“Uh, remember? He’s in that production of Oklahoma and he’s just running his lines,” I blurt out with an uncomfortable laugh.
“That play takes place at the turn of the century with cowboys, not snipers and road side bombs,” Aunt Bobbie informs everyone. “Believe me, I know my Broadway.”
“Yes, well, um, this is a modern day version set in Afghanistan about soldiers,” I tell them lamely. “It’s very new-age and you know…modern. All the playhouses are doing it.”
Everyone quietly looks back and forth between Sam and I, and I really wish a hole would open up in this damn house and swallow me up. I have never been good at lying and this just proves it.
“I like socks,” Sam suddenly mumbles.
“What a douche,” Nicholas laughs, his finger accidentally pressing against the trigger of the rifle while he continues to lower the BB gun.
A small pop sound fills in the room, followed quickly by the loudest scream I’ve ever heard. I turn my head in Sam’s direction just as his hands clutch his crotch and he falls to his knees.
“MOTHER FUCKER! HE SHOT MY BALLS!” Sam wails.
“EVERYONE OUT OF MY WAY! HE NEEDS MOUTH TO BALL RESUSCITATION!” Aunt Bobbie screams, shuffling quickly to Sam’s side in her four-inch stilettos.
“Holy shit, I can’t believe this thing was loaded,” Nicholas muses as he pets the gun lovingly and my mother smacks him in the arm.
“Nicholas Holiday, apologize right now for shooting that poor man in the balls,” she scolds.
Squatting down by Sam’s side, I continue rubbing his back as he clutches his junk and rocks back and forth, a sad keening sound coming out of his mouth.
“It stings…mother of God it stings,” he moans.
“You’ll shoot your balls off, you’ll shoot your balls off!” Nicholas says in a sing-song voice, altering the line in the movie to fit the situation.
I smack Aunt Bobbie’s hand away when she starts petting Sam’s head and his moaning gets louder.
“Everyone, OUT!” I yell. “We’ll meet you out by the van.”
My mom smacks Nicholas again and he gives a half-assed apology before setting the gun down against the wall behind the tree where he found it, everyone quietly shuffling out the front door.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I apologize, my hand still rubbing Sam’s back until he finally stops rocking and slowly gets up from his knees with a groan. “What can I do? What do you need?”
My brother just shot him in the balls. If he didn’t want to leave before, he sure as hell will now. He made it through a year-and-a-half tour of duty without getting shot and on his very first family outing with me, he takes one to the nuts. Nuts that I haven’t even had the pleasure of touching yet, dammit.
Fuck being heartbroken, jobless, and homeless. I don’t even care about that shit anymore. Everything will suck even worse if Sam decides he’s had enough and leaves.
Sam removes his hands from cradling his dick and slowly turns to face me while I brace myself for him to announce this charade is over and he’s done.
“I’ll forget this ever happened if you dress up like a nurse and kiss my pain away,” he tells me softly, the corner of his mouth tipping up in a smirk.
I smack him in the arm and turn in a huff to walk toward the front door. I can’t believe I just got all worked up and sad thinking that he was going to leave.
His footsteps smack against the hardwood floor, and before I can make it to the door, his arms wrap around me from behind as he pulls me back against his chest. Right away I feel something hard poking into my ass and turn my head to look over my shoulder at him.
“Sorry, I was thinking about you in a naughty nurse outfit and he just popped up out of nowhere.” Sam shrugs, tightening his arms around me. “At least we know it’s not broken, so there’s that.”
All I can think about as he holds me close with his non-broken penis poking into my ass is that if Logan were here right now, an ambulance would be on its way and he’d probably have his lawyer on the line threatening to sue my brother for his ball injury.
“Come on, my special patient. Let’s get you home and put some frozen peas on your junk,” I snicker, stepping out of his embrace and grabbing his hand to pull him out onto the front porch and back toward the van where my family waits. My family who, no matter what they do, can’t seem to scare Sam off, which puts me right on the precarious edge of falling for the guy…and that just can’t happen.
Chapter 8
Sam
“Would you rather drink nothing but spoiled eggnog for a year or eat moldy Christmas cookies?” Nicholas asks me.