Page 86 of Worth the Fall

Betsy Malone was my second mother.

This is the closet I’ve felt to being home since long before I never had an actual home to go back to.

“Let me look at you,” she says, squeezing me one more time before stepping back and holding my arms out. When she meets my eyes, there are tears swimming in hers, and I enjoy knowing I’m not the only one who feels this overwhelmed being here again.

“Hi.” My voice breaks with the single word, and it causes her to smile and pull me in for one more quick hug.

“Wine?” She punctuates the word with a decisive nod, most likely to prevent me from getting uncomfortable. “Wine is definitely what us two women need to combat the five testosterone-laced beings manning the barbecue.”

And as if on cue, there’s a flash of fur followed by a squeal of delight chasing after him. A little boy with sandy blond hair and dirt smudged on his cheek zooms through the kitchen before skidding to a halt and narrowing his eyes at me.

He looks just like the Grant I remember.

The thought knocks me back as I stare at him longer than I should.

“Who’s she?” he asks Betsy.

“That’s Uncle Grant’s friend, Emerson.”

“Cool,” he says as he lifts a foot to continue his mad dash through the house.

“Luke,” she warns, making him stop and causing Grant to chuckle.

With a resigned sigh like I’m ruining his fun, he turns to face me. “Hi, my name is Luke Malone, nice to meet you,” he says in a monotone voice and holds his hand out. He’s absolutely adorable, and I have a feeling he’s also a bit of a hellion. The boy has Malone written all over him, which makes me like him because of and not in spite of it.

“Very nice to meet you, Luke. Is that your dog?” I shake his hand.

“No. That’s Poppy’s. He’s big and slobbery and nice. His name is Moose and right now, he has one of my Pokémon cards in his mouth, and it’s a Pikachu—a really good one—so I need to go get it back before he eats it.”

Before I can say another word, he zooms out of the kitchen like his pants are on fire, leaving me with the glass of white wine Betsy’s holding out to me and Grant eager to properly introduce me to the rest of the crew.

* * *

“See? That right there,” Grant says with a laugh, “is why neither of you two bast—jerks have a girlfriend.”

“This coming from the authority on women,” Grayson says with a roll of his eyes.

My cheeks hurt from smiling so much, which tells me it was the right decision to come here with Grant. It had been against my better judgment, but obviously, I was wrong.

Luke is lying on his back on the grass about twenty feet away from us, Moose curled up next to him and dwarfing the five-year-old in size. The little boy seems to be talking to himself while he makes up stories about the aliens in the stars above him. I smile as I think of how many adventures I had in this backyard. It’s the one place that holds one hundred percent positive memories for me, and that isn’t easy to find.

“How’s your studying going?” Betsy asks Grant, seemingly oblivious to the brief meeting of the eyes between Grant and his father.

“Good. I’m as ready as can be, but you know how it goes, there’s always politics involved,” he replies.

“Just remember, sometimes the high road can mean lying low,” Chief Malone murmurs, piquing my interest.

“Once an asshole, always an asshole,” Grayson chimes in, and I get the sense they are all talking about someone in particular, I just have no idea who. Even more peculiar is Betsy’s lack of a reprimand over Grayson’s comment, since over the course of dinner, most curse words were met with her rebuke.

No one can say this family doesn’t have each other’s backs.

“I have stronger words than that⁠—”

“But you have a lady present,” Betsy interrupts and gives Grant a warning glare.

“Yes, ma’am.” Grant makes a show of looking properly reprimanded, which has his brothers snickering.

“Competition is healthy when going for a promotion,” she says in the most motherly of tones, “even if that competition is a self-serving prick.”