“We defeated them.” Murphy leaped up to do his victory dance and exchange high fives with Ryder. “But Iron Man’s wounded bad. He’s in the hospital.”

“He’s Iron Man,” Owen said. “He’ll pull through. You’ve got to take Harry on in Wii Boxing,” he told Ryder. “He beat the crap out of me.”

“Let Beckett fight him.”

“He beat the crap out of Beckett, too. And Liam. You’re our last hope.”

“Fine. You’ve got to help the runt clean this up.”

“I wasn’t in the war,” Owen protested. “I was Sweden.”

Ryder considered. The room resembled a battlefield—that had been hit by a tornado. Bribery worked. “I’ve got pie in the truck.”

“Where’d you get pie?”

“Cherry pie. You want any, help the runt. I’m going to take the other kid down.”

“I like cherry pie.” Murphy hit Ryder with his beautiful angel smile.

“Clean it up, and you’ll get some.”

Pretty good deal, Ryder decided as he headed toward the family room. Skate out of cleanup, and prevent himself from eating a whole pie—which he would have, and no doubt he’d have felt sick after.

He walked in, rolled his shoulders, did a little boxer’s dance in place. “You’re going down, Harry Caray. Down and out.”

Harry raised his arms over his head. “Undefeated. World Champ. I knocked Owen out! He had X’s in his eyes.”

“Glass-Jaw Owen,” Ryder scoffed, tapped his own jaw with his fist. “Big whoop.” He went to the fridge under the bar, got a beer. “Say your prayers.”

“I’ll say some for you,” Beckett offered his brother. “The kid’s merciless.”

“Save ’em. I’ve got a cherry pie out in the bed of the truck. Why don’t you go get it?”

“Pie?” Liam jumped up from the floor where he’d been rolling with the dogs. “I want pie.”

“Then pie you shall have, grasshopper.” Beckett shoved out of the big leather chair.

“Okay, current and soon-to-be ass-kicked champ. Set it up.”

Harry brought up Ryder’s Mii—dark hair, eerily green eyes, scowling face—offered the controller.

The crowd went wild.

The kid beat the crap out of him.

He dropped down with his beer while Harry circled the room, pumping fists in the air.

“What do you do, play this twenty-four/seven?”

“I’ve got natural talent.”

“My butt.”

“Granddad said so. I beat him, too. But he’s kind of old.”

“I want to play!” Murphy came tearing in.

“It’s my turn.” Liam braced to defend his rights. “Beckett said we could do PlayStation next, and I got to pick. WWF.”

First boxing, Ryder thought, now wrestling. Beckett must sleep like the dead every night.

“I’m going for pie.” Ryder pushed up. Young desire turned on a dime as they stampeded into the kitchen.