Vow of Devotion (Vow Series Book 4) Page 2

  The one who can stuff the most marshmallows into our mouth.

  Whatever.

  Lately the competition between us has been worse. I’ve worked for my family’s business since I was a teenager, but I officially bought into Wells Builders a bit under a year ago, joining three of my older brothers. I’m the youngest to buy in. Dad made each of us wait until he deemed us ready. I bought in before my thirtieth birthday. Since the buy in, the competition between us has rocketed to a whole other level. It’s gone from fun and games to needing to best each other at everything.

  Which is how I ended up here, inside a snow cone truck, my hand on the sticky steering wheel as I drive through my parents’ neighborhood. I pry my hand from the fake leather wheel, waving at the kids playing on the expansive front lawns and soaking up their last weeks of summer vacation.

  The energy I get from this neighborhood is what I want to bring to my first project. Without a shadow of a doubt, this is a family neighborhood—whether the family has kids young enough to be playing on the front lawn and pointing at the snow cone truck driving by, or whether the kids are old enough to be driving said snow cone truck to visit their parents. Big, green lawns, large homes, and the Texas sun gracing every inch are just the cherries on top of a family-sized sundae.

  It’s what I scoured the Austin area for until I found the perfect location. My first build is going to be similar to this, but better. The big, green lawns will be massive lawns. The large homes will be fucking stately. The Texas sun will be joined by bluebonnets in the spring and some of the best views in the state.

  Pride surges through me as I turn onto my parents’ street, flicking a switch on the dash with a shit-eating grin on my face. Music blares through the speaker on top of the truck. My neighborhood is going to be the greatest first project out of all my brothers’, and none of them can compete with a snow cone truck either. When I turn in and honk the horn, my family files through the back gate off of the driveway.

  Mom’s hand is clutching the pearls at her throat, and her mouth opens and closes like a fish before she finally speaks. Through the windshield, I make out her lips forming the question she’s been asking all of our lives: Dear God, why?

  Dad and my uncle Rob burst out laughing. My uncle bends in half, his hands on his knees as he busts a gut. My cousins and their wives are shaking their heads and staring at me through the windshield like I’m crazy, but they’re all smiling.

  I save for last the reaction I’ve been anticipating since the idea popped into my head. My four brothers have their arms crossed over their chests, glowering. Their faces don’t disappoint. Outrage, shock, intense concentration as they think of a way to bring the attention back to themselves—it’s all there.

  Bested, motherfuckers.

  I roll down the window and lean out. “I brought the ice!”

  I lean back into the cab, switch the music off, open the door, and hop out. My grin grows as I amble over to Mom, bending to kiss her on the cheek. “I’m the favorite today.”

  “All of you boys are my favorite,” she says absentmindedly, shaking her head, still staring at the truck.

  “I even made sure your favorite flavor is stocked. I don’t know why anyone would want a pickle juice snow cone, but it’s there for you.”

  “Pickle juice snow cones are the best.” Her eyes shift to mine, narrowing slightly. “Don’t think a pickle juice snow cone will save you if you run over my flowers backing out of the driveway. And if this thing leaks oil . . .” She leaves her silent threat hanging in the air.

  I kiss her cheek once more and promise there will be no ruined bushes or driveways. After greeting everyone else gathered on the driveway, I saunter over to my brothers. The rest of the family goes into the backyard, leaving us out here.

  Under the taut silence between the five of us, the sizzle of meat on the grill fills the air, laced with low music playing through a speaker. I bite my tongue to keep from laughing and push my sunglasses up on my head.

  Maddox, my oldest brother, is the only one who didn’t go into Wells Builders. He’s a detective with the Austin Police Department. His mouth is set in its usual tight frown. My reflection shines back at me through his mirrored aviators.

  His brow arches over his shades. “Did you steal this?”

  “Would I do that?” I place my hand over my chest, taking a step back.

  “Yes,” Camden responds. He’s the second oldest and Dad’s right-hand man. He doesn’t oversee too many sites but instead has taken on the position of CFO. He’s a statistics nut and most of his interests point back to numbers in some way. Even his favorite sport—baseball. He’s the only guy who can turn an interesting and lively sports argument into something boring.

  “Definitely,” my other two brothers chime in.

  “I didn’t steal it, jackass.” A chuckle slips through. Camden probably does believe I stole it.

  “Did you buy it? Your dumbass would do that, too,” Dane says. Dane is closest to me in age. We’re just one year apart and we look like we could be twins.

  “I’ve told you, you can’t be that irresponsible with money,” Camden hisses, running a hand through his hair. This is part of the problem with my buy in and the site. Each of them believed Dad wouldn’t hand over any part of the company to me until I was fifty or something. My brothers will always see me as the troublemaker or the one who will do anything to win—including buying a snow cone truck. I want this neighborhood of mine to be the start of everything I’ve spent most of my life planning, but I also want it to be the piece of the puzzle that helps me prove myself to my family. I roll my eyes as Camden continues with his lecture. “Your inheritance should last you the rest of your life. Are you going to blow your budget on your project, too? If only you would let me help.”

  I don’t bother with a response. He wants to lecture me, not help me. I haven’t blown my inheritance and I won’t blow my budget. I could tell them that until the cows come home. They wouldn’t believe a word of it. I’ll have to prove it to them.

  “I rented it. Don’t be mad that you’re not creative enough to think of something like this.” My hand lands on Dane’s shoulder, patting him twice. He shrugs it off and lurches toward me, trying to put me in a headlock.

  Our three brothers step back to watch us.

  “Ten on Dane,” Maddox says.

  “I’ll take that bet,” Camden responds. “Dane is the underdog in this matchup. In fact—”

  “Don’t start,” Hendrix, the middle child, groans. “I don’t want to hear about your numbers. I’ll take the bet, too.”

  Dane and I crash into the side of the snow cone truck, both of us laughing while trying to secure the other’s head in a hold.

  “Get your asses over here,” Mom calls from the back gate. “I don’t care that you’re all over six feet tall. I will bend each of you over my knee and find my wooden spoon. Don’t test me.”

  I release Dane from my hold. “We’re sorry, Ma.”

  “Bunch of hooligans,” Mom mutters. “Dear God, why?”

  She walks back into the backyard. Dane shoves me one more time, making me chuckle before the five of us go after Mom.

  I wrap my arm around her thin shoulders when we get inside the yard. “You didn’t like my surprise?”

  “I’d be happier if you brought home a girl instead of a snow cone truck. It was very funny, but it’s time for you to grow up.”

  She walks away, leaving me speechless behind her.

  Chapter 3

  Ava

  Lilly’s door creaks open and her feet drag along the carpet in the hallway as I’m whisking eggs and milk in a mixing bowl. A grin tugs at the corner of my lips when the dragging noises turn into a pitter-patter on the kitchen floor tile. I glance at her over my shoulder as she flops onto a dining chair.

  One little fist is rubbing her eye and her blond hair is in complete disarray. She’s been a fitful sleeper since she was a baby. With rumpled clothes, messy hair, and pillow creas
es marring her ivory skin, she looks like she’s been at a wild party all night.

  In appearance, she’s my little mini me. We have the some long, blond hair with a natural curl at the end and a pesky cowlick right at the crown of our heads. One day, I’ll teach her how to hide that spot with a hair dryer and round brush. Our eyes are the exact same shade of deep blue. She inherited her ivory skin tone, button nose, and petite frame from me, too. I don’t have pictures of myself from my childhood, but if I did, she and six-year-old me would look like twins.

  In the mornings though, I see her dad. If he didn’t need to be on base, he’d stumble out of bed and sit at our rickety table with his head propped against his hand, just like Lilly is doing right now. My heart pangs in my chest. I can almost visualize the grin he’d shoot my way if he were sitting at that table next to his daughter. The dull ache of losing someone never truly leaves. After six years, it’s not quite as sharp, but it’s a dull bruise that will never heal.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead.” I sing each word, forcing as much cheer into them as I can, and turn back to the task in front of me. Setting down the mixing bowl, I pluck a few slices of bread from the bag.

  Lilly grunts her response, showing me a glimpse into my future with a teenage daughter. When she’s old enough to drink coffee, she’s going to mainline the stuff. If she’s a zombie in the morning at this age, I don’t want to know what she’ll be like later. I can’t believe she’s almost six. It feels like a week ago I was in labor with her, and now we’re barreling toward first grade. Tomorrow, it’ll be college. Now that I have Lilly, every day passes in one second and it never feels like enough time.

  “I’m making french toast for breakfast.”

  This perks her up. She raises her head, looking at me. A small smile starts to spread across her face and the last bit of sleepiness disappears completely.

  “There she is.”

  “Have you sprinkled the magic dust?” Lilly cranes her neck to the side, trying to see over the breakfast bar and past me to the stove.

  “Of course not.” Lilly’s favorite part is sprinkling the cinnamon sugar on top of the bread. I use a fork to flip each piece in the egg-and-milk mixture.

  French toast is kind of my jam. When I left my mom’s house with very little kitchen knowledge, I survived on cereal for a long time—until I never wanted to look at a bowl of cereal again. French toast was the first breakfast meal I made without messing it up.

  “Come over here. It’s time for the magic.”

  Lilly skips over to the spot next to mine. When Lilly was younger, we ate french toast at a diner. She asked what made mine better and I said, “Magic dust.” Ever since, she’s insisted on applying the stuff herself. I hand her the shaker of cinnamon sugar and help her spread some over both sides of each slice of bread. It’s taken some practice. The first time I let her shake the powder over the bread, she tried to use the entire bottle. Now she knows the right amount for each piece.

  I swirl the melting butter with a spatula around the hot pan and pop in the first two pieces of bread. My hands land on Lilly’s shoulders to keep her back from the heat. She looks up at me, grinning, before facing the sizzling toast. We lean in at the same time, inhaling the sweet and spicy scent of the cinnamon sugar mixing with the melted butter.

  Lilly bounces on the balls of her feet. “Yummy!”

  “I know.” I release her shoulders and tug on a tangled lock of her hair. “Go sit at the table. It will be ready in a few.”

  Lilly spins and follows my directions, sitting back down at the table, waiting for her breakfast.

  “It’s our last week until school starts. I vote we end the summer on a high note and have fun every day this week. The last few days we’ve been either packing or unpacking. I think it’s time to have to some fun.”

  Planning activities with Lilly outside of the house is important to me. My mom never cared to spend time with me. She always chose men over me. The only time I did anything like going to parks, museums, or amusement parks was on field trips or if a friend invited me to go with them.

  “Yeah!” Lilly’s arms fall from the table as she bounces in her seat. “Can we go to the zoo?”

  I hesitate and my smile falters a bit. I hope the zoo here is free, or at the very least extremely inexpensive. “Maybe.”

  I pile the French toast on top of a plate and drop the next pieces into the hot butter mixture.

  “I think we should explore some parks first until we find your favorite one.”

  “The one with the best jungle gym!”

  “Exactly.”

  Last night I spent time looking for every park in our area. Lilly loves to play outside in the fresh air. And she’ll climb on anything she can. Since we’ve always lived in an apartment and never had a yard, I try to take her to a park as often as possible, even if it’s only for a few minutes.

  “Our park at home had the curvy monkey bars. Do you think any park here will have them?”

  At home.

  I bite my lip. I’ve tried to explain to Lilly that this is our new home. She seems to get it, but right now she’s still calling San Antonio “home.” I tried to find a teaching position in San Antonio but couldn’t. The only position I was offered was here in Austin.

  “I don’t know, baby, but we’ll try to find a park with curvy monkey bars. What else do you want?”

  “A really high jungle gym. One that touches the sky!”

  “Maybe not quite that high. What else?”

  Lilly hums, tapping her chin with her fingers. “A fort with a rock wall.”

  She continues to chatter about everything she wants her new park to have and sneaks in how much she wants to go see the giraffes at the zoo as I finish making our breakfast. As we eat, it continues to be a one-sided conversation. I know she’s itching to get out. We’ve been cooped up the past few days finishing unpacking all the boxes.

  All the boxes are empty. All of our clothes are hung up. Pictures are on the walls. Lights, water, internet, and cable are on. We’re completely moved in.

  A new city. A new park. A new zoo. A new life.

  The second I step out of the car, the sweltering sun on my skin overwhelms me. As I round the back of the car to get Lilly out, my eyes scan the acres of freshly cut grass and the playground area, looking for some shade. Every spot of shade is filled with parents and all the empty benches are smack dab in the sun.

  I release a resigned breath. It’s going to be a long, hot day. At least I brought a couple bottles of water for Lilly and me.

  When I open Lilly’s door, she’s already unbuckled the belt and hops out of her booster seat. She moves to take off running, but I grab her hand, stopping her progress.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold your horses.”

  “Mom!”

  I cluck my tongue. “You know the rules. We walk over there together, and I find a spot so you know where to find me.”

  “But it’s right there,” she says, pointing and jumping up and down. The arm attached to me by her hand is wiggling like spaghetti.

  I scan my pick of hot benches and settle on the one right in the middle. It has the best view of the jungle gym, and the monkey bars are just to the left. The only part that’s slightly out of view is the swing set. Lilly doesn’t swing all the time; she prefers to climb.

  Lilly drags me toward the playground. I can’t blame her. Our lives have revolved around moving for the past few weeks. I’m determined to make this last week before real life starts the best it can be for the both of us. Lilly is starting first grade at a new school. The same school where I’ll be teaching third grade.

  Lilly takes a step toward the playground, but I hold on to her arm, keeping her by my side. “Sunscreen.”

  She groans, staring longingly toward the other kids playing and laughing. I pluck the sunscreen from my huge bag. It’s packed with everything we may need—water, snacks, a scorching-hot romance novel for me, and a coloring book for Lilly. Trying not to chuckle, I slat
her the sunscreen on Lilly as quickly as possible.

  “I’m going to be on this bench right here. Have fun.” Lilly takes off running before I even finish speaking, launching herself onto the braided rope netting and clambering to the top. Then she turns around, grinning at me.

  I wave, smiling back, and watch her disappear. I reach inside my purse, hunting for my sunglasses. Bottom of my bag, of course. I put them on and remove my camera from the bag next, popping off the lens cap. Flicking the on switch, I bring the camera to my eye and snap a few candid shots.

  The hot metal scalds my skin when I lean back on the bench. I scan the shady areas again. All the parents are still huddled underneath the trees, hogging every inch of shade there is. With that many people under the trees, the shade can’t be much cooler, but on the other hand, they aren’t being scorched by the sun.

  I flinch when a whoop goes up, startling me, followed by riotous laughter. I crane my head around and then chuckle.

  Four cackling kids are hanging off a tall man. A young boy hangs from each arm, their feet swinging back and forth with each step. A girl sits on each of his feet, their arms wrapped around his tree-trunk thighs. The added weight doesn’t seem to affect his walk in the slightest. Every long and powerful stride makes the girls attached to his legs clutch harder and giggle.

  The blond man is laughing, too. The man has his biceps flexed like he’s Mr. Universe. Every woman in his vicinity takes notice, but he hasn’t glanced at a single one of them.

  My mouth goes dry and the Texas heat ratchets up a few more notches.

  As he gets closer, cool sweat coats my palms and my heart starts galloping in my chest. Everything from the chiseled jaw, blond hair, and muscular form sets me on alert. I haven’t felt butterflies stirring in my stomach in a long, long time.