At least his family had stopped asking him if he was all right.
“Why a teacher?” he inquired, wanting to keep them talking about her.
“Molding young minds,” she said simply, flashing another bright smile. “Imagine if there’d been some decent teachers around when you were in school. Maybe you wouldn’t be such a dummy.”
Brantley stopped, pinned her with a look. “A dummy? Really, sis?”
Bryn’s blue eyes flashed with amusement. “Yeah. Dummy. What’re you gonna do about it?”
Before he could grab her and toss her into the water, Bryn took off at a run. Brantley chuckled, then pursued, his bare feet sinking in the wet sand as he jogged behind her. Didn’t take long before he swept her off her feet and charged into the water, dumping her unceremoniously before he dove into the next wave. When he came up, Bryn was sputtering, tossing her hair out of her face, the long dark strands plastered to her head.
“I’m gonna kick your ass for that, Brantley Walker!”
“How many times have I heard that one?” he countered, wandering over and escorting her back to the beach, arm in arm.
“You just wait. When you least expect it”—she clapped her hands together, jerking on his arm—“bam! I’m gonna take you out.”
As usual, Bryn was laughing. Otherwise he would’ve been apologizing. Brantley couldn’t count how many times he’d said he was sorry over the years. To all of his sisters. Didn’t matter that Sadie, Tori, and Bryn were the oldest of the seven, there was no doubt they’d been harassed plenty by their younger brothers. Sometimes more than they deserved.
Redirecting them back to the house, Brantley threw an arm around Bryn’s shoulders, tugged her against his side, and planted a kiss on her head. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some coffee in me.”
“Fine. But you’re not goin’ back to bed.”
Nearly twelve hours later, the blazing Texas sun having finally taken a hiatus, Brantley was sitting on the third-floor deck, staring out over the water, wishing like hell he’d ignored Bryn’s order and caught a few hours of sleep. After an eventful day spent entirely down by the water, he had that rode-hard, put-up-wet feeling. Good thing he only had a few feet to wander before he could be facedown in a bed.
He had his nephew and nieces to thank for the endless hours near the water, and his brothers for the overindulgence tonight. It had been Trey’s idea, the fucker. His oldest brother had thought it would be wise to crack open a bottle of Jameson and play Who’s the idiot, a game they’d made up, where they recalled each other’s most asinine feats to date.
For whatever reason, they’d all ganged up on Brantley, proving with one story after another that he was the reigning champ of idiocy. Better yet, it wasn’t over. Trey was currently choking on a laugh as he attempted to retell their favorite story of them all.
“What was that guy’s name?” Trey clanked the ice in his glass, eyes bouncing to each of them.
“Danny,” Griffin offered. “Danny Musket.”
Brantley groaned. Never failed they’d bring this one up.
Trey snapped his fingers and pointed at Griff. “Yes! Danny Musket. What a loser. I was on duty at the time—”
“Off duty,” Brantley corrected. “And mall security doesn’t exactly make you a cop.”
“Yeah, well, Danny didn’t know that.”
No, he hadn’t. And Brantley remembered the look on the guy’s face when Trey’s mug had appeared in the driver’s-side window. Might as well have been the chief of police for as panicked as Danny got.
“Anyway,” Trey continued. “That night, I was headin’ home. Stopped in at E-Zs for a cup of coffee—“
“Pork rinds and Dr. Pepper,” Brantley corrected.
“—when what did I stumble upon?” Trey chuckled, clearly enjoying the memory. “There I was, minding my own business, strolling through the parking lot—”
“Checking out the beer delivery guy,” Brantley offered because it was the truth.
“—when something caught my attention. Rocking.” Another rumbling laugh. “That shitty old Ford of Danny’s was rocking on its axles.”
“It was a Toyota,” Brantley said with a huff. “And it was only a couple of years old.”
“Whatever. My story, my details.”
Brantley smiled, couldn’t help it. That was Trey for you.
“Didn’t Danny work there part-time?” Cal inquired.
“Yep,” Trey answered. “And he was on his break. Just gettin’ some action, he said.”
“He did not say that,” Brantley huffed.
“Right up until you put an end to their fun,” Griffin noted.
Trey smirked. “What are big brothers for?”
Brantley rolled his eyes, didn’t bother looking at Trey. “Regardless of how you tell it, the crime certainly didn’t fit the punishment.”
That got his brothers laughing.
“Maybe not, but it was fun as shit,” Trey countered. “Dragged both of you morons outta that truck, had you assume the position.”
“Because he hadn’t been assumin’ it before you got there?” Griffin snorted.
“Not helpin’,” Brantley said with a glare.
“Tell ’em what happened next,” Trey insisted with a smirk.
Brantley exhaled, knowing this would never end if he didn’t tie up the story in a neat little bow. “You dragged us out, frisked us both, then told Danny you’d bring him up on charges of seducing a minor if he put his hands on me again.”
“Damn straight I did. And the look on that kid’s face,” Trey guffawed. “Priceless.”
Never mind the fact that they’d both been seventeen, Danny had honestly believed he was in trouble. Then again, the guy hadn’t been the brightest bulb. But he’d been hot as fuck, the only thing that had really mattered to seventeen-year-old Brantley.
To add to the humiliation, Trey had snapped a picture of Danny with his wild red hair and haphazardly buttoned shirt using his prized Nokia camera phone, printed it out, then spent the next two months pinning that picture up in various places in the house just to piss Brantley off. Not that he would remind Trey of that part.
His brothers were good at that. Pissing him off. But Brantley had gotten in a few good ones over the years. Too bad he was too drunk to remember them now.
“Whatever happened to that one guy you dated?” Griffin asked, lifting his glass and pointing at Brantley. “Marvin? Martin? What the fuck was his name?”
“Markus,” Cal supplied. “The doctor.”
“He wasn’t a doctor,” Trey corrected. “He was a medical examiner.”
“A medical degree, Trey,” Brantley grumbled. “Makes him a doctor.”
“He worked on dead people.” Trey’s smile was slow. “But I suppose he put the degree to good use? You two play doctor and patient?”
Oh, they most definitely had, but rather than share the details, he rattled off a “Fuck. Off.”
“Didn’t last long, that one,” Cal recalled. “Then again, none of them did.”