The grass crunched as they circled. Caleb, a lanky twelve-year-old, would lash out with his hands, trying to capture his dad’s legs for a takedown or get a collar grip on his neck. Jason would dance out of his way.

“Stalling,” I called.

“Told ya,” Jason said to Caleb. “She knows what she’s talking about. Who do you think Mattie and I practiced with?”

Caleb shot me a disbelieving look.

With Mattie, I wouldn’t have called getting my face ground into the carpet practice. That had been his excuse when Mom had yelled at him to leave me alone. Jason had been serious about the sport and having someone similar in age and size—until he’d had a growth spurt—to work on takedowns with anytime of the day had been convenient.

Randall chuckled from the other side of the deck. His curly black hair was trimmed short with shoots of gray through it. “Caleb doesn’t believe you.” He gave me a sidelong look. “You should prove him wrong. Dust off those moves.”

How long had it been since I’d messed around in the backyard with my brothers? I had been older than Caleb’s twelve, but by the time I’d left for college, I had left all the roughhousing behind. During holidays, my nephews usually defaulted to wrestling until their mom or mine got after them. I’d always sat out. Then I’d married and missed more holidays than I cared to think about.

I stood and toed out of my canvas slip-ons. “Those moves were more impressive when I wasn’t an adult facing off with a twelve-year-old.”

“Aunt Katie?” Caleb straightened, forgetting his dad. He didn’t think I’d follow through.

I shed my silver hoodie and tucked my Under Armour T-shirt into my black yoga pants. “If you can wrestle a grown woman, then you won’t bat an eye when you face off with someone who dehydrated themselves into your weight class.”

“Told ya,” Jason repeated as he backed away, his hands held in surrender.

I windmilled my arms as I crossed to Caleb. Cool, dry grass crunched underfoot. Randall kept a healthy lawn. It’d be perfect to practice on in the summer if it weren’t for the grass stains. All I’d be after this was gritty.

I adopted the same stance as Caleb, knees and arms bent, and circled him.

The screen door from the house slammed shut. “Holy crap,” my other nephew, Corbin, cried. He was ten years old and just as stunned.

“Door.” Randall’s reprimand was absentminded. After all, he’d been saying it for over twenty years with three different doors. “The glass is going to shatter one of these days.”

“Sorry, Grandpa.” Corbin strode onto the lawn and waited by his dad. “Aunt Katie wrestles? I thought it was just Uncle Aiden.”

“Aunt Katie wrestles.” Jason’s mouth quirked.