Chapter Thirteen
Game night at the Walshes is no joke—running tallies, razzing and competitiveness that put me, Grady and Dax to shame. I’ve seen Zoe in tears, I’ve seen Skylar punch her brother in the shoulder. The Walshes are ruthless and as much as they laugh during these nights, they bicker, too. It fascinated me at first until I realized it’s survival of the fittest. I don’t cry, and her brother and I don’t fight, but Skylar didn’t talk to me for a week once. Long story.
Skylar’s putting out the chips and her mom’s seven-layer taco dip, while I’ve made sure the fridge is stocked with beer. The door opens, and I wait to hear the thumping of little footsteps, but Zoe and Vin round the corner with a brown grocery bag and a case of beer.
“What’s this?” Skylar rears back from the table,
