry that he’s lonely hits me square in the chest with annoyance. I don’t spend my time thinking about men—and I certainly don’t spend my time thinking about football players like Blake Boden.
Says the girl who spent way too much of her time this week focused on her new little research project that—
“I think Blake’s mom and dad might have been coming into town for a couple days.” Scottie’s update cuts off my thoughts at the knees. “But man, maybe we should have checked.” She worries her lip. “We could have invited him here, I bet. Not like anyone would even notice one more with these numbers.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” I say, the panic of imagining him here with my whole family pressuring me to find some status quo. “It’s not like the entire campus is empty, and he’s got plenty of fans.”
“Shoo,” Finn remarks, his face turned up in an amused grin. “You really are a steel fortress when it comes to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on, Lex.” Finn’s eyes dance with amusement. “You’ve rejected him more times than I can count. You act like he’s not even a human.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s a campus celebrity.”
Finn laughs. “Blake’s not like that. Not really. People are interested in him, but all he cares about are his friends and football.”
That little nugget of information should be easy to brush off, but my mind latches on to it like a parasite. The human brain thrives on patterns, and mine demands them. When something doesn’t add up, I can’t just let it go—I have to find the why.
Enter the anomaly that is Blake Boden—the man who spurs a reaction from every woman in his vicinity, including me. I don’t do well with anomalies.
Naturally, as a consequence of my shortcomings, I’ve turned him into data and created the AI-assisted Blake Boden Analysis app I’ve been thinking about ever since the night dorm-room pizza with Blake ended in a kiss I still don’t understand.
Technically, it’s a combination of a data analysis spreadsheet and an AI-assisted program, but the app is probably easier to explain. Basically, I input everything I know, and continue to learn, about him—physical traits, social interactions, football stats, even the way his smile curves slightly higher on the left. And I log my observations—the way other people react to him, things his friends say, et cetera.
The app takes those inputs and identifies patterns and gives me updated conclusions based on my current hypothesis— Quality of life is unchanged with Blake Boden in it. One person can’t have that big of an effect on a life surrounded by thousands and thousands of other people.
It’s purely scientific. Logical. Or a way for you to reclaim control when he’s threatening to steal it.
I ignore my clearly useless subconscious and make a mental note of data to add to my Blake Boden app— friends are defensive of who he is as a person and of his feelings . I’m not the app, but I’m willing to bet the supposition is a benefaction of trustworthiness.
Which, of course, suggests I shouldn’t be so dismissive of the idea of spending more time with him.
Annoying.
I drop back onto my elbows and point my eyes to the sky, making Finn laugh again. As far as he and Scottie are concerned, my hatred for Blake is the running joke of the century. I, for one, wish it were that simple.
“Hey, hey!” Uncle Jude shouts, jumping through the three of us on light feet, dripping water all over the dock and our bodies. “I see Wendy and Helen waving up there, and you know what that means!”
“Food’s ready!” Uncle Ty yells, shoving him out of the way and jumping over my body to be first. A roaring stampede of wet teenagers follows as everyone hustles out of the water, and I shrink into a ball to get out of the way as they charge around me. I might as well be Mufasa at the bottom of the gorge for all the care they take with me.
Logically, I know they’re trampling me to avoid doing the same to Scottie, but still…I’d like to live to see tomorrow.
“Hey, watch it!” I yell as my cousin Hawk steps on my pinkie finger. He looks back in apology but doesn’t slow down in his surge for the house. “My God, this is like Roadhouse without Patrick Swayze, and clearly, he was the best part.”
“Solid fucking movie,” Finn says in camaraderie as I climb to my feet and shrink into a pencil to avoid the last of the wildebeests running for sustenance. Scottie smacks his chest with a small laugh and a big smile, and he clears his throat, adding, “May he rest in peace.”
Finn gets to his knees and then his feet, making sure to take care with keeping Scottie propped up and sitting, and then leans down to scoop up her body with ease. She’s a petite girl, but he makes it look like she doesn’t weight anything at all.
Gallantly offering them the right of way with a swing of my arm, I follow behind them, bringing up the rear of the entire dripping group. Roman and Ryder are the first in line, ravaging at the aluminum pan lineup of food the adults have managed to pull together, and Hawk, Meadow, Emily, Izzy, Carmen, Wes Jr., Willow, Travis, and Jack aren’t far behind. Reece waits at the back door, leaning into the jamb and stepping to the side as Finn approaches with Scottie, while Jude, Ty, Remy, and Flynn all make plates, only to hand them over to their wives.
“Take note, fellas,” Remy says wisely, a smile on his face reminding me of the carefree uncle who put me first time and time again when I was just a special needs girl with a single mom. “A happy wife means a happy life, and the root of happiness is food.”
I find a place at the back of the line, my stepdad and my uncles keen on getting their own food in front of me. Balancing a plate and napkin between my fingers, I wait my turn, half listening as their conversation inevitably drifts to football.
“Mavs Kids Camp starts next week, doesn’t it, Wes?” Uncle Ty asks, grabbing a burger from the grill.
“Yep,” my stepdad replies, his tone casual as he loads his plate.
“What big stars are joining the fun?” Uncle Jude grins, already angling for something that benefits himself. “Anyone I might need you to snag an autograph from?”
“I’m not getting you any fucking autographs,” my stepdad shoots back, rolling his eyes with a chuckle. “Though, I just got word from our media department on Friday that your favorite Dickson quarterback is going to be there.”
“Boden’s going to Mavs Kids Camp this year?” Uncle Jude’s eyes widen in surprise, and at the mention of his name, my head snaps up like a rubber band.
“Yep,” my stepdad confirms, tossing a hot dog onto his plate. “Blake Boden was a late sign-up, but it worked out since Cam Mitchell backed out last minute. We needed an extra volunteer.”
“Blake Boden is going to MKC this year?” I ask, but my question goes completely ignored.
Apparently, Blake forgot to mention this little detail during our Mavericks discussion last Saturday night. And despite the fact that Mavs Kids Camp is planned almost a year in advance, he somehow managed to get a green light from the media team.
“That kid sure is talented,” Uncle Jude remarks, scooping mac and cheese onto his plate. “Tell me he’s on your draft short list.”
“I know his stats,” my stepdad replies, a dry laugh rumbling through his chest.
“Oh yeah, baby. The next Quinn Bailey incoming,” Uncle Ty crows, high-fiving Jude as I edge closer, pretending I’m just trying to grab a hot dog.
“He’s good,” Uncle Flynn cuts in, his tone unusually skeptical. “But calling him the next QB is a stretch, don’t you think?”
“His college stats are technically better than Quinn’s,” I chime in, feeling strangely defensive. Blake’s record is better than Quinn’s, but I have no idea what drove my need to say something about it.
Thankfully, no one thinks anything of it. Spouting facts and figures is nothing outside of the norm for me.
“See.” Uncle Ty grins. “Next Quinn Bailey, I’m telling you.”
My stepdad just laughs. “We’ll start with this week’s camp and go from there.” He turns to me with a smile he reserves for the people he loves most. “You’re still helping, right, Lexi Lou?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there.”
“Good. Let me know if I can do anything to help you with the highlight reels. You should have most of the footage—”
“I’m good, Dad. I had them ready months ago.”
Uncle Ty guffaws, and Uncle Jude laughs as my stepdad’s face turns into a combination of amused and contrite. “Right. Of course you did.”
The group of them splits off, coming to the end of the buffet line and joining their wives in every available nook and cranny on the deck. The cousins and pseudo-aunts and uncles have all gathered back down on the dock, plates in their laps as they scream and tease and taunt one another with full mouths. I glance inside the house, to where Finn’s propped Scottie on the couch in the living room to wait for her plate. I consider whether I want to join them but ultimately settle on a moment of solitude.
Big crowds are still overstimulating for me, even when they’re all people I know and love, so a moment with nothing but my phone and my food won’t go unappreciated.
Hopping up onto the brick retaining wall in the side yard, I set my plate down beside my thigh and scroll through my running apps. The first is related to my dissertation, and the second to my weird—and probably a little creepy—experimental research and findings on Blake Boden. I input the new information from Finn and Scottie about Blake’s tendencies as a friend, along with his volunteer position for MKC, and then let the app run its conclusions. AI kicks out a ninety-five percent that life with Blake Boden in it is better than life with Blake Boden out of it, and I let out a heavy sigh.
Sometimes, I frighten even myself with the lengths I’m willing to take science.
I grab my hot dog and take a bite, moving to YouTube briefly to break up the monotony. I push play on a video from the PBS Space Time channel called “The Secrets of Quantum Thermodynamics.” But before it can dive all the way into the fundamental principles of thermodynamics and their connection to quantum mechanics, I’m interrupted by the buzz of a message banner as it pops up at the top of my screen.
Unknown: Hey, Lexi. How’s your weekend at the lake with family going?
Me: Who is this?
Unknown: Oh, you know…just the perpetual thorn in your side.
No longer confused, I frown and type out another message. It seems, today, Blake Boden is everywhere I turn.
Me: How did you get my number? And how do you know where I am? Don’t tell me you’re in the bushes.
Unknown: I have my ways. You’re not the only resourceful one, you know. PS: I’m not in the bushes.
Me: I thought you were focusing on building trust…?
Unknown: Can’t build anything without making contact, and you’ve been avoiding me.
Me: I haven’t been avoiding you. We just haven’t crossed paths.
Unknown: That’s because I haven’t seen you going into the lab at all this week.
Me: Stalk much?
Unknown: Admit it…you’ve been using a different entrance, haven’t you?
Me: No.
Truth be told, I’ve not needed an entrance all that much. I woke up Wednesday morning with a keyboard on my face, having spent the entire night locked away in my apartment at my computer, putting in data points for my Blake Boden research project. I’m obsessive—sometimes to the point of recklessness.
But, evidently, so is he. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be texting me on a number I told him he couldn’t have.
I sigh, choosing not to argue with someone as clearly stubborn as him, and save his number under his full name—just like all the other contacts in my phone . Somehow, adding him makes the whole idea of spending time with him this summer feel plausible within the constructs of reality. And according to my stepdad, avoidance—if I’d even been attempting it—ends Monday at MKC anyway.
Blake Boden: Come on, Lex. Give me a chance. Please?
Me: I’ll see you at Mavericks Kids Camp this week, and maybe, if you’re convincing enough, I’ll consider it.
Blake: You have no idea what you’ve just agreed to. Let the games begin.
I roll my eyes, but the tug of my smile betrays me. For better or worse, I guess the Blake Boden Experiment—and the fact that I’ll need to spend more time with him to conduct it—has officially begun.