Nice Guys Don't Win (The Boys #2) - Micalea Smeltzer Page 0,9

sets in like usual. I’ve cut him down so many times over the years the poor man doesn’t know what to say to me. “Want to say hi to the kids?”

I give a tiny nod, eyeing the small children at the table.

Gabriel is six, Isaac four, and then there’s the baby, Rose, who isn’t quite one yet. I remember the jealousy I felt when I found out my dad and Allison were having a girl. It was so dumb, I’m an adult and being jealous of a baby is preposterous, but all I could think about was how I was well and truly replaced. I’m not my dad’s only little girl anymore.

I take small, measured steps to the table and find the boys scribbling in coloring books, well Isaac is scribbling, but Gabriel is doing a good job of staying in the lines.

“You guys like coloring?” I ask my brothers.

Gabriel looks up. “Yeah, do you? We have more coloring books if you want to color with us?”

Isaac looks up, only just realizing I’m there. “Zo-Zo!” He grins from ear to ear and slips out of his seat, barreling toward me and tackling me into a hug. My heart clenches at his obvious excitement over being there. “I missed you! You didn’t come for Christmas!”

No, I was too busy spending it with Cheater-Cheater-Licking-Someone-Else’s-Pussy-Eater Todd. But I did spend Thanksgiving with my dad’s family last year. It was just as awkward as you’d expect but for some strange reason the boys seem to like me.

“I’m sorry,” I say automatically, but I actually mean it when I take in his saddened expression.

“The boys ask about you a lot,” my dad says with a smile that is both somehow happy and sad as he observes Isaac’s chokehold on me.

“They do?” I don’t mean to say it out loud, but the question slips out.

He jerks his head in a nod. “They love you.”

Letting Isaac go, he smiles at me holding my face between his small hands. “I’ll get you a coloring book. We have an Avengers one you can use.”

“Whoa! Whoa!” Allison calls after him when he tries to flee the kitchen. “Zoey can color with you after we eat if she wants to stay, but dinner is ready so park your tush back in your seat.”

Isaac goes back to the table, head hanging.

Walking over to Allison, I say, “Let me help you with that.”

She gives a smile, appreciating that I’m trying. “Thanks.”

Together we plate the chicken fettucine she made. It smells incredible and my stomach rumbles. She tries to hide her amusement at the sound.

“I might be a little hungry,” I admit sheepishly.

She smiles. “That’s what we want.”

Sitting down at the table with Allison, my dad, the two boys, and babbling baby isn’t as awkward or as horrible as I expected. It’s been my own fault all these years that things weren’t great. Now that I’m here, living nearby and going to school, I need to put in more effort.

“This is delicious, Allison,” I say to the pretty blonde. She’s only thirty-three, almost twelve years older than me, which if I’m honest with myself is another reason I resented her. Even though my dad was single for a few years after my parents’ divorce, it still felt like a betrayal to my mother when he married Allison. Like he upgraded to a new, younger, shinier model. “I really appreciate you doing this.”

“Of course, Zoey.” She smiles at me. “You’re our family.”

Looking around at my dad, brothers, baby sister, and Allison, I return her smile.

We finish dinner and even have dessert—a homemade tiramisu that Allison prepared earlier. I help clean up and then stay to color with the boys for a little while, saying goodbye just before it’s time for them to settle for bed.

I arrive back at the apartment and trudge up the steps. Despite actually enjoying my evening I’m exhausted from the stress and anxiety of it all.

Opening the door, I find Cole relaxing on the couch with a root beer in hand.

“How’d it go?” he asks as I lock up behind me.

“Pretty good.” I decide that’s a pretty basic answer, so I elaborate with, “Better than I thought it would. My brothers were happy to see me.”

“Brothers? I didn’t know you had siblings.”

“Yeah, Gabriel and Isaac. They’re young—six and four. There’s a baby too, Rose, she’s only nine months.”

“Wow.”

I give a small laugh, filching one of his root beers from the fridge. When I first opened the refrigerator and saw all the