Bristol was standing in the middle of the living room, a half-filled glass of wine in one hand and two Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies she’d won from Macon in a round of rock, paper, scissors in the other. She wasn’t weaving exactly, but her wine was sloshing a bit from side to side in her glass. Every time Macon went to go refill it, Nash glared at him with absolutely no sense of subtlety, to the point that Bristol just flipped her oldest brother off and held out her glass and told story after story of Nash’s less-successful exploits.

“So there’s Nash,” Bristol said as she tried to control her giggles, “standing in the canoe as it slowly sinks into the lake, holding Maurice above his head as the panicking goose flaps its wings and honks as if it’s being murdered, all because the delusional animal really does think it’s a guard dog that happens to be afraid of water.”

The room broke out in laughter. Judging by the mock pained expression on Nash’s face as his lips twitched with the effort to suppress a smile, though, he was okay with the teasing, and she hadn’t heard him even start to mansplain even though she could tell he was dying to explain to his siblings all of the hangover hell that was awaiting them the next morning.

“But,” he said as he dropped an arm across the back of the couch where they sat, “I won the bet.”

Bristol’s head dropped back and she let out a long-suffering groan. “You three and your pathological competitive streak.” She lifted her head back up, crossed her arms, and managed to glare at all three of the oldest Beckett cousins at the same time. “You really need to talk to someone about that.”

“I’m perfectly happy with winning all the time,” Dixon said as he added another log to the ginormous fireplace.

From his spot at the chessboard across from Morgan, who was kicking his ass, Nash’s brother Macon scoffed. “You didn’t win the Last Man Standing bet.”

Dixon glanced over at Fiona sitting on the faux bearskin rug, putting together a puzzle, and smiled. “I most definitely won.”

Fiona rolled her eyes but matched his sappy grin as she got up and made her way over to her fiancé, then gave him a kiss. “And so have the Ice Knights. I think us going to every home game has brought them luck.”

The oldest of the Beckett cousins grumbled under his breath something that sounded a lot like “go Rage,” but that didn’t dim the obvious love in his eyes when he looked at Fiona.

“You have something you want to add?” Bristol asked her cousin Griff.

The big guy with his tats and shaggy beard sitting next to his fiancée on the pillow-packed window seat just grunted.