There is a picture of him and Willa, his two now five year old twins, on each other's arms. Katarina was right in her words to me the first time Reid sent pictures of his children. Reece and Maverick are the spitting image of Reid and me, except for the blue in their eyes, Willa's inheritance.
My brother and I don't talk much, not in words, but we do communicate constantly with photos.
I flip my phone over and capture the image of Katarina asleep with my daughter on her chest. I send it to Reid, with a little tease that says: My life is better than yours.
He sends me a hand showing his middle finger, then I get a capture of him planting a kiss on Willa's mouth as she is smiling, her face flushed with laughter.
His words are: I disagree.
Asshole.
I shake my head, putting the phone
