Chapter 17
Garrett
By the time I get downstairs with my backpack over my shoulder, Carmen’s sisters are both in the kitchen, and there’s a double dose of laughing sister trios, all talking over each other.
It’s a cacophony of noise. I make eye contact with Tabitha’s husband and wave before he ducks back outside, presumably to bring in their bags and all the toddler gear.
Rory, on the other hand, is notably dodging eye contact. I watch intently as she picks up one of the little boys racing around the kitchen, and he giggles as she whispers something to him.
She doesn’t look over, even though I’m sure she can feel my gaze burning into her skin.
“You look freshly rumpled,” Jules says as she appears beside me, Mara right behind her.
I manage not to jump out of my skin and ignore the pointed observation. “Merry Christmas, Aunt Mara.”
“You, too. I hope you haven’t been behaving yourself.”
“He’s been getting up to all sorts of trouble,” Jules promises, speaking for me with an exaggerated lie. The only trouble I’ve been getting up to this year is constantly re-inserting myself into Rory’s bullshit like a glutton for punishment.
I pointedly change the subject and ask Mara about her daughter. “No Glory this year?”
“She’s working, can you imagine?”
Of course Mara is horrified at the thought, but Glory is her opposite in many ways.
“Christmas break is a good time to pick up extra shifts,” I point out, and then think, I could have done the same.
“That’s what she said.” Mara shakes her head. “Well, it’s her time.”
I smile. “How is she liking university?”
“Loves it. Just loves it.”
“That’s great.” I glance back at Rory. She still has one of the twins on her hip.
Mara follows my gaze, then smiles.
Damn it.
“I need to…” I pull out my phone, and there’s a text message on the screen that helps me extract myself from this conversation. “We had a skater break her arm earlier today. I was going to say I need to check on her, but her mom has sent an update, so excuse me for a minute.”
“Of course.”
I carry my bag into the back room and stash it beside one of the couches, then I click into the message. It’s a photo of Emma and her parents in front of the tree I left on their porch. Emma’s arm is in a cast, but she’s smiling now.
I send back a quick Merry Christmas to them, then take a deep breath as I hear another raucous peel of laughter ring out.