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I grunt as Lex elbows me in the side, trying to box me out.

The little shit may be younger, but he’s certainly not faster.

Or stronger.

I shove him hard, freeing up some space, and taking off the stretch of grass in my parents’ back yard. In the spring and summer and fall, it’s always been a soccer pitch or a football field or a makeshift WWE wrestling ring. In the winter, when it’s cold enough to freeze, it’s only ever been home to a small rink.

Hours we’ve all spent in the yard.

Shooed out from underfoot to burn off some of our annoyingly manic (and then, as we got older, asshole) energy. Too loud. Too much. Too⁠—

Noble launches the ball down the field, and I’m not alone in noticing it.

Beck, Oakes, and Lex are chasing me down, my dad right on their heels.

There aren’t enough of us to play a real game.

So, like most things in the Ambrose household, this shit is a free for all.

One quarterback—this turn it’s Noble—who isn’t eligible to be sacked. And five of us trying to be the one who catches the ball and carries it into the makeshift end zone.

Could we play three-on-three?

Of course we could.

But that wouldn’t provide us with the opportunity to level each other as often as possible.

Aw, family time.

So fucking sweet.

The ball is dropping from the sky and I clench my teeth together, speeding forward and catching it against my chest.

I don’t take my time in doing this, mostly because if I pause for so much as a heartbeat, my brothers will be on me.

And then I’ll be eating grass.

Fun, fun.

So, I catch, grip, and keep sprinting.

My brothers are on my heels, most likely Beck, who’s the closest match to my speed, but the sheer amount of heavy breathing and muttered curses tell me that he’s not alone.

The line for the end zone is just feet away, though.

I dig in, and just as I’m about to cross it, a heavy body lands on my back, arms wrapping around me, trying to rip at the ball, and when that doesn’t work, they all join in and try to pull me to the ground.

But I’m strong.

And I don’t lose.

I grit my teeth, shift my weight, and lurch across the line, making sure both feet are fully over and the ball held tight before I allow them to take me down in a pile of jabbing elbows and angry curses and⁠—

“Well, that’s rather intense, isn’t it?”

The droll voice has us all freezing.

Despite being pinned by a pile of Ambroses, I manage to turn my head to the side, see a pair of high heeled sandals.