ce, and then another round of laughter. Something unfamiliar swept over him, and he realized it was loneliness. Not the welcome, self-imposed kind he’d reveled in for the last few years, but the kind that longed to be a part of something warm and fun. Before he could change his mind, he stepped up onto the porch and knocked on the door.
Jess answered, her face alight with laughter as she stood with the door open. “Well, hello, stranger.”
“Hi,” he said quietly, a little off balance by how happy he was to see her face. It had been what, three days? And he’d missed her terribly.
“Come in. Jer and Tori are here. And little Rose is asleep.”
In that much noise? He wasn’t sure how it was possible. Owen had always awakened at anything over normal speaking level.
He stepped inside and took off his sandals, padding to the kitchen in his bare feet. Jeremy and Tori were sitting at the round table, with cards in their hands.
“We’re playing cribbage,” Jess explained. “Tori taught us how. Jeremy is about to get skunked.”
He had never played the game in his life, and stared at the oddly shaped board with different colored pegs in various spots. “Oh.”
“We’re almost done this game,” Tori said, taking a sip of what appeared to be sparkling water. “Come on in and watch the carnage.”
“There’s sparkling water and ginger ale in the fridge. Help yourself, Bran. And chips on the counter.”
The small gathering was very different from social occasions he’d gone to as a member of the Black family. No one ever helped themselves, or sat as an odd man out during a game of cards while munching on chips straight from the bag. Instead, it reminded him of days spent at Merrick, playing poker with the guys, drinking contraband beer and pooling snacks.
He’d loved those days. Missed them.
So he helped himself to a ginger ale and grabbed the bag of chips and pulled up a fourth chair to watch. Tori deftly dealt five cards to each player and put one on the table, though he wasn’t sure what it was for. Then each of them studied their cards and removed one from their hand, adding it to one on the table.
“All right. Jess, your go.”
Branson didn’t ask questions, just watched as they took turns laying cards and occasionally moved their pegs on the board. Jess’s brow wrinkled each time she considered her play, and he thought she looked adorable. Jeremy sat back in his chair in an indolent posture, very reminiscent of his body language in school. And Tori sat straight and kept an easy expression on her face. He bet she’d be good at poker.
When all the cards had been played, they counted points in some weird format that had something to do with fifteens and runs. Jess had a dozen points, putting her within a few of Tori. There was laughter when Jeremy had four points, keeping him short of the line that had an S beside it. And Tori moved only six. Apparently the four extra cards were hers, too, but to Jess and Jeremy’s glee, contained no points.
“One more hand,” Jess said, “and this time the crib is mine.”
He grabbed a handful of chips and watched.
Jeremy laid a seven after Jess, which gave him two points, putting him one shy of the skunk line. Another round he announced “thirty-one for two” and it put him over, which caused a victorious whoop. “What happens if he doesn’t cross?” Bran asked.
“You lose double,” Tori replied, grinning. “You just snuck over, Jer.”
They continued. Jess played a card and gave a yelp of triumph as she moved three points, so close to Tori and ever closer to the final hole on the board.
At that moment the sound of a baby crying interrupted the game. Jess frowned. “Darn, I’m sorry. I think I woke her.”
“It’s all right. She’ll be fine until we finish this hand.”
But Bran looked at Tori and noticed that her relaxed face now had the shadow of tension around her eyes. Tori played a card, and then it was Jess’s turn; Rose’s crying got louder.
“We can pause the game,” Jeremy said. “It’s no big deal.”
Bran tamped down the apprehension building in his chest and stood. “You guys finish. You’re nearly done. I’ll go get her.”
He walked to the bedroom with heavy steps, totally unsure of himself but knowing he needed to do this sometime. Rose was two months old and he had yet to hold her, even though Jeremy and Tori had named him her godfather. The cries reminded him of a little lamb, bleating with distress. After taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room, went to the bed and scooped her up from the pillow barrier that Tori had set up, even though Rose was nowhere near old enough to roll over yet.
The moment he cradled her against his chest, her cries changed to whimpers. She was so tiny and warm, and he could hear her sucking on her fist as he tucked the light blanket close around her. She smelled like baby lotion and the combination of milk and diapers, and the familiarity of it snuck in and pierced his heart. But there was more than pain there now. There was emptiness but also something more, something warm and glowing that crept in around the corners. Memories that were bitter but also sweet. Her soft, downy head nuzzled into his neck and his throat closed with emotion, tears stinging the backs of his eyes.
“Hello, Rosie. I’m your godfather.” He kept his voice low and soothing, and he rocked back and forth a bit as he used to with Owen when he’d been fussy. The cranky noises eased into something that was half-slurp and half-coo, and he closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her.
“You want your mama, huh? Let’s go find her.”