Page 137 of Playing Mr. Perfect

“You’re having a party without us?” Seth jokes.

“They’re probably talking about us,” Flynn teases as they all squeeze onto the couch.

The French doors open and Noah comes out wearing shorts and a hoodie, his hair askew. “So we’re really doing this? At the butt crack of dawn?”

“Nobody made you come downstairs,” Sutton says.

Noah comes around the couch. “I heard you guys going down the hall and had FOMO.” He squeezes in between me and his mother, flashes an endearing smile, and lifts the blanket from my lap, scooting closer to get under it.

“Dude, you better keep your hands to yourself,” Clay warns.

“It’s not his hands I’d be worried about,” Seth says.

Noah smirks. Clay glowers, and his brothers crack up.

The door flies open again, and Victory runs out of the house bundled up in a blanket, wearing a hat and fuzzy socks. “I was worried I missed the sunrise.” She stands behind me and shoves Noah’s shoulder. “Move over.”

“If you say so.” Noah scoots even closer to me.

Victory smacks his shoulder. “Other way, mongrel.” He curses under his breath and scoots away from me. Victory climbs over the back of the couch and wiggles between us. She points at Clay and says, “You owe me one.”

Everyone laughs.

“It’s good to have everyone home to celebrate Flynn and Sutton’s big event,” his father says.

“Here comes a dad speech,” Seth jokes.

“It’s a short one,” his father promises. “Your mother and I are proud of all of you, and not just because you’re more competitive than we could ever be and have risen to the tops of your fields.”

Clay and his siblings exchange incredulous glances.

“Did our father just say he and Mom aren’t competitive?” Clay asks.

“Yeah. What kind of BS is that, Dad?” Flynn asks.

“Who do you think we learned from?” Seth asks. “You dragged us all over creation in order to discover new species of animals and get award-winning photographs.”

“That’s a different type of competitive,” he says. “We weren’t out there publicly clawing our way to the top against the world’s best athletes or billion-dollar entrepreneurs or putting out documentaries for the world to pick apart. You kids have the type of courage that blows us away on a daily basis. And you’ve all used your success to help others. That’s what we’re most proud of.”

“You taught us that, too,” Victory says. “When we were traveling, not a day went by when we weren’t doing something for another family or for animals or for the community.”

“That’s true, honey,” his mother says. “I think what your father is trying to say is that as parents, we can lead by example, but how kids turn out is kind of a crapshoot, and we got lucky. We’re proud of how you all turned out.”

Clay holds me a little tighter, and I can tell how much his father’s praise means to him. As I look around the fire, I see how much it means to each of his siblings, too. Having that support, someone who’s always in your corner, is everything. I know how that feels, because my father has been that person for me. But now it’s Clay. The apple did not fall far from the tree.

After watching the sunrise, while Clay helps his family make breakfast, I go upstairs and shower. I dry my hair and dress in my favorite leggings and a comfy oversized cable-knit sweater Clay packed for me. I still can’t get over how sneaky he was to have pulled this off, or how incredible this weekend has been. I have no idea how we’re getting home.

I head downstairs wondering if we’re in for another helicopter ride. I hear his family talking, and then I hear Clay and Seth in a heated conversation and stop before I reach the bottom step.

“What the hell have you been doing all this time?” Seth asks sternly. “Distracting yourself with her to avoid making a decision?”

My chest constricts. What decision?

“Let it go,” Clay seethes. “It’s none of your business.”

“Clay,” Seth pushes.

“Jesus Christ, Seth. Maybe I was using her as a distraction. Who fucking cares?”