Hammered (Blue Bay Crew #3)- Cathryn Fox Page 0,82
sofa, and watch TV.”
She sits up a bit straighter. “That reminds me. Gram said something strange to me today.”
Not at all surprised—I realize Gram has been matchmaking—I cast a quick glance her way, and note the line in her forehead as she frowns. “What’s that?”
“She asked if we’ve been watching any movies. She thought we might like something in her collection.”
I frown, and grip the wheel a bit tighter. “Yeah, that is strange.”
“Then you don’t have any idea what she’s talking about, do you?”
“None.” Gravel crunches beneath my tires as the cabin comes into view, and my stomach no longer clenches when I look at it rising up in the distance. But it does tighten as memories of my dad, of that early summer morning, trespass on the happy times Haven and I have been creating here. I miss him. I miss him so fucking much, despite how much of a hard-ass he was, not to mention how infuriating and unyielding he was to every single one of us. It was his way or no way and yet there was only one thing in this world I ever wanted, and it was to make that man proud. I could never do anything right, and now that he’s gone, any chance I had of putting a smile on his face, or receiving a stupid slap on the back for a job well done, died with him. I know my brothers and cousins are all fighting the same losing battle.
I ease into the driveway, and kill the ignition. I slide from my seat, circle the vehicle and put my arm around Haven’s waist as she steps from the truck and stretches out fatigued arms. Bullfrogs croak, crickets chirp and a fresh floral scent fills the air as we head inside. The more time I spend here the more it grows on me.
I point to the sofa. “Sit, I’ll reheat the leftovers.”
“Not going to argue, bossy pants.” She heads toward the sofa, and I chuckle as I open the fridge, pulling out the leftovers. I toss the pasta into the microwave and turn to find Haven rooting through the old DVDs and videos from an era gone by.
“Find anything good?”
“Gram sure has an eclectic taste in movies.” She holds up some old romantic comedy and I groan as I glance at the cover.
“Tell me you’re not going to make me watch that.”
“Maybe,” she says with a grin. “Wait, what are these ones?”
She pulls a black case free and opens it. Inside there are a bunch of DVDs. “No clue.” I step closer. “Not labeled?”
“Yeah, it says…Tyler, and numbers next to it.” Her eyes are narrowed when they meet mine. “Do you know what this is?”
“That’s my father’s handwriting. Maybe it’s something he recorded, although I don’t really remember Gram or Dad having a video recorder when we were kids. Some of our friends’ parents did though, for birthday parties and things like that. Maybe that’s what it is.”
“Should we put one in and see?”
“Sure.”
She pries one DVD from the case and I make my way back to the kitchen, pulling our food from the microwave. I’m not sure why, but as I divide the pasta and carry our plates to the sofa, an uneasy knot twists my stomach. Haven reaches for the remote and flicks the DVD on and settles herself against me on the sofa. I shift closer and put my feet on the coffee table as I stab a piece of pasta and slide it into my mouth.
“Mmm, good,” Haven says as she bites into the creamy penne I made a couple nights ago. She helped with the preparations of course, and I love how she loves learning new things, never afraid of backing down from a challenge.
I wait for something to flash on the screen as I stare at it. “I hope it’s not anything embarrassing.”
“I hope it’s from when you were little. I bet you were a cute kid.”
“Modesty prevents me from correcting you.”
She laughs and whacks me. “My God, you guys must have been a handful.” She rolls her eyes. “Wait, what am I saying. You all still are. Gram probably went gray well before her time.”
Just then the DVD starts playing, and the pasta I’d just swallowed, rises in my throat. “What the fuck?” I croak out, and I and tug my feet from the coffee table and plant them hard on the floor. I sit up a bit straighter, my heart somewhere in the vicinity of