“What the hell is Jerry Mackey doing here?” Henry blurted.
He glanced over the kid, who met his gaze briefly and winced. His medium brown hair was longish and resembled a mop, but his green-tinged hazel eyes were clear and alert if wary. Twenty-two or so now, he’d filled out a bit since Henry had last seen him, but he was still skinny. At five-eight, he was only an inch taller than Tracie, which made him seem even smaller compared to her husband and sons than he was; John, Nick, Aaron, and Henry all stood four inches taller with thicker, more heavily muscled frames. It’s no wonder, Henry mused, that Aaron so easily overpowered the kid two years ago.
He looked to his twin and noted a blossoming bruise on Aaron’s jaw. “And what the hell happened to your face?”
“What do you think happened
