Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
“I’d never do that,” Maverick replies firmly. “I’ll only laugh when you’re genuinely funny, so you know you’ve truly earned it.”
My heart swells with pride. That’s my boy.
When everyone quiets down again, my thoughts drift back to Brandon and his maimed dick. Someone might tell Iris about his arrest. She’s still in touch with her would-be sister-in-law, Delilah, I think. Now and again. Or God help me, some vulture of a reporter might reach out to Iris for a comment on the story. But what are the odds?
In the end, I decide not to tell Iris the news about Brandon. She’s happy. Blissful, even. So, why let that motherfucker anywhere near her, even if it’s only in her thoughts?
“Fish on!” Iris calls out. “Maddox, do you want to help me reel him in?”
“Woohoo!” Maddox screams, his loud rubber boots announcing every splashing step he takes toward his mother.
“Thanks, Mad,” Maverick says to Maddox with a scoff. “Now every fish in the stream knows we’re here.”
“Not to mention, every nearby deer, fox, squirrel, and elk,” I add with a laugh. The black bears in the surrounding woods likely know it, too, but Maverick is deathly afraid of bears, so I don’t include them in my list, out of respect for his phobia.
As little Maddox exuberantly reels in the fish with Iris’s deft guidance, I take videos and photos and cheer him on. But once the fish has been stowed in the cooler and everyone is distracted again, I pull out my phone and covertly send another text to Cameron.
Me: I’ll let fate decide if Iris ever finds out about this delightful news story. Until then, I’ll savor the information like I’m swirling a fine red wine against my tongue. FUCKING DELICIOUS.
Cameron: LOL, I knew you’d be savage about this, but not THIS savage.
Me: Karma’s a bitch, baby.
Cameron: Very true.
Me: More importantly, are there any updates on negotiations?
Cameron: Nothing concrete, but they’re so thirsty for you, I’m positive you’ll get whatever you want in the end. I’ll stonewall them for a week or so, and I promise they’ll cave.
Me: I trust you. While you’re stonewalling, do you want to come hang out with us in OB? My family’s coming in on Sunday for 4–5 days and Iris’s brother and father will be here, too. Would love to have our star running back here so we can play a proper sequel to Fiji Bowl.
To celebrate my third Super Bowl win, I flew everyone I care about to Fiji again for a week of fun in the sun. And of course, we wound up playing tag football on our private beach. As always, it was a family-friendly game that included everyone—men, women, and children. Pro players and former pros, as well as well-intentioned loved ones with damnnear the worst hand-eye coordination you’ll ever see. To make things fair for everyone, we decreed only women could play quarterback for either team. Also, every kid ten or younger was going to score a touchdown at some point in the game, no matter what. And finally, nobody wanted Marco and me to play on the same team, since they said that wouldn’t be fair, so we wound up being our respective teams’ captains again.
Cameron: I’d love to come to OB. But I’ll only play on your team if you promise you’ll draft Iris as our star quarterback again. Your wife’s got a cannon, dude.
Me: Iris is still taking it easy after Ivy’s birth, but if she’s feeling up to it, she’ll be my first draft pick, as always. If not, then my mom can play QB for us. She’s got a surprising arm and dead-on accuracy.
Cameron: I’d suggest we draft Nicola the Nuke, but Marco will obviously pick her first, and Chelsea would rather sit out than play for your team.
Me: We’ll be good, either way. I promise I’ll stack our roster so we take home the coconut again.
That was our Lombardi Trophy in the Fiji Bowl. A coconut etched with an oblong shape that was meant to be a football. Not sure what we’ll use in Orchard Blossom. An apple?
“Is everything okay?” Iris asks, causing me to jerk my head up from my phone.
Whoops. That’s a surefire sign I’ve been on my phone for too long. It’s so unlike me during family time.
“Sorry. Yeah.” I sheepishly stuff my phone back into my jeans. “Cam was just giving me an update on negotiations.”
“Good news?”
“It’s not in the bag yet but looking good.” I clear my throat. “Hey, Mad, will you come over here and hold this rod for me? I want to give Mommy a big hug.”
Maddox splashes over to me through the shallows of the stream like he’s on methamphetamines which, of course, causes his big brother to palm his forehead and mutter, “What the heck?”
A moment later, when I’m sure my wild child has the rod firmly in his little hand and the handle of mine is firmly wedged between two rocks, I head over to my wife and gently crush our cooing baby girl between our warm bodies. “I love you, Mrs. Maguire,” I whisper. “More than I could have imagined possible.”