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Hudson

This should be fun.

Molly is on the couch, sandwiched between Anna and a leaning tower of board games, begging to fall.

She looks relaxed, or she’s trying to, but I can see the slight tension in her shoulders, the way she’s scanning the room like she’s still figuring out the rules.

Something tells me she’s never had a game night, and my heart breaks for her.

I look around the room, and a smile lines my face.

Dad is by the fireplace, poking at the logs.

I’m not sure why he’s making a fire in the middle of the summer, but I guess once you hit a certain age—apparently my parents’ age—you’re always cold.

Mom, on the other hand, is making a ruckus in the kitchen, and I wonder what kind of trouble she’s concocting right now.

A second later, I get my answer as she comes bustling in with a tray of mismatched mugs and cookies.

I’m about to ask Mom if she needs help when Anna slaps the Monopoly board onto the coffee table. “Monopoly first,” she declares. “Winner gets bragging rights; loser does dishes for a week.”

I smirk, all thoughts of helping Mom long gone. “Convenient that you’re terrible at dishes.” I lean against the back of the couch.

Anna glares. Grabbing the nearest pillow, she hurls it at me.

I dodge easily.

She’s terrible at throwing.

Molly takes a mug from Mom before turning her attention back to the conversation. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch”—I plop down next to her, making the cushions dip—“is that Anna cheats.”

“I do not cheat,” Anna fires back, looking genuinely offended, which is weird because it’s the truth. Anna has never, in her eighteen years of life, not cheated when playing a board game.

“She literally hid the free parking cash under the board last time,” I say, turning to Molly.

Molly laughs, and when she does, it feels like everything is right in the world.

“Noted.” Her gaze flicks toward Anna.

“All right.” I crack my knuckles as Anna starts handing out money. “Let’s get this over with.”

“You sound so confident,” Molly teases, neatly stacking her colorful bills into precise piles.

“He’s always confident before I crush him.” Anna’s voice is sugary sweet, but I know better. She doesn’t have a sweet bone in her body when she’s playing.

She continues to pass out game pieces as I lean toward Molly, dropping my voice so only she can hear. “Just a heads-up, Anna’s strategy is to distract you with her ‘charm’ so you don’t notice her skimming from the bank.”

“I do not skim,” Anna yells, throwing her hands in the air. So much for being quiet. “It’s called playing smart.”

I grin back. “Let’s see if you’re still this cocky when I own every property on the board.”

An hour later, I do not own every property on the board.

Far from it.

Molly’s completely bankrupt, Anna’s sitting on an empire of hotels, and I’m one bad roll away from total disaster.

“Pay up,” Anna says, holding out her hand like a queen collecting taxes as I land on her hotel-stacked Boardwalk.

“You’re the worst,” I groan, slamming my last pathetic stack of cash onto the table.

Molly can barely breathe, laughing so hard she’s clutching her stomach.

I turn to her, feigning outrage. “You were supposed to be on my side.”

“You’re on your own,” she says through fits of laughter, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“You’re ruthless,” I mutter, but I can’t stop the grin tugging at my lips.

Anna stretches dramatically, standing up and tossing her hair over her shoulder like the reigning champion. “Monopoly is too easy. Let’s play charades.”

“You mean cheat at charades,” I call after her, dodging yet another pillow.

It doesn’t take long for charades to turn into absolute chaos.

Anna’s “dancing giraffe” has everyone crying with laughter, and Mom’s over-the-top impression of a bodybuilder has Dad practically falling out of his chair.

But the real show is Molly trying to waddle across the room, arms pinned to her sides, attempting to be a penguin.

“Penguin,” I whisper, leaning in just enough to make her jump.

“Stop sabotaging me!” she hisses, swatting at me, but she’s laughing too hard for me to take her seriously.

“Not my fault you’re a terrible penguin.” I grin when she glares at me.

“You’re going to regret this.” She narrows her eyes at me.

“Oh, I’m terrified,” I deadpan.

By the time Anna declares herself the victor again, the room is filled with groans.

Of course she won. She cheated.

Molly is now curled up in the corner of the couch.

Anna stretches with a yawn. “I’m done. You guys suck.”

“Thanks for cheating . . . again.”

Anna makes sure to flip me off before she heads up the stairs.

As Mom and Dad follow, the room feels quieter, softer.

The only sound is the occasional pop of the fire. I glance at Molly, who’s staring into her mug like it might tell her the mystery of life.

“You held your own tonight,” I say, breaking the silence.

She shrugs, her eyes still on the mug. “It was fun. Your family’s great.”

“You say that like it surprises you.”

She hesitates, her fingers tightening around the mug. “It does a little,” she admits softly.

“What do you mean?” I ask, leaning closer.

She’s quiet for a second, and then she sighs. “Not everyone grows up with this,” she says, her voice softer than I’ve heard all night. “My uncle wasn’t exactly the game night type.”

Her smile is forced, and it twists something in my chest. I reach over and take the mug from her hands, setting it on the table. “Molly,” I say gently.

She looks at me, her eyes shadowed with something I don’t fully understand but want to.

“It’s just . . . different here,” she says finally. “I didn’t realize how much I missed out on until tonight.”

“You deserved this kind of family,” I say, my voice firmer than I intended. “You still do.”

She glances away, her fingers twisting in her lap. “I’m just glad I get to borrow yours for a while,” she says, trying to sound light, but the crack in her voice gives her away.

“It’s not borrowing,” I say, reaching out to brush my hand against hers. “You’re part of this now. Whether you realize it or not.”

Her breath catches. Slowly, she looks back at me, her eyes wide and unsure.

“Hudson—” she starts, but I cut her off, curling my fingers around hers.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I tell her quietly. “Just know that you’re not alone anymore.”

Her eyes glisten with tears she quickly blinks away, but when she squeezes my hand, I know she believes me.