Page 101 of Colt
The mechanical bull drew a crowd. Glitch went first, lasted six seconds, and landed on his feet. Dutch got on next and managed eight, which he would not stop mentioning for the rest of the afternoon. Handful—after finishing his third snow cone—climbed on, lasted two seconds, before being thrown sideways into the mat. I watched all of this from the fence and felt nothing but deep satisfaction.
Luca found the fake tattoo station. He studied the flash sheets with the focus of someone choosing a tattoo he would have for life, selected a small black skull, and had it placed on the inside of his forearm. He spent the next ten minutes showing it to all my brothers. Knox had a bolt of lightning put across his cheek and a small flame on each wrist.
Later, I called both boys over to the shed at the edge of the property.
Luca came at a walk, suspicious. Knox came at a run, because Knox always ran these days.
I opened the shed.
Two small dirt bikes stood inside, side by side. Red for Luca. Blue for Knox. Both with a small racing stripe.
For a full three seconds, neither boy made a sound.
Then Knox let out a noise I’m shocked could come from a human child, flung himself at me so hard I actually staggered, then pulled back and sprinted to the blue bike like he was afraid someone would take it. He grabbed the handlebars. He looked back at me. He grabbed the handlebars again.
“Dad,” he said, voice pitched somewhere between reverence and hysteria. “Dad.Dad.”
“I heard you.”
“It’smine?”
“It’s yours.”
He made the noise again. Several brothers near the fence turned to look.
Luca walked to the red bike slowly, like he was approaching something sacred. He put his hand on the seat. Ran his palm along the frame. Then he turned to me and said, very quietly, “This is the best thing that’s ever happened.”
I had to clear my throat twice before I trusted my voice. “Yeah, buddy. It is.”
I caught the photographer’s eye and nodded. She’d already had her camera up.
Then the dog arrived.
One of the prospects appeared from around the corner of the clubhouse carrying a crate with a blue bow tied to the handle on my signal. I crouched down and opened the latch, and a black Labrador puppy stumbled out onto the grass, enormous paws, ears too big for its head, and absolutely no idea what was going on.
Knox saw it before the puppy had taken two steps.
What followed was a collision of two forces of nature. Knox dropped to his knees in the grass and the puppy launched itself at him, and they rolled around together while everyone watching started laughing.
Luca stood back for a moment, watching his brother and the dog with that serious face. Then he sat down cross-legged in the grass, quietly, like he didn’t want to spook it. The puppy noticed him, scrambled free of Knox, and trotted over on its enormous feet, sat down, and looked up at him.
Luca looked down at him. “Hi,” he said, very solemnly.
The puppy put its head on his knee.
“What were you thinking?” Lilac whispered to me.
I shrugged. “The boy wanted a dog. I got him a dog.”
“You said dogs were a big responsibility. You said that. I remember it.”
“Yeah.” I watched the puppy plant its enormous front paws on Luca’s chest and go after his face with its tongue, and Luca tipped his head back and laughed. Knox grabbed the puppy from behind and got licked instead, and then both of them were laughing, rolling in the grass.
“A dog is a big responsibility,” I said. “The boys should have one.”
Lilac looked at me. “That is not a counterargument.”
“I know.”
