Page 65 of Fighting Chance

I can’t stop my smile from spreading. “Fuck, you guys have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

Mitchel strides over, winking. “Knew you loved my pretty face.”

“Not as much as you love mine,” I taunt as I clap his back.

“How come Kieran can swear and I can’t?” I hear Irving mutter.

Ignoring him, I try to relieve the buzzing of emotions that bombard my chest but I’m too overcome with gratitude and love for the guys showing up for me like this.

Until Johnson opens his grumpy ass mouth. “Did you even start?”

Hands on my hips I give him a look. “Of course I did, fucker. There’s no manual.”

“There has to be a manual. There’s a manual for everything.”

“Not this one apparently,” Carlton murmurs.

“I’m taking Emmy inside before her first word starts a swear jar,” Allie huffs, and I snort at her retreating form.

Irving strides up to us, confidence oozing from the fucker, his pouting apparently long gone. “Don’t worry dude, the Irv builder has arrived!”

“The Irv builder? What the fuck is that?” Mitchel scoffs.

Lewis slings an arm around his best friend. “I happen to like it. Has a nice ring to it.”

“Of course you like it, you twat. You think Irving shoots rainbows out his ass,” Johnson quips.

And suddenly, I’m very thankful that Allie snuck inside with Emmy. Trying to get these guys not to curse is…well, impossible.

“Irv…ing,” he says slowly as if we’re the stupid ones. “It’s my last name shortened. Irv the builder.”

Ellington’s lips twitch. “Yeah, we got that, buddy.”

“Have you ever built anything in your life?” Johnson asks.

Irving puffs out his chest. “Yes, of course I have.”

“Like what?”

“Plenty of things that need building.”

As this is no doubt about to turn into a pissing contest between them, I interrupt with, “Look, it’s meant to be a swing set attached to a playground. It shouldn’t be this complicated.”

I’m actually a fantastic builder, but this set arrived completely dismantled. They didn’t even put holes in for the nails. It’s raw wood, with some pieces still needing to be sanded, unless I want Emmy covered in splinters.

“A playhouse?” Grayson asks as he joins us. “No wonder you didn’t get far. It’s like they sent you a tree and said good luck.”

I point to the box it came in, the only picture we got with the end result. “That’s what it needs to look like.”

Grayson frowns over at it. “And it really has no manual?”

That damn question.

Carlton, already knowing how much he harassed the shit out of me, turns to his son. “Believe it or not, no manual.”

“Can’t we just build a treehouse with the pieces?” Irving asks.

Valenti rolls his eyes. “And what makes you think building a treehouse is going to be any easier?”