"Yeah," I grunted in reply.
Charles continued back in, and I smirked. That was how communication should be: no one getting the wrong idea, no one saying something they hadn't meant to.
Once outside, we lost several players just due to how cold it was. Wyatt's entourage remained, as well as Phin and Aver. Wyatt cupped his hands over his mouth, taking charge. "This is how it goes. We need two teams: catchers and throwers. Catchers, you will get hit if the throwers are any good, so keep that in mind."
At his announcement, most of the men who'd been keeping close to Wyatt on the catcher side skittered across the line to the thrower side, where Aver was dragging the tubs of various balls we'd collected over the years.
"The teams don't have to be even, and if you don't want to catch or throw, stand over here next to Phin, and you can judge."
Phin looked relieved to have been named a judge instead of having to choose it, though I was pretty positive he would have anyway. Aver headed toward him.
"We need one of us on the throwing side, or Wyatt and I will win too easily," I told him, knowing he'd know I meant one of us shifters.
His mouth turned down, but he went to stand with the throwers.
"Throwers need to find something to tie over their eyes," Wyatt said before turning to Phin. "Judge chooses the handicap."
"What's the point of all this?" Phin asked. "How does anyone win?"
A valid question without an easy answer.
"You can win in several ways. As throwers, if you hit the catchers, they are out. Throwers can only win as a team. As catchers, if you last until all the balls are gone without bleeding, you win."
"Without bleeding?" Phin repeated. "The object of the game is to not get hurt?"
"Isn't that the object to life?" Wyatt asked playfully. "Now get ready. Let's play some Walker-ball!"
The others whooped. I went to stand near Wyatt in the grassy portion between the patio and the shore while the others found things to tie around their eyes. Wyatt whipped his shirt off, moving behind Paul to wrap it around his eyes. Paul's cheeks burned, and he smirked, much to the displeasure of the rest of Wyatt's posse. I'd be surprised if Wyatt got that shirt back. Linus gave me a look like he wanted the same treatment, but I pretended not to see it, checking in on Phin instead.
"Can you see from there?"
Phin stood on some decorative boulders. He brought his hands up to his hips and shrugged. "I wait to see if someone gets hit, right?"
I smiled. "That's about the whole of it."
"This game is insane," he said, but there was an excitement to his voice. To be part of the game? Or just to be out in general?
"Nash!" Wyatt screamed my name. "Let's go! Round One!" He pointed at Phin with double finger guns. "What's the handicap?"
"Uhhh…" Phin looked to Aver.
"Why not hop on one leg?" I whispered so only Phin could hear me.
"Hop on one leg," Phin replied, seeming relieved to say the thing that would get people to stop looking at him.
"I heard that, Nash," Wyatt barked. "But I will allow it. Okay. Are the throwers ready?"
There was a halfhearted chorus of yeses.
I took my spot a few feet to the side of Wyatt and lifted my left leg. We were the only catchers. That was probably for the best. Walker-ball was stupidly dangerous. I'd broken more fingers than I could count, a fact that only cropped back up while I stared down the other team of blind, mostly horny men who wanted to sink their claws—and teeth—into my brother.
"On your go, Phinster," Wyatt said without looking.
Phin beamed at the nickname and raised his arm into the air. "Go!" he shouted, slicing his hand downward.
I had to swerve immediately to avoid the first of the balls. The throwers giggled more than they did anything, and when they did manage to grab hold of a ball from the bins, they mostly threw them to the sides or over our heads. Aver was a thrower, though, and he seemed to have forgotten that Wyatt existed at all.
I hopped, jumped, and spun, twisting my ankle more than once as I balanced on one leg. I should have suggested a handicap I was better at. When it had been just us, we often played mouths only, where the catch only counted if it was between our teeth. A baseball zoomed directly for my face, and I heard a gasp just as I dodged out of the way. The sound had come from the side. From Phin.
I looked for the next ball to fly my way, waiting until I was nearly struck before moving. Again, Phin made a sharp noise, one that he did not make whenever Wyatt almost got hit. My chest pounded, not from exertion—this was easy—but from the thought that Phin cared if I was pegged in the face. It wasn't much, but I'd cling to it with all I had.
I was feeling especially cocky as Aver threw a football. He aimed low—because he was smart—but I jumped on one leg, rising several feet in the air. I had less control on the way down, which became a problem as Wyatt maneuvered somewhat beneath me.
"Look—!" Phin shouted, but he didn't have time to say any more than that.
I fell, managing to catch my upper half with my hands while my legs tangled with Wyatt. I wasn't a light man and had been falling fast. My heart leapt into my throat when I heard a snap, followed by the scent of blood and then Wyatt's groan of pain. I rolled off him, tucking my feet under my body to rise into a stand. His leg had to be broken. I thought I'd spotted a shard of bloody bone.
Phin was already beside Wyatt before most people realized they needed to take their blindfolds off. I dropped to my knees beside him just as Phin sat back, removing his hands from Wyatt's leg. His forehead was sweaty, and his lips twisted with something that looked like pain, but Phin had been standing along the sidelines. He couldn't have gotten hurt.
Aver stood over us. "Everything okay? I thought I…"
I knew he'd been about to say I thought I smelled blood but couldn't exactly claim such a thing in mixed company. Meanwhile, Wyatt's fan club was helping him to his feet, each more eager than the next to be the one Wyatt leaned on. Normally, at these sorts of events, I was Wyatt. Seeing it from the other side was startling.
But I wasn't envious. Not in the slightest. Not now that Phin was beside me. Still sitting in the grass.
"Here, let me help." I offered him my hand, but he waved it away.
"I twisted my leg funny. Let me sit for a second."
I bent down and picked him up, much like I had the first time I set eyes on him. I sighed silently at the contentment that washed over me having Phin in my arms again. Carrying him through the crowd, I didn't slow until we were in the kitchen and I could set him down on one of the cushioned chairs.
"What happened?" Riley rushed forward.
"Nothing, I'm fine," Phin hurried to say. "Wyatt's the one who was hurt."
Just then, Wyatt came into the kitchen, an arm over the shoulders of the men on either side of him. They were all laughing, while Wyatt walked without even a limp. I'd heard a snap, though. I'd smelled blood.
Was it a coincidence? If not, what was the real answer? Phin refused to look at my face, making me more suspicious. What the hell could he be hiding? I thought briefly of asking Riley to touch him. That was something I refused to do myself. I wasn't going to foist that fate on Phin. He wasn't like the horny new gay dads. He was…