“I’ll tell Owen you said so.” Conrad chuckles.
“Th-That’s Owen?” I ask.
“Yep. I’m going to go tell him to wait for a few. We’re going to wait until her man gets here.” Conrad gives my elbow a gentle squeeze before he saunters over to Owen’s waiting sex on wheels. He’s walking straight and doesn’t seem the least bit drunk.
“How is he not swaying?” I ask the night air.
“We’re men, and we can drink more than you. You two are tiny things. However, we also know when it’s too much to drive. We’re not about that,” Marshall explains.
The way that he says it almost sounds as if he’s repeating a small piece of a lecture he’s heard many times in his life. I can’t imagine the hell the five brothers put their parents through growing up.
“There’s my man.” Hadley cheers as Derek pulls up in his SUV.
With her arm still linked with mine, we make our way to the SUV. She climbs into the front, and I open the back door but stop before climbing inside. I turn to look at Conrad and Marshall. I wave at them, and then my eyes seek out Owen. The windows are tinted, but from the glow of the street light, I can make out the figure of his body sitting behind the wheel. I wave to him too. I’m sure he’s watching me, wondering what kind of a mess they got themselves into hiring me. So much for good impressions. I need water, a shower, and sleep. In that order. I manage to climb into the back seat of the SUV and rest my head against the window. Through my drunken haze, I make a mental note to check the handbook to see if any rules were broken.
Derek takes me to my place and helps me inside. Hadley is already passed out in the front seat. “Thank you. Take care of her,” I tell him.
“Always. You good?”
“Yep,” I say, and even I can hear the slow sluggish tone of my voice. “Night, D.”
“Night. Lock up.”
I do as he says, knowing he won’t leave until I do. Kicking off my shoes, I don’t bother with lights as I make my way down the hall to my bedroom. Flopping down on my bed face-first, all I can seem to think about is, what is Royce going to say?Chapter 4RoyceFor as long as I can remember, my mom insisted on Sunday dinners. It started when we were just kids, and Dad was working all the time to expand the company. She didn’t want us to lose out on family time, so she deemed Sundays family days. We loved it. Both Mom and Dad were home, and we got all of their attention, which was a difficult task for them—I’m sure with five boys running around the house. When I went off to college, I would come home as much as I could, as did my brothers who followed after me. Now that we’re all graduated and living on our own, my mother still insists on Sunday dinners. If they’re not traveling, there will be dinner every Sunday.
That’s why I’m pulling into the driveway of the house I grew up in. Dinner is served at five every Sunday. There is always way more food than the seven of us can eat. I asked Mom once why she made so much. She said that one day she hoped that each of us would find a nice woman to bring home, and she wanted us to have the reassurance that there would always be room at the table and plenty of food for each of them.
Mom’s a romantic. She and Dad met in high school, and here they are now, married thirty-four years, and still going strong. Not all of us are that lucky. To find the one person in the world who will give you unconditional love—and trust. I learned the hard way that trust is extremely hard to find. In fact, if your last name isn’t Riggins, I don’t trust you. Well, outside of Jase, my best friend. I give him shit for falling in love with my assistant, but the fact of the matter is, they are both deliriously happy. I want that for them. It’s just not for all of us.
Walking into the house, it’s not as loud and boisterous as it usually is. I’m the last to arrive from the looks of the vehicles in the driveway. Grant’s out of town, but he alone doesn’t make up for the quiet of the house. I make my way toward the living room, following the sound of the television to find three of my brothers and my dad.
“What’s up?” I ask.
Dad chuckles. “Seems your brothers don’t know their limits.”
I look over at Conrad and Marshall, and although they look a little haggard, they seem fine. My eyes then land on Owen. “You drank?” I ask him. Not that he doesn’t drink; he’s just not one for going out to clubs. He’s more of a social drinker or having a beer at night once he’s home. Owen is by far the most serious of the five of us.