“You are in our family.”

“No, I’m not.”

“In all the ways that matter. I told you the other night that you’re stuck. You can’t disown us now.”

“I don’t want to,” he whispered. My heart thought that was the time to beat out of control. I tried to respond, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. The fence between us had never felt like a barrier to me. It had always felt like protection—the only reason I was able to say some of the things I could out here. But tonight, I wanted to feel him next to me. I wanted to comfort him.

He took two deep breaths, then said, “You missed one of the funniest tantrums ever on the field the other day over a supposed foul.”

I relaxed, glad he changed the subject. My reaction had proved it was getting too intense. “George?”

“Of course.”

“Who fouled him?”

“That’s the point. Nobody fouled him.”

“So you did, then. What did you do?”

He laughed. “I barely tripped him. Barely! He didn’t even fall. I was going for the ball. His foot just got in the way. Nobody else would’ve called it.”

“George is a baby.”

“Yes. Never date anyone you haven’t seen play sports. It says so much about a guy.”

It was true that you could tell a lot about someone by the way they played a game. I knew Jerom was a leader, Nathan followed all the rules to a T, and Gage was laid-back, in it for the fun. What about Braden? What had I learned about Braden over the years from watching him play? He was a team player, never hogged the ball or took it when he couldn’t deliver. He hung in the background a lot, waiting until someone needed assistance. So he was . . . what? Observant? Not selfish?

“And never, ever date a guy who acts like he’s playing in the finals of a professional sporting event when he’s really playing a pickup game.”

We had laughed about that a lot. People who took a pickup game so seriously that they lost their temper or threw a tantrum over the stupidest things. “What if he is playing in the finals of a professional sporting event?”

“Then it’s perfectly acceptable. And you should find out about getting free season tickets.”

I laughed. “Which brings me back to the fact game. I have one. If you could only have season tickets to one sport it would be baseball. A’s.”

“Are you sure? There are so many sports I like. This could be the fact that you lose over.”

“Only if I get it wrong and you can answer the same fact about me and get it right. But I’m not worried. You leave puddles of drool on the floor when you watch the A’s play. If you could watch even one game in the Coliseum, I think your heart would stop.”

He let out a short burst of air. “Yes. It’s true. But I don’t think I know this answer about you.”

“I’ve known all along that I know you better. It just took me a while to prove it.”

“Can we institute a three-strike rule?”

“Nope.”

“Fine. Give me a minute to ponder it, then.”

I hummed the Jeopardy! theme song. The funny thing was that I didn’t know if I knew the answer to this question about myself. I would love watching almost any sport live. So technically, I’d probably let him get away with any answer as long as it was a team I really liked.

“Your brother.” He said it with so much confidence that I almost immediately believed him. But then I realized what he said made no sense.

“What?”

“If you could have season tickets to any sporting event, it would be the UNLV Rebels soccer team so you could watch every one of your brother’s games from the stands. You would be in heaven.”

I started to deny it, to say that wasn’t technically a match because it wasn’t a professional team, but then I remembered how sad I felt every time Jerom told me he had played in a game and I wasn’t there.

“You should see the look on your face when you watch your brothers play. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone more proud than you.”

I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t trust my voice. He was right. There were no other games in the world I’d rather watch than ones involving my brothers.

“I know it’s not technically season tickets or a professional sports team, but I think it’s the most accurate.”

He was right. He did know me well. Better than I thought he would. I didn’t think he’d been paying such close attention over the years. He was always around, and being a year younger I was always interested in what he and my brother were doing. But I didn’t think it went both ways. “Yeah, it counts,” I said quickly.

“What was that?”

“Yes.”

“Your voice sounds funny.”

“Yeah, well, your face looks funny. See you tomorrow.” I walked away from his laughter.

“Who knows who better now?” he called out.

I shook my head with a smile. He was pretty good. I’d have to step up my facts. He would not beat me at this game.

Chapter 15

I wiped my feet on the mat and opened the back door. The kitchen was dimly lit by the light above the stove. I shut the door slowly, locked it, then turned around. Gage sat on the counter with a bowl of cereal. I jumped, catching the scream in my throat before it came out.

“You scared me.”

He looked at the door behind me, then back to me. “What are you doing and why did you have a goofy grin on your face when you came in here? You sneaking around? Is there some boy I need to beat up?”

My cheeks flushed involuntarily. Nobody knew about my fence chats with Braden, and I planned to keep it that way. “No. I’m not sneaking around. I was walking around the yard because you wouldn’t run with me tonight and I couldn’t sleep.” Before he had a chance to analyze that statement I turned it on him. “Did you just get home? Dad is going to kill you.”

“No. I’ve been home. I just got hungry.”

I pulled a bowl from the cupboard and poured myself some Cocoa Krispies. He slid over a little and I joined him on the counter.

“Are you saying you’d tattle on me if I’d just gotten home?”

I took a bite of cereal and nodded. “Yes. I’m tired of being the one in trouble. Maybe he’d make you get a job.”

Gage flashed me his smile. “Ooh. You think Linda would hire me? I could help girls pick out clothes. I’d be good at that.”

“Flirting with girls is not the same as helping them, Gage.”

He shrugged. “Dad would never make me get a job anyway. I’m his favorite.”

“We all know Nathan is his favorite.”

“True. Well, I’m positive I was Mom’s favorite.”

My spoon stopped halfway to my mouth and my eyes darted to his. It wasn’t often the word Mom was used in our house. Gage was only a year older than me. I thought there was no way he could remember any more than I did.

“Were you?” I asked in a voice just above a whisper.

He tousled my hair and slid off the counter. “It was just a joke, Charlie. I’m sure Mom didn’t have a favorite.” He placed his empty bowl in the sink. “But if she did, it was me. Who could resist this face?”

“Me, for one.”

“Oh, please. You are the most easily persuaded. You do anything I ask.”

I kicked him in the side and he let out a grunt. “In your dreams.”

“No kicking.”

I kicked him again, but this time he grabbed my foot. “Seriously, that hurts. If you didn’t have massive legs, I’d let you kick me.”

“Massive?”

“Have you seen your thigh muscles lately? Your soccer coach is going to be so happy.”

I yanked my foot away from him, sloshing milk onto my hand. I wiped the milk on my sweats and took another bite. “Did she ever go to any of your games?”

“What? Who?”

I could barely swallow my mouthful of cereal. “Mom. Did she ever go to any of your soccer games?”

“You think I remember? I was seven when . . .” He trailed off. It’s not like he needed to finish. I knew. We all knew how that sentence ended. When she died. When her car slid off the road in the rain and into a ditch. And normally that sentence tightened across my chest and wouldn’t let go for several minutes. But today, my brain clung to the first part of his statement. He didn’t remember. Just like me. So we were just too young to have any real memories. Or . . . or nothing. We were too young.

“I’m going to bed,” he said.

I nodded, kind of regretting pushing the Mom topic. This was why I didn’t do it. It had a way of turning even Gage sad. I wished I hadn’t gotten a bowl of cereal because now I felt like I had to finish it. And instead of the giddy feelings I’d brought inside after my talk with Braden, my stomach hurt. Gage paused, took a breath like he was going to say something, then stopped. I held my breath in anticipation, but then his eyes drifted to the back door. I worried he was going to put two and two together about Braden and me. So I did the only thing I could think of. I flung a spoonful of Cocoa Krispies at him.

Saturday morning arrived, much to my stomach’s dismay. It bombarded me with nervous flutters the likes of which I hadn’t known since trying out for the basketball team my freshman year. I knew I couldn’t get out of lunch with Amber and her friends today. But if I went they would find out I was a fraud. That I knew nothing about anything they’d want to talk about. Girls like her didn’t give me the time of day at school. Granted, I’d surrounded myself well, with my wall of brothers on one side and my teammates on the other, but girls like Amber didn’t really mix with girls like me. We had nothing in common. I wasn’t looking forward to it. I pulled some of my “cute” clothes out of the back of my closet and threw them in my backpack to change into at work.

“Charlie, can I talk to you?” my dad called from the kitchen as I headed for the front door.

“Sure.” I wheeled back around and poked my head through the kitchen doorway. For a second, panic rushed through me, thinking Gage had told my dad about me roaming the yard at one a.m. But then I remembered this was Gage. He wouldn’t tell on me.

“You’ve been working hard,” my dad said, gesturing toward the bar stool in front of him.

I sat down. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I think we’ve both proved the point. I know you have basketball camp starting soon.”

I nodded. Four weeks. And I’d been wondering if it was going to be a fight to let me go.

“Have you earned enough to pay off your most recent ticket?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you take it easy until camp starts?”

“I don’t have to work anymore?”

“No.”

I smiled, excited that I could have my summer back, but then Linda’s face flashed through my mind and I felt guilty. “I can’t just quit like that. I should probably give my boss a couple weeks’ notice.”

“That would be very responsible of you.”

I didn’t want to be responsible. I wanted to quit. Before I had to go out today with the girls I had nothing in common with. “Okay. Thanks, Dad. Um . . . I’ll be home a little later today.”

“You have a longer shift?”

“No . . . I’m going out with a coworker after . . . if that’s okay.”

“Do I know him?”

“Oh, it’s a girl. Me and a couple of girls are going to hang out.”

My father gave me the most bewildered look in the world, not helping my confidence at all. “And do what?”

“Whatever girls do.”

He laughed. “You have no idea what that is, do you?”

“Sure I do . . . sort of.”

“Well, try to at least look like you’re having fun.”

“Thanks.” I slid off the stool.

“What’s in the bag?” My dad pointed to the backpack I held at my side.

“Um . . . just . . . girl stuff. You know.”

He lowered his brow for a moment, then his eyes went wide. “Oh. Right. You got that covered? Everything good?”

I tried not to laugh. “Yep. All good.” My dad, trying to explain my period to me on that fateful day four years ago, was an experience I’ll never forget. He sounded like a science book. He fumbled through the technicalities, then bought me some pads and left me to myself. I had to read the instructions.

I exited the kitchen and crossed the living room. On my way out the front door, I slammed into Braden, who was coming in.

“Shoot,” I gasped, flying backward.

He grabbed hold of my arms, preventing me from falling. Something he would’ve never done pre–fence chat. He would’ve let me fall on my butt and then I would’ve tried to sweep his legs out from beneath him. Our eyes met for the briefest of moments and then he quickly released me. As if realizing he’d breached some unwritten rule, he grabbed my arm, bent down, and threw me over his shoulder.

Walking to the couch, he unceremoniously plopped me down on my back. “There. If you’re going to fall on your butt,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he said the word, “choose a better place.”

Instinct taking over, my hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist before he could walk away. This is where I would’ve placed a foot to his ribs or a head to his stomach and then felt like I had won. Instead, instinct didn’t follow through and I froze, lying on my back on the couch, holding his wrist. It was strong and familiar. His skin was lighter than mine, and I studied the way my fingers looked against his skin. Disengage, my brain yelled, this is Braden, Gage’s best friend, but my hand wouldn’t open.