Page 43 of Penalty Shots

“Gah! Don’t call my sister your wife… it’s so weird,” Keelan says, making a face.

I look at him. “Oh my god, get over it. They’ve been living together. They made a baby. What do you think goes on behind closed doors?”

“And in your guest room… and in your jacuzzi,” Ryker adds with a smirk. Izzy slaps him on the chest.

Keelan drags a hand down his face. “I could’ve gone my whole life not knowing that information.”

Ryker reaches out, placing a hand on Keelan’s shoulder. “Then I’ll spare you the details about that one time in your Bronco.”

“Go!” Keelan says, pointing at the door. “Please just…” he makes heaving sounds. “Go.”

Izzy laughs and approaches her brother for a hug. “No parties.”

“Seriously, Iz? You can’t trust me not to throw a party for three days?”

“No,” she and Ryker both say in unison.

Rykers turns to me. “I trust you’ll make sure it stays that way?”

I nod. “Party police is on duty.”

“It’s her favorite duty,” Keelan mutters, now pushing them both out the door just as their rideshare driver honks.

The door shuts behind them and he leans against it, facing me.

“Welp, here we are. Just the two of us."

"Your niece is here," I remind him.

"Well, three's company."

"And don't forget about the dog."

We both look down the darkened hallway leading to the guest rooms. Standing there, eerily quiet and watching us is Izzy's dog, Wednesday.

The little black poodle mix that used to be Izzy's only companion hasn't taken a liking to playing second fiddle to a tiny human.

She shows her disdain by creepily watching everyone from the dark corners of the house until somebody notices her.

And since we do, she turns and disappears into an empty room.

"That dog is so weird," I say.

"She just takes some warming up too. Not unlike somebody I know." He quirks a brow up in my direction.

I turn on my heel and head for the kitchen. “Anyways… I think we should lay down a few ground rules, shall we?”

Keelan groans. “Just a bunch of killjoys. All of you. Tell me,” he follows me into the kitchen. “Do you guys enjoy being miserable?”

We stand facing each other across the kitchen island. “Rule number one,” I say, holding up a finger and completely ignoring him. “No touching.”

“Are we talking about the baby or–”

“Rule number two,” I hold up a second finger, cutting him off. “We’ll take turns doing nighttime feedings. I’m not going to be up all night while you just sleep like a log.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and taps a finger to his lips in thought.

“What?” I ask.