A Long Time Coming (Cane Brothers, #3)(3)

“That would be me. But just call me Lia. My entire name is far too many syllables for anyone to carry around, let alone my first name.”

He chuckles. “Your name was a check in the plus column during tryouts. But your brutal use of words we’ve never even heard of was the real reason you were chosen, especially since we play on a timer.”

“That was an added challenge I appreciated. Although the timer startled me at first and took a second for me to get used to. That and not being able to see your new letters or the gameboard until your turn started. I had a lot of fun. I’m glad I was chosen.”

“It was an easy choice.” He sets his Slurpee cup down. “Everyone, this is Lia. Lia, that’s Harley, Jarome, Christine, and Imani.” From where they’re seated at the coffee table, they all raise their hands for a brief hello and then return to the gameboard. “Yeah, they’re not really social.”

“Well, good thing I didn’t come here to socialize.” I rub my hands together. “I came to play.”

Breaker chuckles and then reaches for his Slurpee again. “Then what are we waiting for? Game on.”





I stare Breaker down and then glance at the last two tiles on my shelf.

He has one tile left.

The room has cleared out.

The rest of the SSS has left, claiming early morning classes.

“Your move,” he says while purposely running his finger over his mustache. I’d dominated this entire game until about three moves ago when he somehow pulled out an eighty-point word, completely shattering my lead.

“I know it’s my move.”

“Really, because you’ve been sitting there catatonic for at least five minutes.”

“I’m making sure I have the right move.”

“Or any move at all.” He leans back on the sofa, a smug look painted across his face.

“I have a move.”

“One that won’t win you the game, though, right?” he presses. He knows he has this game. It’s evident in his cocky disposition.

“You know, it’s not polite to gloat.”

“This coming from the girl who was dancing only a few minutes ago because she had a tremendous lead on me.”

I slowly look up at him and, in a deadpan voice, say, “It will behoove you to know that I can dish it, but I can’t take it.”

He lets out a low chuckle as I reluctantly place an E after a W for a measly five points.

“Nice move.” He stares down at his single tile and then lifts it dramatically, only to place an S after Huzzah, giving him thirty-one points. “But not good enough.” He leans back again and crosses his leg over his knee. “I win.”

I groan and flop backward onto the floor. Staring up at his model airplane, I say, “I had you.”

“Never celebrate too early. You never know what can happen at the end of a Scrabble game.”

“That’s such a cheap move by the way, holding on to an S to the very end.”

“How did you know I was holding on to it?”

“Because I watched you pick up the tile a while ago and set it to the side.”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those players. The one who counts the tiles and knows what everyone could possibly have.”

“Not to that extent, but I watched you baby that tile and not touch it until now. You saved it on purpose.”

“When you’re trailing by eighty points, you have to be strategic, and I was. No shame in playing the game.”

“I hate to admit it since you won, but it was a good game. I enjoyed the challenge.”

“It was a good game. You’re going to fit in nicely here.” He starts picking up the board, and I lift to help him. “Your application said you’re majoring in research and statistics. What’s the plan after college?”

“Getting my master’s and then becoming a survey research specialist.”

He pauses. “That’s really specific,” Breaker says. “And not a job you hear on a list of what you want to be when you grow up.”

“Not so much, but I’ve always been into surveys. Growing up, I loved filling them out. I spent a great deal of time filling out every survey my parents came across. I loved the idea of someone being able to listen to me and gather information to make a change. And of course, I would make surveys on my own, handwritten ones on construction paper, and pass them around at family gatherings to see how everyone enjoyed themselves. Then I would draw up a report and send out an end-of-the-year letter, showing everyone where we excelled and where we could improve.”

Breaker smirks. “And did you find out anything constructive from these family surveys?”

“Yes.” I nod as I hand him the last few tiles that need to be picked up. “Whenever my uncle Steve decided to take his pants off after dinner, it always led to him doing the invisible hula hoop on top of the cleared-off dining table—which no one relished. I made sure to convey this to the family and Uncle Steve, but unfortunately, I have no control over their behavior. I can only survey what needs to change. Changes are made from within.”

“Uncle Steve sounds like a good time.”

“He had a mustache . . . and he’s known as the pervert in the family. So yeah, maybe you two would get along.”