Page 28 of Desperate Games

Balor gave me the soft-voiced genius hacker routine, all grace and veiled threat.

Junior? He just said, “You break her heart, and I’ll break your legs. I don’t say that as a Viper or your friend giving you a warning. I say that as her cousin, you fucking prick.”

I expect nothing less from the man I’ve known since we were kicking the shit out of each other on the kiddie soccer field when we were four.

No, it didn’t matter that I hadn’t done a damn thing.

Just looked too long.

Let too much show.

But fuck, man.

Can you blame me?

She’s not like anyone I’ve ever met.

Yeah, Andrea’s beautiful—soft curves, wild eyes, full mouth that makes my brain go static—but it’s more than that. It’s her.

The way she talks. Sharp. Smart. Unapologetically herself.

She called her brother out on his Giants delusions over dinner, quoting fucking stats like she belonged on ESPN.

When she handed Sammy his ass on a silver platter over the Daniel Jones debate, I nearly proposed right then and there.

And later—God.

Out in the yard, down on her knees with a pack of wild toddlers crawling all over her and a camera strap swung over her shoulder? She looked perfect.

Andy didn’t flinch at the noise or the mess.

She got right down in the wet grass with the whole lot of messy toddlers and preschoolers, and she built mud pies.

Didn’t care about her fancy clothes or shoes.

Or that camera that had to cost thousands.

She just laughed and played and took pictures.

Got good and dirty.

She shrieked like a lunatic when one of them smeared sludge in her hair, gasping for air as she tickled in retaliation and grinned like she was made for it.

I couldn’t stop picturing her like that—with my little Callie.

Andrea. Standing there in soft pajamas, sleepy and gorgeous, barefoot in my kitchen, telling my daughter princesses don’t drink coffee but they do drink milk. And Callie? Clinging to her like she’s already claimed her as hers.

Like she knows something I don’t.

My kid.

Well. Technically, my sister’s kid.

But the state made it official the day Renee overdosed.

Not that it mattered—Renee had left Callie with Mom when she was barely six weeks old.

Said she couldn’t do it. Said she wasn’t cut out for the kind of love that demanded everything.