Page 174 of Jace
EPILOGUE
JACE
Ten months later
“Cornhole?”Sasha narrows her eyes at me and Sire.
“Yes.” I laugh, tossing the little red bag into the air. “It’s what it’s called. It’s a game where you toss little bags filled with corn kernels into a hole in a board. See?”
I demonstrate. Pitching my bag into the air, we watch it sail before it lands on the angled wooden board, sliding up it until it’s precariously teetering at the edge of the opening.
“Can’t get it in the hole, brother?” Sire smirks, razzing me.
“See!” This is why Sasha’s suspicious. She stomps. “Cornhole is pussy and prick joke.”
Standing by Nick, Grant, and Loch—the fuckers are staying out of it—Sire surrenders his hands, his daughter, Bluebell, asleep in his baby carrier. “Swear to God it’s not. It’s the name of the game.”
Sasha juts her dainty chin. “I ask Axel. He will say is cornhole? Not sex joke?”
Ah, a little sister. She knows which brothers are fun and which are ferocious; all for her sake, of course.
“Sure.” I point across the picnic tables. “Go ask him. He’ll tell you it’s cornhole and that he sucks at it.”
In flared blue jeans and a tight white shirt, her dark hair always worn in a retro style with a headband, our sister looks way too cute, storming across the Dead Good Brewery’s white gravel outdoor area.
Low red Adirondack chairs are gathered in circles. Wooden picnic tables are peppered here and there. Outdoor space heaters make the mild February day even warmer as string lights glow, even on a sunny afternoon, illuminating the relaxed crowd.
Most are shutterbugs, here for the brewery’s annual photography competition. Some are here for a small brewers’ competition as well.
The kings and queens decided to turn it into a gathering. With growing families, it’s hard to get everyone together.
But with a mother like ours, it’s a monthly mandate.
No excuses.
I grin, watching Sasha march right up to Axel, who’s got Lyona on his knee and Lev bugging him for another giant pretzel. He glances at us while Sasha points our way, pissed off and pretty.
Axel shakes his head. Annoyed. Amused. Always the head King.
It’s our fault. We really do joke about pricks and pussies a lot. All the babies we’re making lately don’t help. It’s like a population boom that Sasha’s English vocabulary can’t handle.
But then I catch her.
Sasha peers up through her thick lashes, biting her lip, and swaying with a sweet smile. Axel’s too distracted by Lev to clock it, but I follow Sasha’s coquettish gaze, flirting with…
Oh fuck.
Remi Lawless?
He’s a dead man if Axel catches a whiff of this. And that’s saying a lot, given that Remi’s a contract killer.
At least he’s stealth. Remi barely grins back, his menacing glare only melting for Sasha before he rips it away, focusing on the microbrewers here for the Winter Warmers competition.
Luna’s one of them. Here to win with her caramel ale. Shit’s delicious and sure to piss off Bishop.Again. Those two have some hot, bottled-up hate, for sure.
Gotta admit, the vibe here is lively.
“Think Mom will let her do it?” Sire mutters, clocking the brewing drama. “Think she’ll let Sasha work here?”
