I reach out and take her hands in mine, even though we’re walking through the door.
I have to find a way to get rid of them. A way that means they won’t be the first to get Mila’s photo. A way that means we can take Mila out and do anything we want to with her, that means we won’t have to sneak her through the damn woods to get between our houses.
Mila looks up as soon as we walk in the room. “Mama! Dadda!” She scampers up and runs to us, arms wide.
I scoop her up, holding her to my chest, smiling. “Hey, little girl.”
“My lub Dadda.” She squeezes my neck as tightly as only a two-year-old can.
“I love you, too, baby.”
“My lub Mama.” She reaches for Sofie.
She puts her hand on Mila’s back and kisses her cheek. “Mama lub you, too,” she whispers.
I turn my face and kiss Sofie’s temple, letting my lips linger there.
Mom walks in and smiles. “Done?” she asks Sofie.
Sofie turns and nods.
“Great! Now, Conner.” She faces me. “Tate’s in the garage whining like a little girl because y’all need to practice, and Aidan is whining because he’s hungry, and Kye is whinin’ because they are.” She rolls her eyes. “So you head on down there to practice and tell them me and Sofie are makin’ lunch. Got it?”
I hand Mila to Sofie, and with a kiss to Mila’s tiny cheek, I leave the room and head into the garage.
“We got it,” Tate says as soon as I walk through the door. “You’re an idiot, but you’re a fuckin’ brilliant one.”
“You got what?” I pause, my fingers still curled around the door.
My oldest brother half-grins. “It wasn’t you. It was me. I was playin’ it like a fuckin’ dick. I didn’t have the tuning right on my guitar, so all your chords sounded like crap to me.”
“And none of us noticed because we were too busy playing it right.” Kye laughs. “We were in fucking la-la land.”
“I knew I got it right.” I smirk and sit down. “So there’s no more bitchin’ at me for making us learn this for tomorrow?”
Aidan shakes his head. “If you know the lyrics, we can learn the music in a couple hours. Hey, is Mom bringin’ us lunch or what? We’ve been working our asses off while you’ve been . . .wherever the hell you were.”
“The Vital Records Office.” I pick up my guitar. “My name is on Mila’s birth certificate now.”
“’Bout damn time,” Tate grumbles.
I open my mouth, and he holds his hands up.
“I don’t mean it like that, man. I mean it in a ‘thank fuck you finally got your shit together’ kinda way. I’m sick of seein’ you two hating each other one second, then loving each other the next. I’m gonna try and be nice to her now, especially if she’s comin’ with us.”
“Sofie’s coming on tour?” Kye and Aidan ask simultaneously.
Twins. Hate them.
“I asked her,” I admit. “She shot me down, and then we got . . . distracted.”
Tate grins.
There’s a knock at the door. Aidan opens it, and Sofie walks in with a huge plate of sandwiches.
Tate’s still grinning.
“What?” she says to him. “You that happy to see some food?”
“Ignore him,” I say, watching Aidan take the plate from her, but not before he shoves a triangle in his mouth.
“Aw, triangles, that’s cute. Mom still thinks we’re six and playing with battery-operated guitars.” Kye snatches a couple of sandwiches, grumbling.
“Mila has one you could borrow if yours is too complicated.” Sofie smiles sweetly.
Kye sticks his middle finger up at her and she laughs.
I eat a few of the triangles, and when the plate is pretty much clear, I turn to Sofie. “You’re not allowed back in here, all right?”
“Why not?” she asks, frowning.
“Because I said. Send Leila or Mom in instead.”
“Leila’s on an afternoon date.” She stands. “And your mom’s gone to the store.”
“Then we’ll get it ourselves.”
“Or I could just take Mila home.”
I chew the inside of my lip. “If you really want.”
She sighs. “No. We’re baking cookies. You’d never guess why there are none in the house.” She rolls her eyes. “Try not to fight.” She looks directly at Tate.
“I’m being good,” he retorts.
“First time for everythin’, then, eh?” She smiles and turns away.
“Hey.” I grab her hand and pull her down. I kiss her, tasting lemonade on her lips, and I resist the urge to flick my tongue against her mouth.
She straightens when I release her and leaves the garage quickly. My lips twitch—I forgot how much she hated me doing that in front of my brothers.
“Gross,” Tate mutters.
“Seen you do worse,” I remind him, resettling my guitar on my knee. “You ready?”
Seven hours straight of practicing led to us all being fall-down tired, with stupidly sore hands. Tensions started to get high toward the end, so we called it a day, set the music down, and all parted ways.
I’m on the deck, stretched back on a chair with my feet up on the fencing. With Mila going back to bed—for the third time, God love her, she hates going to sleep—it’s finally quiet, the only noise that of the waves and the gentle buzz of Dad’s TV show.
The back door opens softly and I turn my head. “Hey.”
“Hey, you,” Sofie says quietly, stepping out onto the decking. “You mind if I join you?”
“Don’t be dumb.”
She smiles and walks to the chair next to me. I lean over, grab her waist, and pull her down on top of me.
“What are you doin’?” she whispers through giggles.
“Holding you,” I whisper back.
She rests her head on my shoulder. “How’d your practice go?”
“Good. We didn’t kill each other, so that’s a plus.”
“Well, yes. What did you practice?”
“Bit of everything, but mostly somethin’ new for tomorrow night.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“I’m not tellin’. Y’all have to come to find out.” I tighten my arms around her waist.
“That’s mean.” She pouts, and it’s easy to see where Mila gets it from. They’re identical pouts.