My life was simple. I did my job, lived at the clubhouse, and stayed the hell away from Rooster’s pranks. Kids weren’t really my thing.
So when a social worker showed up at our doorstep, I thought I’d be the last person she’d ask for.
But when she told me my cousin’s kids needed a home after their mothers died and I was their last option before getting split up, what choice did I have?
I figured babies and teenagers couldn’t be that complicated, right? The rest of my crew seemed to have figured it out. Wrong. What the hell did I get myself into?
