patience and a knack for strategy while Liam went full-out, a technique that either paid off big-time or went down in flames.
And Murphy? He just lived it.
They bitched and moaned a lot, accused each other or the game itself of cheating regularly. Beckett either ignored them or joined in. Once they got over the shock of not being called out for poor sportsmanship or not being told it was just a game and supposed to be fun, they got louder, and wilder.
“I smoked you!” Harry cackled, shook his fists in the air.
Not entirely pleased at being smoked by an eight-year-old, Beckett scowled at the screen. “Shit.”
“You’re not supposed to say bad words,” Murphy informed him.
“You’re not supposed to say bad words. I have a license to swear.”
Liam snorted. “Come on.”
“And it’s up for renewal next month. Let’s—shit,” he repeated when he noticed the time. “We were supposed to eat a half hour ago.”
“We’ve got another Ben 10 game.” Harry bounced up to get it out of the case. “We can play it first.”
“Gotta fuel up, otherwise your mom will kick all our butts.”
“Butts are behind so you know how to write a b.”
Beckett studied Liam. “Okay. Let’s eat.”
He didn’t tell them to pick up the games. Harry hesitated, then shrugged and raced to the kitchen.
In the spirit of solidarity Beckett chose a Hulk plate. It amazed him that they ate salad without whining about it, but maybe it was because they rehashed the games while they wolfed it down.
Or they were starving since dinner was late.
They asked for Coke. Murphy broke as Beckett poured it out.
“We’re supposed to have milk. We’re not supposed to have soda.”
Liam shoved him. Murphy shoved back.
“Cut it out. It’s a special occasion. Man Night. Sodas all around.”
“He hit me.”
“I did not.”
“Yeah, you did,” Beckett said before Murphy could come up with the inevitable “did, too.” “And you hit back. It’s a wash.”
“I’m telling Mom,” Murphy muttered.
“You can’t do that, man.” Beckett shook his head as he scooped spaghetti, without warming it up, onto plates.
Torn between insult and being called man, Murphy stared at him, bottom lip quivering. “How come?”
“Code of Brotherhood. It’s strictly enforced on Man Night. What goes on here, stays here.”
Murphy thought about it as he studied his plate. Nobody cut up the spaghetti or the meatball. Maybe because it was Man Night. He stabbed at the meatball with his fork, and sent it winging across the table to land in Liam’s lap.
“Two points,” Beckett commented.
Then all hell broke loose.
On a cry of rage, Liam scooped up the meatball, threw it at his brother. He had damn good aim, and bounced the meatball off Murphy’s forehead.
Beckett had to give the little guy credit. He didn’t cry; he didn’t hesitate. He attacked.
He bounded out of the chair, leaping toward Liam. Spaghetti flew like wet confetti. Beckett managed to hook an arm around Murphy’s waist, haul him back as he kicked enthusiastically at his brother. Wild to retaliate, Liam made a grab. Beckett shifted to block, bumped the boy into the table.
And the cup of soda dumped all over Harry.
Desperate to stop the war, Beckett scooped up Liam as Harry, fists bunched, jumped up.
“Hold it, hold it. Harry, that was my fault. I knocked it over. Take it easy. Everybody just stop!”
“He did it on purpose!” Liam accused and tried to wiggle around to punch his little brother.
“Did not.” Murder in his eye, red sauce on his face, Murphy got in one good kick. “He didn’t cut it up. It’s his fault.”
“Everybody stop! Quiet!”
The shouts and accusations snapped off. Three mutinous faces stared at him as Beckett surveyed the damage. “Wow, that’s a pretty big mess.”
The meatball that started it sat partially smashed on the floor. Noodles and sauce glopped over the table.
“Mom’s gonna be mad.” And now Murphy’s eyes shone with tears.
“No, she’s not. Look, kid, these things happen when men eat together without women around.”
“They do?”
“I’m looking at it, so they do. Everybody just sit down.”
“He threw a meatball at me.”
“He didn’t throw it at you,” Beckett corrected as Liam stared at Murphy with the active dislike only siblings can feel for one another. “It was an accident because I didn’t cut it up. It’s my first day on the job, so cut me some slack. Go on and sit down.”
“But I got meatball on my pants.”
“So what? We’ll clean up after we eat.”
He set Murphy down, then picked up the guilty meatball and tossed it in the sink before sliding Murphy’s spaghetti