Chapter Five
Flynn
The door slams shut after Remy storms through it, and Jude, Ty, and I are left staring at each other in disbelief.
Jude is the first to react, turning to Cleo angrily and shouting, “You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about! My brother is happy. This night was supposed to be about having fun!”
“Jude, my darling, I’m sorry. But the future isn’t up to me. I’m merely a vessel—”
“A vessel, my ass,” Ty snaps, jumping in. “You’ve been trying to get under his skin since the moment we stepped in here. I can’t believe I went along with your shit for this long.”
He shoves through Jude and me, following Remy out the door and onto the sidewalk. Jude gives Cleo one more hard look before doing the same, but I can’t do anything more than watch as they go.
When the door slams behind them, and Cleo and I are alone, I turn around and ask the stupid thing I really don’t want to ask.
“What’s the rest of it?”
“The rest of what, child?” Cleo asks, seemingly filled with sympathy.
“The rest of the fortune, prophecy, whatever. What else do you see about Remy?”
“There will be a chance for happiness,” she says. “A redo, so to speak. But he’ll never get there if he doesn’t learn to open up his heart.”
I shake my head, willing everything she says to be words of fantasy and make-believe. I don’t believe in the connection to the future or in a single person’s ability to see it, but in this case, I feel like it bears the use of an abundance of caution.
What we do—based on the way we feel—is what truly influences how our lives turn out. And with the way Remy is feeling right now, if he goes home to Charlotte at this point, it wouldn’t take much to make this prophecy self-fulfilling.
I pull a wad of bills from my pocket and toss them down on the table between Cleo and me. She glances at the money, but by and large, her green eyes stay locked on me.
“For your services,” I say as farewell. I turn around, walk the distance from the back room, through the velvet curtains, and out the front door to join my brothers.
The three of them are waiting, varying degrees of bundled nerves at their roots making it seem as if any one of them could take off in flight at any moment.
Who would’ve thought a fortune-teller would flip the Winslow brood on their heads?
I guess I should just be thankful Rem—or anyone else—didn’t have the forethought to ask Miss Cleo about our baby sister.
Lord knows, if she would’ve dropped some horrible bomb about Winnie, Rem, being the uberprotective eldest brother that he is, would’ve literally gone Hulk Smash on that fortune-teller’s shop.
I run a hand through my hair. Fucking hell. What a night.
A night that isn’t supposed to be over yet, mind you.
A night that I need to redeem. It’s time I pull my brothers back down for a much-needed grounding.
“Come on, guys,” I order authoritatively, making all three of their heads come up. “Back to the Bronco. Now.”
A little over an hour later, I cut the engine and hop out of the driver’s side door, making sure to click it shut as quietly as humanly possible. A warm breeze brushes across my face, and I smile as my eyes adjust to the darkness.
The lake house.
A staple of our youth. The one place that holds more memories than I can count.
It still feels like home.
Two doors shut quietly in the silent night, and I glance over my shoulder to find Remy and Ty walking toward me.
“Man, I forgot how peaceful it is out here,” Rem comments, his voice tinged with awe.
I squint my eyes as I look out toward Greenwood Lake, my gaze focusing on the way the light of the dock bounces off the ripples of the mostly calm water.
“Flynn, I still can’t believe you brought us to the cabin. On the night of Remy’s bachelor party,” Jude comments as he slams his door shut and walks to the front of the Bronco where Rem, Ty, and I stand. “I mean, what are we supposed to do here? Go fucking fishing?”
“Shh,” Ty shushes him, slapping a hand directly over Jude’s mouth. “You’re going to wake up Aunt Paula and Uncle Brad.”
Jude punches Ty in the gut, forcing the hand that covers his mouth to fall off his face like a sack of potatoes.
“Fuuuuuuck you,” Ty whispers through a groan, holding his stomach for a brief moment. “That was completely uncalled-for, you dick.”
Jude just smirks, and Remy and I share a look that says, how in the hell do we share the same bloodline with these bozos?
Ty throws a punch toward Jude’s face, and it’s dodged on a hearty laugh.
“Oh, nice one, bro!” Jude shouts victoriously, bouncing on his feet and pulling his arms up in front of his face in a fighter’s crouch. “Almost had me there! Too bad you’re still slow as shit!”
“That’s it!” Ty exclaims, taking a similar stance. “I’m going to kick your ass!”
“Knock it off,” Rem whispers harshly, but when it’s apparent they’re not going to listen, observing turns to action.
Rem grabs Ty, yanking him back three steps. And I do the same with Jude, wrapping my arms around his chest in order to stop the Two Stooges’ momentum from diving into an all-out brawl in our aunt and uncle’s yard.
“You guys are loud as fuck,” Remy mutters, his voice as quiet as it can be while trying to restrain Ty the bucking bronco. “You’re going to wake up Aunt Paula and Uncle Brad.”
“Maybe Paula will make us some pancakes, though?” Jude asks, waggling his eyebrows. “I mean, I could really go for some of her cooking right about now.”
Somehow, that one statement appeases Ty. Going straight Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, his mood morphs from pissed off and ready to throw down to conciliatory and nodding in agreement.
“You know, that’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had, bro.”
“Christ,” Remy mutters, letting Ty go, and I follow suit, shoving Jude away from me.
“If you guys wake up Paula and Brad, I’ll kill you,” I say, and Jude, always the smartass, bursts into laughter.
“Says the guy who brought us here,” he tosses back. “Which, you still haven’t explained why you made that snap decision.”
I shrug and slip my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “I have my reasons. Doesn’t mean you need to know them.”
“Not gonna lie, Flynn,” Ty interjects with his very much unwanted opinion. “It’s kind of lame that you brought Remy to our aunt and uncle’s lake house for his bachelor party.”
Technically speaking, I know driving an hour outside of the city to bring Remy to Greenwood Lake in the middle of the night doesn’t hit high on the wild debauchery scale of bachelor parties.
But this is exactly what we all need right now. Especially Remy.
Every summer growing up, my mom’s brother Brad and his wife Paula would rent out this lake house, and we’d spend several weeks of our break here. After our own dad left for greener pastures or some bullshit, spending time at this lake house became such a tradition that, several years ago, our aunt and uncle went ahead and bought the place. Now, every May through October, they stay here permanently, and we kids try to visit on the weekends when we can. They never had kids of their own, and with the five of us kids always spending time with them, they didn’t really need to. We were more than enough surrogate mayhem.
Hell, since our own father abandoned our mom when we were all pretty young, Uncle Brad didn’t hesitate to step up and fill the shoes of the male role model we all needed.
“So, now that we’re here, what are we going to do?” Remy asks, and I look down the sloping yard and toward the dock, my eyes stopping on our uncle’s boat. He follows my gaze, and when he realizes what I’m thinking, he chuckles. “You want to steal Uncle Brad’s boat in the middle of the night?”
Normally, I don’t condone stealing anything.
So, we’ll just call it borrowing.
And if all hell breaks loose, we always have Jude to blame.
I grin at Remy, but just before I can open my mouth to agree, someone beats me to it.
“Hey, assholes! Don’t even think about stealing my boat!”
All four of us look up and to our left and find our uncle standing on the wraparound back porch in all his nightly glory— flannel robe, flannel pants, and slippers.
Good ole Brad Robinson. Always with the perfect timing.
I swear to God, the man has a sixth sense of knowing when we kids are up to no good. Even now, with all of us being full-fledged adults, he still knows. He always knows.
“This was all Flynn’s idea,” Jude blurts out. “I am merely an innocent bystander who did not know what these bastards were trying to do. They basically kidnapped me, Uncle Brad.”
I smack Jude upside the head. “Pretty sure what he’s trying to say is that we’ve all had a bit of a rough night and needed to take a little ride on the water.”
“Bad night?” My uncle scratches his head. “Wasn’t it your bachelor party, Remington?” His gaze moves toward my eldest brother. “How in tarnation could that end in a bad night?”
“Jude did most of the planning.”
“Oh, gotcha.” My uncle bursts into several hearty chortles. “Makes sense.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jude asks, glancing around at all of us with his hands held out in a questioning gesture.
“It means you’re fucking crazy,” Ty offers, and Jude just shrugs.
“Pretty sure what you’re trying to say is I’m a fucking crazy good time .”
“No.” Ty shakes his head. “I meant you’re crazy. And not to be trusted.”
My two younger brothers revert to idiots again, staring each other down, but before another Winslow Fight Club can break out, my uncle pushes a low whistle from his lips. “If you two assholes start wrestling on my lawn and wake up your aunt, I’m getting my shotgun.”
“Whatever, Uncle B.” Jude cracks up. “Like you’d actually kill the closest things you’ve ever had to sons. Especially me. Your beautiful baby boy. The apple of your eye. Your biggest treasure in life.”
Our uncle is unfazed. “Jude, your mother brought you into this world, and she’s given me permission to take you right fucking out of it if I have to. And I think we both know that she knows just how important sleep is to your aunt Paula.”
I can’t not smile at that. Uncle Brad, everybody. The man whose years of helping our mom raise four wild boys have made it impossible for him to take any shit.
He’s not wrong either.
Paula is like a cat. She loves to sleep. She covets that shit like it’s gold. My mom made the mistake of trying to wake her once and almost lost a finger.
“So…” My uncle pauses, looking out toward the lake. “You guys just planning on standing on my lawn and clucking like a bunch of hens, or you want to take the boat out for a spin?”
“You’re going to let us take the boat out?” Ty asks. “Without you?”
“Yeah, right,” Uncle Brad retorts. “Like I’d let you assholes take my pride and joy out on the water in the middle of the damn night. I’m coming with. Give me a minute, though.”
Brad Robinson is a man of his word, because not even a minute later, he’s locking the back door and walking down the stairs with a twelve-pack of Budweiser tucked beneath his arm.
I smile at the sight of it. There were a lot of summers when we were teenagers, after Mom and Winnie and Aunt Paula had gone to bed, he’d sneak us boys out onto the lake to share some beers. Still, to this day, Wendy Winslow has no clue that her sons learned how to shotgun beers from her brother.
“Let’s hit it,” he says and proceeds to walk down the stone steps that lead to the dock.
Mind you, the man is still in his robe and slippers but gives zero fucks about it.
Once we reach the dock, Remy and I make quick work of the ropes tethering the bowrider in place, and it’s not long before we’re all packed in the boat and cruising away from the house.
Water ripples around us as we slowly glide across the water. The sky is still dark, and only a crescent-shaped moon and a smattering of stars are visible within its clouds.
For the first time tonight, all is calm.
I don’t have to worry about Jude getting our eldest brother castrated by a stripper. Or some crazy fortune-teller spouting shit that’ll push Remy over the edge.
Just peace and calm and family.
And the lake.
Once we’re a safe distance away from the coastline and there’s no chance we’ll wake up Paula, Brad switches on the radio and fifties’ crooners’ music adds a relaxing soundtrack to the ride.
Jude opens the twelve-pack, tossing each of us beers and handing one off to my uncle, who is too busy with driving to focus on catching a can.
Cold beer popped open, I lift it to my lips and take a hearty gulp.
Damn, this really is kind of perfect.
Remy does the same, and for the first time since we left that strip club, I see his face start to relax. The wrinkles between his brow no longer present.
Thank fuck.
Ty and Jude do their typical Ty and Jude shit, alternating between fighting with each other, laughing, and tossing insults toward the rest of us.
Though, it’s easy to ignore them when you have a beer in your hand, chill music filling your ears, and a warm breeze brushing across your face.
At first, I figure Uncle Brad is just taking us for a short ride around the lake, but when he takes a slight right and heads toward a very familiar alcove, I realize he has some plans.
“Okay,” he announces as he brings us to a stop right beside an old, rickety dock that everyone on the boat knows fondly as The Plank . “It’s time to vote.”
The Plank was the go-to place for our uncle after our father took off and left my mom to deal with us wolves on her own. Anytime we rowdy boys were fighting or disagreeing or wreaking havoc, he’d bring us here. To get shit settled the old-fashioned way .
“No way, Uncle B,” Jude comments, his face lighting up in amusement. “Aren’t we a little old to walk The fucking Plank?”
“Nope.” Brad shakes his head. “So, let’s decide. Who was the biggest asshole of the night?”
There it is. The big question— Who’s the asshole? Because, as our uncle always used to say, You Winslow boys are going to bring glory back to the last name your father tarnished. And to do that, you have to be man enough to admit when you’re an asshole and apologize for what you’ve done.
I grin.
Rem chuckles.
Ty just sits there, completely unaffected.
And Jude rolls his eyes on a big sigh. Though, his response is a direct result of being the one brother who has been voted to walk The Plank the most.
“Who says it’s Remington?” Brad questions, and the only one to raise his hand is Jude.
Remy laughs. “Yeah. I knew that one was coming.”
“Pretty sure it was the fifty bucks’ worth of Taco Hell you made him buy you,” Ty adds, a shit-eating grin covering his lips.
“But seriously?” Jude questions. “Who the fuck eats that much Taco Bell?”
Remy just shrugs. “What can I say? I was hungry.”
“You weren’t hungry. You were just being a spiteful douche.”
“That, too,” Rem responds, completely unbothered. “But my torn boxers are proof that it was valid. No one deserves to have a stripper’s fucking shoe that close to their dick.”
Our uncle just sits there, semi-listening to what is being said, but not questioning anything.
The man is purely focused on counting votes.
It’s safe to say after helping to raise four crazy boys, nothing fazes you.
“Looks like one vote for Rem,” Uncle Brad comments. “Who says it’s Ty?”
Jude tries to raise his hand again, but Brad is quick to respond. “Don’t be a little bitch, Jude. Your vote is already in.”
When no one raises his hand, he moves to the next. “Any votes for Flynn?”
Still, no one.
And when Brad says Jude’s name, three hands are raised.
Instantly, Jude groans, then proceeds to lift his middle finger and wave it around at all of us. “You guys are such dicks.”
“Three votes for Jude,” Uncle Brad says, not even trying to hide the fact that he’s loving every minute of this. “Well, Jude, looks like it’s time, buddy.”
“What the fuck?” Jude bitches, but he stands up and proceeds to hop off the boat and onto the rickety dock.
“Down to your skivvies!” Ty exclaims with his hands cupping his mouth.
Jude just glares and proceeds to shrug off his shirt, shoes, socks, and jeans.
“Looking good, Jude,” Rem teases and lifts his phone in the air, pretending it’s a fucking video camera and fake-recording Jude’s every move. “How about you give us a little model walk? Really strut your stuff.”
Jude flips him off, but being too fucking playful for anyone’s good, he doesn’t hesitate to get into it. His face morphs into his version of a serious model face, something more akin to Derek Zoolander than David Gandy, and the bastard walks up and down the dock with terrifying precision.
“I don’t know whether I should be impressed or horrified that that boy shares some small vestige of DNA with me.”
My uncle’s words spur a laugh to pop from my lungs.
But it doesn’t take long before even Brad Robinson reaches his limit.
“Okay! Okay! Enough of the bullshit. Get to the edge of the dock and do the damn thing.”
Jude doesn’t hesitate, walking straight to the end of the dock until his toes just barely hang off the edge.
“Who’s the asshole, sonny?” Uncle Brad questions, and Ty cracks up.
“Say it!” Ty cheers. “Say it! Say it!”
Jude rolls his eyes but takes it all in good humor. “I, Jude Winslow, am the biggest asshole of the night!” he shouts out into the darkness, his voice bouncing off the water and surrounding trees. “And before I walk The Plank, I would like to apologize for my asshole behavior!”
“And what exactly are you sorry for?” Remy questions, and Jude sighs.
“For telling the strippers to blow your fucking mind and for making us go see that nutty fortune-teller!”
Brad looks back at the three of us. “Is he forgiven?”
I nod.
Ty nods.
“Yep,” Remy says, smiling toward Jude. “I think that about covers it.”
And then Ty starts cheering, “Jump! Jump! Jump!”
Three seconds later, Jude backs up ten steps and proceeds to jump into the lake, cannonball-style, forcing the water to splash up and into the boat.
“Always the asshole,” Uncle Brad mutters on a chuckle, wiping droplets off his forehead.
“C’mon, you pussies!” Jude shouts once his head breaks the surface of the water. “The water is perfect!”
It doesn’t take much to convince Ty. On a shrug, he gets down to his boxers and jumps into the lake.
And to my surprise, Remy is next, downing the rest of his beer and shrugging off his clothes. Thanks to the destruction Sunshine’s stiletto did to his boxers, my oldest brother dives into the water with this bare ass in the wind.
“Yo, Uncle B!” Jude shouts from the water. “You think Paula will make us some pancakes when we get back?”
“Where did we go wrong with that one?” Brad questions, his mouth morphing into a smirk, and a laugh bubbles up from my throat.
“I have no idea.”
“I tell ya, Flynn, the woman who ends up marrying that fool should have statues erected in her honor. Get an honorary Purple Heart. Something.”
I grin and look out toward the lake where my three brothers are swimming in the calm waters that were a staple of our childhood. This night might’ve had some serious twists and turns, but I can’t picture a better way to end it.
Yeah. My work here is done.