couldn’t base normal families on mine. Mine was weird. At least I hoped it was because if mine was the norm, we were all screwed and a giant asteroid should strike the earth and humans should start over from scratch, because—
“Trey, breathe,” Roman said, gently interrupting my swirling thoughts. “Take a breath in and out.” I did as he said and took a deep inhale and then slowly let it out. “Good. We’re headed in, and I’m warning you, they’re loud and rowdy. So loud. But it will be fine, I promise.”
I took one more deep breath, then nodded at him, and he pushed open the door. The first thing that hit me was the noise. He wasn’t kidding when he said they were loud. The television was blaring some sporting event, but from here, I couldn’t tell what. And a couple of men were razzing each other about their—driver, I think they said—being the worst. All the sound came from the back of the house, but I could easily hear it.
I followed him down the hall to where they all sat. They were so into what they were doing that they hadn’t noticed our arrival, so I had a chance to observe them. An older, but very fit, man sat on the couch, resting his hands on his elbows staring at the television screen watching cars go around in circles. A pretty woman who looked to be in her late fifties sat next to him. She had on a bright-colored jersey and was drinking out of a bottle wrapped in a drink-cozy with matching colors. She seemed to be as into the race as he was. There were three other men in the room, two who watched the race. One who looked like the man on the couch and wore a t-shirt that matched the woman’s, and another who looked so much like Roman that they had to be related. A third sat off to the side, playing a game on his phone.
Something must have happened on the screen because the one who looked like Roman yelled, “Yes,” and pumped his fist in the air while the woman slammed her drink down on the table in front of her and stood.
“Dammit. And that is why I hate super-speedways. Those races aren’t about how good a driver you are, it’s all about politics and who your crew chief can get to draft with you. I’m going to—” she said, turning towards us.
“Hey, Mom,” Roman said, laughing.
A smile lit up her face, and I saw the resemblance between the two of them. They had the same eyes and the same laugh lines. “Roman, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I imagine not considering how loud you guys were.”
“You know how it is on race day,” she said, waving him off and turning her attention to me. “You must be Trey.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered.
“None of that ma’am business. You can call me Laney,” she said, turning back to where everyone was. All of them but the one in the corner had turned to look at us. He was still looking at his phone like we weren’t even there. “That is Conrad, Jordan, Ryan”—each one waved as she said their name—“and the pouty one over in the corner is Rand.”
“I’m not pouting,” he grumbled.
“You’re totally pouting,” Ryan said. At that, the guy put down the phone and looked up at us. He was stunning. He looked enough like both Ryan and Roman that no one would doubt he was their brother, but they had something about them that was harder. Rand had a softer look, and I bet he was beautiful when he smiled. Not that he was smiling now. He looked annoyed, but he stood and came towards us.
“You must be Trey,” he said, reaching out his hand to me.
“I am,” I confirmed, shaking his head.
“Our client and Roman’s guest at our family dinner,” he said, shooting a pointed look at Roman, and then I put it all together. This was the brother who got in trouble for messing around with a client's daughter.
“Trey, don’t be rude,” Laney said, pinching him.
“Ow,” he said, rubbing his arm. “I assume this means I’m off surveillance duty?” he asked Roman, still glaring.
“Roman,” I said. “Why don’t you go talk to your brother.” The last thing I wanted was to come between the two of them. It seemed to me they needed to get this worked out instead of letting it fester.