The Redo (Winslow Brothers #4) (35)

Kline: I’m kind of a fan of canceling. Georgia and I are two seasons deep into Game of Thrones, and I have a strong suspicion she secretly started season three tonight after the girls went to bed.

Kline Brooks is also one of Wes’s best friends and has become a good buddy to the Winslow family. However, his continued presence is more by choice since he’s one of the nicest, chillest guys out there. Unlike Thatch, who just takes it upon himself to set up shop in your life.

Wes: Yep. It’s settled. You should definitely go home. And so should I.

Thatch: You guys are dicks.

Wes: Says the guy who is texting instead of dealing the fucking cards.

Jude: I can’t believe you’ve talked us into texting the whole night, Thatch. This is the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever been a part of, and trust me, that’s saying something.

Thatch: Listen, if you want to be the one to tell Cassie that she can fluff off about her No Noise Rule, go ahead. I like my nuts where they are.

Ty: You’re scared of your wife, dude. You realize that, right?

Wes: Honestly, I don’t blame him on this one. I’m a little scared of her too.

Kline: Me three.

Thatch: I knew I loved you supportive bastards for a reason. Now, type a little quieter, would you? Less aggression in your thumbs. Once Remy gets here, we can just play instead of texting so much.

Flynn: He’s not coming.

Thatch: What? Did you talk to him?

Flynn: No.

Ty: Not gonna lie, you guys are boring the shit out of me.

Jude: Same, bro. Same.

Wes: Yeah, I’m out. Bye.

Thatch: Goddammit, Wes! Don’t you dare leave!

Kline: If Wes can leave, then so can I.

Thatch: FUCK YOU GUYS. I TAKE THE ASS-KISS BACK. YOU AREN’T SUPPORTIVE AT ALL.

Jude: Holy shit, they really left.

Ty: I think we should leave too. To a fucking bar where I can get a drink. It’s either that or I’m going home to my beautiful woman.

Jude: I second this. It’s either a bar or I’m going home to Sophie. No in-between.

Thatch: Harry’s?

Flynn: No.

Ty: THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!

Jude: YESSSSSSSS

Thatch: Majority rules, Flynn. Looks like you’re going to Harry’s.

Flynn: Fuck.

The thread goes eerily quiet for about two hours after that, and then, their downfall is apparent.

Thatch: Cass iz gonna so pisses at me. Ty you dumb. I hate you soon much.

Ty: you luv me bros. tequila!

Jude: You drunk

Thatch: NO YOU DRINK.

Jude: Yes sirrrrrrr

Ty: HAHAHAzs.

Thatch: I haves to leaf. Cass is comin to get me. She so mud.

Jude: baby donts go

Thatch: byez bro luver you

Flynn: I hate all of you.

God, my brothers—and Thatch—really are a hilarious bunch of assholes.

I roll my eyes, but I smile too, as I type out a message so simple it’s almost criminal within the confines of the thread. But I’m certain I should be excused on this one. After today’s events, my mind isn’t exactly working at optimal level.

Once I get to my apartment and my head hits the pillow, I imagine it won’t be but a couple of seconds before I’m out for the next twelve hours.

The subway car shrieks to a stop at my station, and I have to use Herculean effort to pull myself up out of the seat and drag my tired ass out the doors and up the steps. There are only a few people who get off with me, having partied a little too hard the night before.

It’s just a two-block walk to my building—or what will now be referred to as the scene of the crime turned miracle of life. Part of me knows I’m crazy for chancing a ride in another elevator at this point, but twelve floors of stairs is just a little too much to attempt while I’m this bone-weary. Besides, the elevator at the hospital managed not to fail me. Maybe I’ve met my quota.

But, hey, if it stops, it stops. I’ll curl up on the floor and sleep.

The cart dings its arrival, and I step inside the same elevator I first found myself in yesterday afternoon. It’s not the one in which Maria gave birth, but the memory of the whole thing comes rushing back all the same. It feels like just moments ago, and at the same time, feels like a lifetime has passed.

A wave of warmth washes through my chest as I remember how strong she was. Courageous. Determined. It’s not every day that a woman is faced with the magnitude of obstacles she’s been, but it’s even rarer that they do it with as much dignity and grace as her.

I swear, she’s the strongest woman I know. And I’m a fucking Winslow. I know a lot of strong-as-hell women.

I wish I’d had this same foresight at the hospital—I wish I’d had the awareness to tell her how awed I am by what she managed to do in this very building. By what she’s managing every day, despite the grief I know she’s carrying.

It’s almost surreal as the elevator arrives at my floor and opens, and I step off with a lingering look back. I don’t know that the short trip to my apartment will ever feel the same.

I mean, holy shit. I delivered a baby. Like MacGyver or Chuck Norris or motherfucking Superman.

You’d think I would’ve been scared shitless, but I don’t know, between seeing how strong Maria was in that moment and feeling the poignancy of what we were experiencing together, I just…couldn’t be anything but the man she deserved to have by her side.