Page 8 of My Big Fat Shifter Wedding

Is it safe?

I shook my head gravely. With a tip of her head, she turned on her heel and hurried to the other side of the house where hopefully the facilities would be less desecrated.

Ah, the joys of having a large family.

Thankfully, that was the last of the interruptions until we got to the staircase. But as much as I tried to coax Rolando up the stairs to his room, he stalwartly refused, and eventually I found myself being herded down into the basement where his and Massimo’s “man cave” was. I loathed the term, but it was preferable to “gamer den” which was the more correct term considering the massive TV in the space along with just about every console and then a little workout area in the far corner of the large room.

“Come on now, bedroom’s not this way, big guy.”

Although it wasn’t exactly a new development considering my youngest sibling had hit his growth spurt when he was fifteen, it still seemed like a crime against me personally that my baby brother was so much bigger than me. Not only was he jacked to the high heavens, but he was so tall. And it wasn’t like I was short. I was five-nine and I still had to crane my neck up to see him.

“Hold on,” he retorted, seeming to come a bit back to himself.

“Holding.”

“It’s y’birfday.”

“Yes, we have both agreed on that.”

I realized he wasn’t aimlessly stumbling forward but doing a rather interpretive walk toward the downstairs fridge.

“Do you want a snack?” I asked, impressed that he was ready to move on from the crackers already. Ah, to be a teenager again.

“Nuh-uh.” Finally, he reached the fridge and threw it open, the bulk of his shoulders completely blocking the inside from my view. “S’only way I could make sure y’got it.”

Got what, I did not know, but I wasn’t sure how much was my sweet brother being my sweet brother, and how much of it was him being my still intoxicated brother. However, all became clear when he turned around with a white box that had a golden logo at its center.

“Wait, is that from Leo’s?” I asked, because of course I remembered the branding of my favorite bakery.

He nodded, gesturing for me to open the top by repeatedly jabbing it toward me. Somewhere between wanting to chuckle and wanting to get misty-eyed, I flipped open the top, revealing the glossiest Key lime pie I’d ever seen.

“S’yer favorite,” Rolando slurred. “Had to get ya yer favorite for yer birthday.”

Goodness.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“Oh no! Did I make you s-s-sad?”

“No, quite the opposite.” I took the pie and set it on the coffee table, then pulled my brother into a hug. I held him tightly, fiercely. Despite everything that had happened, I felt so seen. “You’re the best little brother I could ask for. You didn’t have to, really.”

“Of course I did. Everybody always s-seems to forget it’s your birthday. It’s supposed to be for you!” He frowned, stepping back out of my arms. For a moment, he looked so very young. “I hate how they treat you sometimes.”

Oh.

I had no idea what I could possibly say to that, but I didn’t have to worry about it, because he crossed over to the massive, overstuffed couch and flopped forward.

“Rolando?”

A snore hearty enough to be mistaken for a chainsaw answered me.

“And who said wolves couldn’t purr?” I mused to myself.

Rolando snored again in response.

How did I get so lucky to have a brother like him?

Very much in my feelings, I looked from the beautiful pie—my favorite dessert ever—to my sleeping brother. I crossed over to tuck him in. Once he was fully covered with three throw blankets and I was sure his airway was clear, I took the pie and headed up to my room, wondering if I hated the way my family treated me too or if it was just the best I could ever hope for.