Iris Boys Box Set

by Lucy Smoke

  The heavy smell of disinfectant permeated the hallways of Summerville's Cancer Care Center. For care centers, though, it wasn’t that bad. Marv had made sure of it, and considering I had no idea what to look for, I had relied on his expertise. Well, his, Bellamy's, Knix's, and Texas’. Over that thick disinfectant smell, there was the feeling that this place didn’t represent death and that was the best part.

  "Baby!" My mom's voice carried across the care center's dining hall. Her curled blonde-gray hair peeked above all the others as she leaned forward in her wheelchair and waved for my attention. I rushed forward with Texas trailing behind me. "Are those for me?" Mom asked, indicating the pale yellow and pink roses I carried.

  I smiled and held them back for a moment. "The flowers?" I asked, teasingly. "No, someone just handed them to me in the hall. I wanted to show them off."

  She wrinkled her nose at me and held out her arms. "Brat," she replied. "Give them here, let me smell them."

  I handed them over and sat on the other side of her table. The older woman that had been visiting with my mom just moments before had been wheeled away by a nurse who had announced that she was being requested in the game room, leaving the three of us – Mom, Texas, and me – alone.

  The dining room of the cancer care center was quite different than anything my mom was used to. The wooden tables, covered in pure white cloths were the main attractions atop a burgundy train. In other areas of the center, there were game rooms and pristine nurses’ stations. My mom shared her private room with another woman close to her age. I met the woman only once and, though she was quiet and reserved, she seemed like a nice enough person.

  "Texas," Mom called across the table to Texas who was still standing. "Have a seat. How has my Harlow been doing?"

  I knew well enough by now that there was no getting around my mom's questions. Half the summer was over, and I had been working with the guys for a little over a month. Mom had met each of them – at her insistence after our conversation following the fiasco with Grayson's brother.

  Call it a mother's intuition or whatever you will, but Mom had known exactly how I felt as soon as she had met them. She had barely taken one look between Knix, Bellamy, Marv, and Texas and turned to me with a nod as though she approved of each. It was so nice having the mom I always wanted back, the real mom beneath the surface of her illnesses and medications. Even though the cancer had spread, in the care center she had flourished. With the right medications it was like she was finally normal.

  "Oh, she's doing well," Texas said, taking his seat.

  I rolled my eyes, but didn't correct him. To be honest, though, I hadn't done much of anything since Grayson's brother disappeared off to a rehab center upstate. I'd worked a few extra shifts at Alex's Diner, with Knix, Marv, Bellamy, or even Texas watching. I didn't know why they didn't think I could handle it, considering I had worked there long before they ever met me. When I tried convincing Alex to kick them out, he had simply laughed and told me to enjoy the tips.

  "Mmmhmm," Mom hummed, squinting at Texas with suspicion. "And what has she been doing?"

  "Oh, you know how it is Mrs. Hampton. She's been training really well so far," Texas evaded.

  I glared at him. So far, training had only included more self-defense lessons from Knix and Bellamy, and running errands with the rest of them. They had encouraged me to get back into doing gymnastics, but it hadn’t felt right – especially with everything else that had taken place with the move and my mom being admitted, long-term, at the care center.

  It had taken a couple of days to pack up the duplex and put most of the stuff we had collected over the years into storage, then move in and set up the new house. It had taken several more days to move my mom from the hospital to the cancer care center. There really hadn't been time for more "training."

  "I see." Mom’s gaze moved to mine. "And how do you like it, Harlow?"

  "I like it just fine, Mom." I reached for her free hand, the one not lying over the bouquet of fresh roses. "But don't worry about that. I'd really rather you worry about getting better."

  Now it was her turn to roll her eyes and she did so with a familiar finesse, flicking her hand at me in nonchalance. "Oh, don't worry about me, Baby. I'm fine here. This place is quite nice." Her head bobbed gently, and she glanced around at the rest of the people in the hall. "I've made a few friends and you visit so often." She turned back to me. "You were here just yesterday. I'm surprised your co-workers are willing to drive you here so often." Mom's shrewd gaze rotated towards Texas.

  "Well, erm...Mrs. Hampton, with Harlow working for Iris, she gets lodgings, and we live in the vicinity. It's no problem at all." I could understand his awkwardness. I certainly didn't want to tell my mom that I was living with four guys, even if she seemed fairly calm about the idea of me dating one or more of them.

  "Mom," I said, bringing her attention back to me. I managed to suppress a smirk at the relief on Texas' face as her sharp mom gaze was redirected. "I like visiting you and they won't have to drive me much longer, because they're helping me get my license."

  Mom looked at me with her narrowed gaze and I smiled at her in reassurance. "How about I make you a deal," I said. "I'll try to stop worrying about you and you try to stop worrying about me?"

  She harrumphed but nodded her assent.

  The rest of our visit went by as it normally did. She regaled Texas and I of her time in the center and the wonderfully polite nurses and their love lives that she enjoyed listening in on. I had never known my mom to be a gossip, but I supposed that now that she was finally on the right medications and around people, it was easier to see a side of her that I hadn't before.

  As Texas smiled and nodded and joked with my mom, I found my gaze straying to the swooping of his hair. It was getting longer on one side than the other. Naturally, he said it was like that already, but I knew that he just didn't care enough about cutting his hair to fix it. I was sure he had gone to some hack hair stylist before and I resolved to sit him down and cut it after dinner that night.

  It felt like one of the only things I could do for him – and for the others. So far, other than the measly training it felt like I was nothing more than a mooch.

  I bit my lip and glanced towards the double doors that led into the lobby catching a middle-aged nurse scurry outside, her face turned down, her hand resting on her cheek as though she didn't want anyone to see her as she moved. I tilted my head to the side, straining to the edge of my seat and caught only a glimpse of a wounded expression.

  "Harlow?" My mom's voice drew me back and I stuttered on the edge of my chair, nearly careening and falling over. Texas reached out and adjusted the back of my seat before I could embarrass myself, but some damage had already been done. My mom and Texas both looked at me confused, and my cheeks began to heat up.

  "I–um–the chair's wobbly," I said defensively.

  Texas raised a brow, but Mom merely shrugged. "Well, dear, I think it's almost time for my afternoon nap," she said. "The chemo really takes a lot out of me these days, but my new doctor says I shouldn't have to go through it anymore after this next round."

  It was my turn to raise a brow. "None at all?" I asked, skeptically. I was afraid to be too hopeful.

  "Well, he said that we would see if I was strong enough," she replied.

  I chuckled, though it pained me to do so. If only we could have seen what was going on inside of her before it was too late. Then maybe she wouldn't be in the care center at all.

  Texas and I stood and gave our goodbyes. I leaned over and kissed the top of my mom's head and she patted my hand. As we walked out, I tried to catch sight of the strange nurse, but other than a few patients and their family members, there were no care center employees in the lobby.

  As we got into the SUV, my phone buzzed in my back pocket. Texas glanced over as he started the engine. "Marv or Bellamy?" he asked.

  "Neither," I said opening the text. "Erika."

  Erika: Got a call from Jo
sh today, he's doing fine.

  Since Erika's boyfriend – ex-thief and drug addict – had been in rehab, quite a few things had changed. It was less than six weeks ago, but Erika was already in college, having chosen to start her summer classes early, and I was moved in with the guys. The Iris Boys I liked to call them. I almost felt like Wendy surrounded by her lost boys. I couldn't picture any of them being Peter Pan though, or wearing green tights.

  Harlow:That's great! I'm glad you got to hear from him.

  Erika:I'm going to go see him when he's allowed visitors.

  Harlow:Want me to go with you?

  I was sure she didn't, but it felt like the right thing to say and I wouldn't mind going if it made her more comfortable. Erika responded quickly though.

  Erika:No, it'll be okay. Gotta go, class is starting.

  Just as I was about to put my phone away, it buzzed again, and I wondered if she had neglected to tell my something or changed her mind, but when I pulled it back up and opened my messages again, a new number popped up. Curious, I clicked on the new text and read.

  Unknown:Been a long time, Baby. Do you know how hard it is to get your number these days?

  Almost immediately I could guess who it was. I rolled my eyes and typed a quick reply.

  Harlow:Are you playing a scared evil villain now? And yeah, the guys changed my number for a reason. Looks like I'll have to memorize a new one. Thanks a lot.

  Grayson: Think you can get away from your boyfriends for a few hours?

  I snarled at the phone, earning a glance from Texas. I quickly smoothed out my expression and typed my reply as calmly as I could.

  Harlow:NOT. MY. BOYFRIENDS.

  I knew Texas wasn't nearly as distrustful of Grayson as Marv and Bellamy were, but I was pretty sure if he knew I was texting him, he'd demand my phone. And since it technically wasn’t mine anyway, I would feel obligated to give it to him.

  Grayson: Aw, did you get dumped? I'll heal your wounded heart.

  I breathed through my nose, shoving back the urge to maim and kill.

  Harlow:I hate you.

  There, that was a completely reasonable response. I nodded to myself. Texas turned into the driveway to the house and my phone buzzed once more.

  Grayson: Hate is very close to love.

  He sent a second text almost immediately after that.

  Grayson: But seriously, we need to talk.

  I bit my lip, wondering what to say. Marv and Bellamy would automatically say no. Texas would just direct me to Knix. He would be the only one who could overrule the others. I sighed and bent my head over my phone to reply.

  Harlow: I'll see what I can do.

  Texas hit the garage door opener and pulled in right next to Marv's half repainted BMW. My phone shook in my hand and I glanced at the screen.

  Grayson: Away from your boyfriends.

  I rolled my eyes and got out of the car.

  Chapter 3

  Texas eyed our surroundings as we exited the car. The paint on Marv’s BMW was unfinished and still wet.

  “Keep a look out,” Texas warned in a whisper as he scanned the area, stepping towards the door that led inside.

  I spotted Bellamy’s long legs under the front end of the car and had to smother a chuckle as we attempted to tiptoe around him. Bellamy’s hand shot out and grabbed ahold of Texas’ ankle. As he cursed and jerked, I dove for the door. In another split second, Texas yanked me back with his hand on my dress. I glared over my shoulder as Bellamy released Texas’ ankle only to snag his wrist before he could get away as he pulled himself to standing.

  I knew exactly what Texas was thinking before he did it and still, I couldn’t stop him. Texas looked at me with an apology in his eyes right before he pulled me back hard. I tripped, and Bellamy released Texas long enough to grab me to keep me from falling.

  “Traitor!” I yelled as Texas disappeared into the house.

  “He’ll go easier on you!” Texas yelled back, laughing.

  I shook my head before looking up at Bellamy’s soulful brown eyes.

  He frowned. “Sweetheart,” he said, “you are in so much trouble.”

  I grimaced. "Really, Bellamy, it's not that big of a deal. If you want help finishing the car, I can do that," I offered, hoping to escape whatever nefarious revenge he had planned. He set me back on my feet and I turned, backing towards the doorway.

  "If you're going to help me then maybe you should stop trying to escape and pick up a paint can." He bent over and picked up an airbrush can he had been using to repaint Marv's BMW.

  I sighed in relief and stopped backing away, instead, reaching for the can he held out to me. As my fingers grazed the metal, he dropped it and it slipped from my fingers. I squealed as he leaped forward, and went straight for my weak spots. I laughed as he tickled my sides, going right for the area under my ribs. I gasped for air, trying to kick away, but he was too strong.

  I screamed as Bellamy changed tactics and bent down, lifting me up and over his shoulder. I released a breath of surprise as he hefted me further up and tugged the bottom of my dress down to cover me before he swatted my butt. I growled as he strode towards the back of the garage. I had no clue what he was going to do, but I knew it couldn't be anything good. He and Texas had both proven to be tricksters in their own right. Bellamy may have appeared more serious, but once I had gotten to know him, and once I had let Texas convince me to trade sugar out for salt when he went to drink his morning coffee, that serious façade had broken. A part of me wondered if I shouldn't just give up and let him have his revenge. There would be no living with him until he got it. Then I saw what he was going for and my struggles increased tenfold.

  "No!" I yelled. "Not that!"

  Bellamy chuckled darkly as he stepped through the open door that led to the side yard. There could only be one reason we were going outside. I pressed my palms to his back and tried to push myself up. He didn't even hesitate in bringing me down in a bridal hold with my back pressed against one of his arms and my legs dangling over the other. As he rounded the house my eyes widened.

  Marv, who was sitting outside in nothing but a pair of trunk shorts and a white shirt, arched an eyebrow. He pressed the screen of his phone face down on his belly, placed his hands behind his head, and watched as Bellamy stalked towards the edge of the pool. My eyes beseeched him, but he merely saluted me with two fingers and sat back to watch the show. I turned my gaze to Bellamy.

  "You don't have to do this," I said. "I promise I'll help repaint the car. I won't let Texas talk me into another prank–I'll–"

  "Sit still long enough for me to paint you?" Bellamy asked, stopping at the very edge of the pool. I glanced down hesitantly; the toes of his shoes were just over the rim, the water looking bright and wet.

  I sighed. "Yes," I said with a pout. He had been trying to get me to let him paint me for days now. I didn't like the idea of sitting still for a long time, so I had refused each time he asked. But if it got me out of being tossed into the pool, then I'd freaking do it.

  He nodded his head and I breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped away from the pool. The bastard had only been gearing up to swing me back and make sure that when he tossed me, I landed smack dab in the middle of the deep end. I surfaced, choking on water, and glaring in his general direction as I wiped the water from my eyes. I was sure the makeup I had painstakingly applied earlier was running in rivulets down my face.

  He and Marv both smiled in my direction as I waded towards the steps leading to the patio. "You're both jerks!" I stepped onto the stones, dripping wet.

  "You painted my car pink," Marv reminded me.

  "This," I said as I strode up to his seat and wrung my hair out over his lower legs, snagging the towel under his feet. "This is why."

  "You wouldn't have gotten thrown in if you had left my car alone," he reminded me.

  "Pft." I turned away and headed towards the back door, Bellamy at my side. Now that he had gotten me back for leaving him to deal with th
e fallout, all was well again. I didn't even have it in me to stay mad at him.

  "So..." he started as we strode through the sandstone tiled kitchen and into the living room. Cleo meowed from the couch. "Painting?" he asked.

  I groaned, but nodded as I headed off towards my room. "Let me get showered and changed," I called over my shoulder. "I'll meet you in your room."

  After I showered and changed, I made my way to Bellamy’s room. Cleo followed me up the stairs and waited while I knocked on the door before opening it. I hadn’t even bothered to find her a different home and the guys had welcomed her into our new one with open arms. Bellamy emerged from his closet laden down with supplies. As he began to set up, Cleo meowed. She continued to do so until, with a sigh, Bellamy stopped and patted her on the head in acknowledgement. I stifled a giggle as Cleo closed her eyes and purred into his hands. Finally, when she decided that he had done enough petting, she stood up and stretched before padding away from him and leaping onto the bed. Bellamy went back to the task at hand.

  Bellamy's room was a lot like the man who lived in it. The walls were dark gray on the far side, with the furthest wall tilted so that the bottom of the window edged outward towards the side of the house. His bed was a simple platform with a mattress covered in dark gray sheets and a lighter gray comforter and pillows on top.

  It seemed rather plain, yet it was anything but. I saw the paint spots on the floor at the end of one side of the bed. They looked like he had tried to clean them. The spots were light – barely discernible, but they were there. In the far corner, there was an acoustic guitar set straight up in its stand. Cleo leapt up on the bed as I moved past, pausing to smile down at the paint spots.

  There were adjustable lamps bolted to the walls on either side of the headboard. Neither of them were turned on. I debated reaching for them, wondering if he would need the light. Didn’t artists need light? The only illumination in the room came from the window. He would have turned the lamps on if he had wanted them on, I decided.