Catching the Player (A Hamilton Family 3)

She even had blue eyes like Kassidy.

For some reason, this made him think of their impending addition. Would their child have her blond hair, or his almost brown? A good throwing arm, or an uncanny knack for numbers and foreign languages? Son of a bitch.

He was having a kid.

There it was again. That small flare of excitement.

“Can I get a picture?” she asked, holding out her phone. Before he could say no, she snapped a pic of herself and him, then turned and kissed his cheek, quickly snapping another.

He blinked, trying to clear his mind. “Hey—”

“No pictures right now, please,” Chris, his youngest brother, interjected, gently pulling the blonde away and using his firm cop voice. “Next time, okay?”

The blonde pouted. “Yeah. Sure.”

She walked away, her fingers flying over her phone screen. More than likely, that photo of her kissing his cheek would be all over the internet before she reached her friends.

He was too damned drunk to care.

Chris sat beside him, shaking his head. “We leave you alone for one second…” His brother was every inch the protective cop right now, sitting on the stool with his back perfectly straight and his hand resting on his hip where his pistol usually was.

“Where’d you go?”

“Bathroom, like I said.” He scanned the room, more than likely checking for more threats, and then turned his attention back to Wyatt. “Want me to delete the picture from her phone? You’re pretty plastered, and she’s probably posting it right now.”

“I don’t care,” he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. “It doesn’t matter.”

Chris sighed. “Are you drunk enough to talk yet?”

“Yeah, we’re kind of curious why you’re drinking yourself under the table,” Brett said, drily, from his left.

Wyatt turned toward him clumsily. He was engaged to Wyatt’s baby sister, and they’d been friends most of their lives, but sometimes the guy was like a ninja. “When did you get back? I didn’t hear you.”

“The same time as Chris,” he said slowly, cocking a brown brow.

“Oh.” He groaned, rubbing his temples. “Shit. My head hurts.”

“That’ll happen when you drink the whole bottle,” Chris said. When the bartender passed, he quietly asked, “Can he get some water, please?”

The bartender nodded and walked away.

Chris lifted a hand. “Cole’s here.”

Wyatt squinted across the bar. Cole was in the military and was rarely home, since he was usually off fighting for their freedom. Figured he was here to witness this. “Shit.”

Cole came over, took one look at Wyatt, and snorted. “You weren’t kidding. He looks like hell.”

“That’s why I called you,” Chris muttered.

“You called him?” Wyatt said, frowning. “Why? He’s got more important shit to worry about than me. He’s supposed to be on leave, chilling, not taking care of me.”

Cole clapped him on the back, grinning, and settled in on the stool next to Chris. “There’s no other place I’d rather be than right here, with you guys. What’s up?”

Wyatt shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit. We’re all here now. Time to start talking,” Brett said, checking the time. “Spill your drunk guts.”

“You guys are happy, right?” Wyatt asked slowly.