Page 40 of Oh, Puck!
"Keeping a clean home isn't about feelings, Mason. It's about having basic self-respect." Diego fills the first glass as if he's leading a symphony. "Unlike the full-blown meltdown you've clearly had this week every time your phone pings with a message from thatgirl."
Diego gives Mason a pointed look, raising a brow.
Mason tucks his phone into his pocket and stays perfectly still.
"Are we really doing therapy hour on the deck again?" I ask, accepting the perfectly salted glass Diego slides my way. "It's been a long day."
"Oh, honey," Diego says, settling into his own chair with a dramatic sigh, "we're absolutely doing therapy hour."
"Then I'm going to need more of these," I groan, taking a huge slurp of my drink.
The Pacific is stretching out before us, the sunset bleeding into shades of orange and pink as the sun begins its slow descent. The infinity pool glows nearby, tempting me into a post-dinner swim.
Biscuit is sprawled across my feet under the table, snoring softly because I haven't kicked him away yet.
I've told my brothers not to read into it.
"Okay, but seriously." Beck points a finger at me, still clenching his stomach after the eating contest. "It might be the jalapeños talking, but you were actuallyfuntoday. It was disturbing."
"I'm always fun." I take a long pull of my margarita, the lime hitting just right after a day that felt like it lasted three weeks. "You look like shit, man. How many tacos did you eat?"
"Seventeen. Maybe eighteen. I lost count after Rico started laughing at me." Beck groans and shifts in his chair, pressing a hand to his stomach. "Oh God, I think one of them is trying to escape."
Diego scrunches his face and moves to the next chair over.
"Darling, the only thing that's escaping is your dignity. Which, let's be honest, was already on life support before the taco incident."
Mason chuckles as he leans back in his chair, looking across to me. "You know what today reminded me of? That summer when Beck got his ass kicked by those older kids at the community center festival."
"Oh, here we go," Beck mutters. "Can't you see I'm already hurting?"
"You remember that?" Mason asks me, swirling his margarita before turning to tell Diego the story. "When word spread he was hurt, Dec showed up like some kind of avenging angel. Didn't even ask questions. Just saw Beck with a bloody nose and went full protective-beast mode."
I shake my head. I remember that day all too well.
Some bigger assholes had roughed Beck up for being too much of a smartass. The second I saw him with a split lip and shaking hands, something primal kicked in.
Older brother mode… Protector mode…
Whatevermodeit was, it was the first time I remember feeling that kind of feral adrenaline.
Nobody touches my family.Nobody.
"They were picking on him. Someone had to do something."
"Someone, yeah," Beck says, his voice softer now. "But it was you. Even when Zoey was there, even when Mom and Dad were... well, wherever the hell they were."
Diego raises an eyebrow. "Oh, this is getting good. Continue, please."
So Mason reels off more stories, but thankfully, they're more along the lines ofBeck getting his ass kickedthenDeclan is our saviour.
I pretend to listen while reaching for one too many of Diego's delicious tacos. He's made them with grilled pineapple and chipotle sauce, and they're so good I might just end up like Beck I'm eating that many.
The tortillas are charred perfectly, the meat tender and smoky, the pineapple adding just the right hit of sweetness.
Yet somewhere deep down, I still feel like I hate that I'm enjoying this.
The easy rhythm of my brothers' bickering. The warmth of the evening. The way Biscuit's tail thumps against my ankle every few seconds like he's making sure I'm still here.
