The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(8)

CHAPTER THREE





James



I keep my eyes fixed on the lit candles on the cake in front of me as I’m serenaded by the happy birthday song. It seems to take way longer than it should. How many verses are there? Did they add another two lines of happy birthdays?

Tank may have promised to keep tonight small and low-key, but the birthday not-quite surprise party at Mari’s diner is still too much for me. Guests include my family (minus Pat and Lindy, who are somewhere in Europe) plus a dozen or so Sheeters, as they call themselves. It’s about a dozen people too many.

Yes, I hate birthdays and parties. And sometimes people.

No, I don’t want to talk about it.

My five-year-old niece, Jo, is perched on my lap at the diner counter. I give her a quick squeeze. “Want to blow out my candles, little one?”

“I’m not sure I can,” Jo says with a tiny grin. “There are a lot.”

I find the ticklish spot on her side. “Are you saying I’m old?”

Jo giggles. “Not THAT old.”

I hear several snorts and look around to find Collin covering his mouth. Harper is biting her lip, and my dad’s booming laughter fills the diner. Chase has ducked behind my sister, probably to hide his smile. At least he still views me with a healthy dose of fear.

Chevy, who clearly doesn’t fear for his life nearly enough, laughs almost as loudly as my dad. The deputy seems intent on inserting himself into our family. Despite arresting all of us the night we met, he has somehow become Pat’s new best friend. I’m sure Tank invited him to this party I didn’t want to have in the first place, but as far as I’m concerned, Chevy can go.

Did I mention he’s also Winnie’s brother?

“The place is going to go up in flames if you don’t hurry,” Collin calls, and I glare before turning back to Jo.

“Fine. I’m old,” I concede. “On three, we’ll do it together.”

I count down, then together Jo and I blow out the thirty candles. Another decade gone. Thirty. I’m supposed to feel something, right? I used to consider every birthday in light of how many years I’ve lived without Mom. But once I turned twenty-seven and officially existed longer without her in my life, it got too depressing to think about. One more reason to hate celebrating today.

“What was your wish?” Jo asks.

My mind blanks. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

She rolls her eyes and flashes her secret weapon: her single dimple. “Come on, Uncle James! I won’t tell.”

I would tell Jo. I would. But her question hits me like a gut punch, making me realize I don’t have a wish to make. Not even now that I have a moment to think about it.

The last wish I had was to go pro. And when I injured my knee in one of my last college games, instantly ending my football career, I stopped wishing for anything at all.

“He probably wished for everything to fall into place with Dark Horse,” Collin says.

It’s an easy out. Because I do want things to fall into place. But it’s not my wish, not my dream.

I nod to Jo and put a finger to my lips. “What he said. But don’t tell.”

“I promise,” she says.

Mari slides the cake down the counter for Mo to cut and serve. Someone cranks the music back up, and Tank lifts Jo from my lap, putting her on his shoulders. The man was built to be a grandpa. I’m not sure I’ve seen him this happy in years, and it fills me with a deep ache I can’t quite explain.

The tightness in my shoulders eases as people’s attention shifts away from me. Big Mo sets down a piece of cake in front of me with a smile and I’m happy for the distraction.

“Thanks,” I tell him, picking up the fork. It looks like chocolate heaven and will without a doubt be the best part of my evening until I’m alone again.

Mo walks away without saying happy birthday, like he can tell I’m already over it. Chevy plops down on the stool beside me. He’s in uniform, so I assume he’s on duty later tonight. Maybe even now—it’s not like there’s much trouble in Sheet Cake. Without being asked, Mari pours him a mug of coffee.

“Shouldn’t you be out writing speeding tickets?” I ask.

“All in due time. How'd my sister do on her first day of work?” Chevy asks, adding enough sugar in his coffee to put someone in a coma.

I didn’t see Winnie again after this morning, though the effect of our heated exchange clung to me all day like campfire smoke. I don’t have the faintest clue how to answer this question.

Chevy takes a sip of coffee, barely hiding a smile. “That bad, huh?”

“It was fine.”

Chevy chuckles, eyes shining as Mo puts a slice of cake in front of him. “Says the man with the murderous look in his eyes.”

“Are you gonna arrest me again?”

“Not for a look.” Chevy’s jovial expression turns deadly so quickly I almost choke on my bite of cake. “But if you hurt so much as one hair on her head or even her smallest feeling, it will be a different story.”

“We’ll get along.”

“Good.” Chevy’s cheerful expression returns as he takes a bite of cake. “Just don’t be surprised if she antagonizes you. She’s that way with me too. Always pushing buttons like it’s her life’s mission.”