I glance between them. “Do you guys want to watch a movie?”
“What did you have in mind?” Dad squeezes my shoulder.
I smile. “How aboutJingleall the Way?”
Chapter 27
Michael
Three days ago, dad announced to the guys I would be taking over as foreman. The same men I grew up watching and working alongside patted me on the back and told me I’d do a great job. Ron even gifted me his lucky rabbit’s foot, and I promptly gave it back.
Their confidence in me was enough to keep me upright through Christmas Eve. But now it’s Christmas, and as ridiculous as it sounds, I was still hoping to wake up this morning and find a gift in the shape of Juliet under the tree.
Santa didn’t come through, of course. He never seems to know what I actually want for Christmas.
It’s been eight days since I last saw Juliet. Eight days since I kissed her, then watched her leave. Three times I’ve gone to her apartment, but then I recall the pain on her face, and I can’t bring myself to knock on her door. I don’t want to hurt her more.
Something hits my ear and I turn, gun held out and ready.
“Gotcha!” Lennox cheers, waving her Nerf gun in the air.
I pelt her with five bullets just for being cocky.
She runs to the kitchen, and I sprint up the stairs. We may be grown-ups now—well, everyone except for Sean—but this has been one of our favorite traditions for years. It’s the only game in our family where we don’t keep score, don’t make bets, and don’t count our wins and losses. We just play.
It’s also one of the games that somehow, despite the softest bullets, ends with the worst injuries.
I hit the top of the stairs, and a bullet pings against my eye.
That has to be Grant. He has wicked timing. Except for when it comes to Lennox.
I take aim and miss. I always miss.
Grant’s gone.
Sean runs past and I fire off my automatic gun. It pelts him hard and fast. He pulls his own gun up to position it at me but misjudges his steps. His foot hits the corner of a doorway, and he trips, face planting into the wall.
His body crumples to the ground like a puppet without a hand, and I can’t control my laughter.
“Oh, man, that was gold.”
He doesn’t move.
“Sean?”
He’s still.
Shoot. I crouch by him and grab his arm. “Sean’s down!” I holler.
His leg twitches, and he mutters something that sounds like, “I didn’t surrender.”
“Whatever you say, little bro.” The overgrown child annoys me like crazy, but only because that’s what brothers are supposed to do. I’d still die in battle for him.
Mom runs up the stairs. “What happened?”
“He kissed the wall,” I say.
Sean cracks open a dazed eye. “Did it kiss me back?”
