“I just picked up a bunch of puzzles,” Mrs. Harris tells us, looking up from her sewing table. What would have traditionally been an office has been converted into her sewing room, with double French doors that open into the front foyer and give a view into the living room.
“Puzzles? Sounds so fun,” Jacob quips.
“We could make it a competition,” Mason suggests.
Sam turns, eyebrow raised. “How the hell do you make putting a puzzle together competitive?”
“You can make anything competitive when you drink,” Mason shoots back.
“That still doesn’t answer my question.”
Mason thinks for a second. “Everyone starts by taking a shot. Then we set a timer for fifteen minutes. Whichever team has made the least amount of progress has to take another shot. And we’ll repeat every fifteen minutes.”
Amused, I look at Sam, who’s staring at his youngest brother incredulously.
“Sometimes I wonder how you’ve made it this far in life,” he says, and Mason laughs.
“You’re just afraid you’re going to lose. Plus, we all know you can’t hold your liquor,” Mason shoots back.
“The last time I threw up after drinking too much was in high school,” Sam rounds.
“You drank in high school?” Mrs. Harris says, leaning over her table to get a better look in the living room.
“No,” all three boys answers together, and I laugh.
“I remember that differently,” I say slowly, flashing an innocent smile. “In fact, I specifically remember being mad at you for not inviting me to the party you threw the weekend your parents were out of town for someone’s wedding.”
“What?” Mrs. Harris puts down her needle and thread.
“That was a good party,” Mason goes on, smirk on his face. “Sam got plastered, made out with Steffy Miller, and called her by your name.”
“Me?” I echo, way too entertained by this.
“Oh, I remember now,” Jacob continues the story, laughing at Sam. “She got mad, slapped you, and then you puked all over her shoes.”
“Not my finest moment,” Sam say with impressive composure. “And I’m glad I have no memory of that.”
“It’s almost sweet,” I tell him, looking up into his blue eyes. “You were obsessed with me back then.”
“I was.” He puts his arm around my waist. “I wanted to invite you to the party, you know.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I was too attracted to you.”
“That makes sense,” Mrs. Harris huffs, going back to her sewing. “Your father and I only went to one out-of-town wedding without you kids, and you boys were supposed to be looking after your sister! Where was Rory when all of this was going on?”
“We bribed her to stay in her room and not tell you,” Mason says casually. “What did we bribe her with? I don’t remember.”
“I drove her to some bookstore an hour away to get a fantasy book singed by the author,” Sam says. “And Jacob had to take her to a movie, and you…you were supposed to play Dungeons and Dragons with her but you never did, did you, you asshole?”
Mason shrugs. “I have suffered through that game a time or two.”
“Hey,” I interject. “It’s a fun game.”
“You’re the one who got her into it,” Mason says, slowly shaking his head. “I have you to blame for Rory making me be a girl in the last game, who wasn’t even allowed to play with my own tits.”
I let out a snort of laughter. “I agree with Sam. I do wonder how you’ve made it this far in life.”
Sam and Jacob laugh and thunder rumbles overhead. This storm just won’t end, but there’s something so peaceful about the constant low rumbling of the thunder and the steady pitter patter of the rain on the trees.
“Should I get the puzzles?” Jacob asks.
Sam looks at me and I nod. “Why not?” he says.
“And I’ll get the tequila,” Mason notes.
“I can’t do tequila shots,” I say with a quiver. “Not anymore. Give me a margarita and I’m fine, but straight tequila—nope. Get the whiskey instead.”
“You know you’re not supposed to do shots of whiskey, right? It’s for sipping.”
I shrug. “I’ve heard that. Vodka then? Rum? Hell, I’d do a shot of gin before tequila.”
Mason laughs. “What happened to make you not like tequila?”
“A book signing in Mexico last year. We were all doing shots and I went from I don’t feel anything to not remembering the rest of the night.” I look at Sam. “But I didn’t throw up. I wanted to in the morning, but my iron stomach held.”
“Showoff,” Sam says with a grin.
“I’ll get you whiskey, then,” Mason tells me.
“Not the peanut butter one,” I request, still grossed out by it.
“Want pumpkin spice instead?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not a basic bitch. I don’t do pumpkin spice. Though I need to add that there is nothing wrong with being basic. Just be nice and do what makes you happy.”
“I know what—or who—you like to do to make you happy,” Sam whisper-talks, pulling me into his lap.
“Ugh, I hate PDA,” Jacob grumbles, pulling the puzzles out of an antique cabinet next to the fireplace.
“Human PDA, you mean,” Mason says and stands from the loveseat. “If it were a cat or a dog or a sheep, you’d be fine with it, right?”
“You know that’s getting really fucking old,” Jacob rounds.
Sam kisses my neck and then we get up, going into the formal dining room to start our puzzle contest.
“For this to be a fair contest, don’t we need two of the same puzzle?” he asks.
“Yes,” Mason answers. “And it’s a good thing mom forgets what she’s already bought from a store when she does her late-night Amazon shopping.” He holds up two identical puzzles. A scene from an ice cream shop is on the front of the box, and I can tell right away a puzzle like this could take days.
“Seven-hundred and fifty pieces?” I look at Mason incredulously. “And you expect us to get this done in like an hour, while drinking?”
“Don’t worry, Chloe,” Jacob tells me. “Assuming you and Sam are on a team, you’re going to win. The puzzles Mason is used to are the big wooden ones Adam likes to play with.”
“Adam is way too young for puzzles,” Mason replies, talking about their nephew. “And that farmhouse puzzle you got him was surprisingly challenging for something geared for babies.”
“I need a shot already.” Sam shakes his head and pulls out a chair for me.
“Oh, we’re not sitting,” I tell him. “I need to be able to move around.” I shake my shoulders and Sam laughs. “I feel like we should do a warm-up or something. Run a lap around the yard and then do stretches so we don’t strain something.”
“The only thing we have to worry about straining is Mason’s brain,” Jacob says dryly, clearing having fun getting back at him for all the bestiality jokes. We open and set up the puzzles while Mason gets the booze, and we all start by downing a shot, and then Mason sets the timer.
“What’s our strategy?” I whisper to Sam.
“Find the edge pieces, and when we start getting a decent amount, I’ll sort them by color while you keep finding the rest.”
“Okay. We got this.”
“Go!” Mason shouts and the four of us scramble to start our puzzles. We find the majority of the edge pieces fairly quickly, and Sam starts to organize them by color, which seemed like a good idea at the time, but the entire left edge of the puzzle is purple and blue. When the fifteen-minute timer goes off, it’s hard to tell who’s the winner. Mason and Jacob separated the edge pieces first as well, and since we don’t want to stop and count how many pieces we each have pulled away from the rest of the puzzle, we all take another shot. It’s been several hours since I ate last, and I start feeling the alcohol pretty soon after the whiskey goes down.
“Ready, set, go!” Mason exclaims again and hits the
timer. Sam and I start putting the edge pieces of the puzzle together. We both reach for the same piece at the same time and end up clunking our heads together.
“Ow,” I say with a laugh, and Sam clasps his hands around my waist, pulling me to him.
“You okay, babe?”
“I have a thick skull. Are you okay?”
“I’m good.” He leans in, acting like he’s inspecting my forehead, but kisses me instead. Mason grumbles about how gross we are but Jacob shushes him, saying they’ll get an advantage over us. While my competitive side can come out strong from time to time, I’d rather stand here with Sam’s hands on my hips than win a silly competition. Because as far as I’m concerned, I’ve already won the game.
Our distraction, however, does come with a cost. I grimace as Mason pours two more shots for us.
“If anyone pukes, you’re cleaning it up,” Mrs. Harris says as she comes out of her sewing room.
“We’re just getting started,” Mason says and pours himself a shot of tequila, even though he made sure it was known he had put more pieces of the puzzle together than we had.
“I’m kinda done,” I admit, wrinkling my nose. “Day-drinking is making me tired.” I sniffle and then cough.
“You can go upstairs and take a nap,” Mrs. Harris tells me. “Rory’s old room is filled with baby items, but the boys’ old rooms are all guest rooms now. Feel free to go lie down. You sound like you’re coming down with a cold.”
“I’m fine,” I say, brushing it off again.
“You should rest,” Sam urges. “Upstairs. In my old bedroom.”
A dull throbbing is starting right behind my eyes, and I know if I ignore it, it’ll only get worse. I really should lie down, close my eyes, and take a short nap if I want to avoid a migraine later.
“That would be nice. I can feel a migraine coming on.”
“Do you get them often?” Sam asks.
“No,” I say with a shake of my head. “Traveling seems to set them off, though, along with a messed-up sleep schedule, and we haven’t been getting much sleep.”
“Get a room,” Mason huffs.
Sam wiggles his eyebrows at me and takes the shot of whiskey Mason poured for him. “That’s my plan.”
13
Sam
“Do you want me to bring you some Advil?” I set my phone on the nightstand and turn, stepping over to pull the curtains closed.
“Sure, but I don’t feel like getting up,” Chloe says, pulling her sweater over her head. I think she feels a lot worse than she’s letting on, and I’m pretty sure she has a fever.
“I’ll get it for you, babe. That’s what I meant.”
“Oh, then yeah. And some water. My throat is a little dry.”
Giving her a kiss on the forehead, I go back downstairs for water and medicine. Chloe is snuggled under the covers when I get back.
“If you have a fever you shouldn’t be so bundled up,” I tell her and sit on the side of the bed.
“I don’t have a fever.” She sits up and takes the pills from me, washing them down with water.
“How do you know?”
“Wishful thinking.”
I chuckle and lie down next to her and start rubbing her back. Chloe lets out a soft moan and wiggles closer to me. I push my fingers under her tank top, closing my eyes when I feel her warm skin against my palm.
“If you want to live out your teenage fantasy, you better close the door.” Chloe rolls over and hooks her leg over mine.
“I was joking about that,” I tell her.
“Really?”
“No. Fucking you in my room has always been a fantasy.”
She slips her fingers inside the waist of my pants. “Well, let’s make it a reality.”
My cock jumps at the thought. “You don’t feel well.”
“It’s nothing an orgasm won’t cure. Though if we want to be authentic, the sex should be awkward and not satisfying.”
“What makes you think I was awkward in bed?”
“All teenagers are.”
“No, there’s not. I was one who wasn’t.”
She lets out a snort of laughter. “Sure, you were. From my very limited experience with the one boyfriend I slept with as a teenager, teen boys watch porn which is filmed by men, for men, and gives little thought to what pleases a woman.”
“I’ve always pleased.”
Chloe laughs and pops the button on my jeans. “Quiet, Sam, your parents might hear us. We’re supposed to be up here studying. Your mom is going to send Rory up to get us for dinner soon too.”
“Fuck,” I groan. “This is both weird and hot.”
“That’s my specialty.” She pulls down my zipper. “Now go close the door. And be discrete about it.”
Cock hardening, I get out of bed, stripping out of my pants on the way back to bed once the door is closed.
“Be careful with me, I’m a virgin,” she says, batting her lashes. “Too weird? I think that’s too weird. Oh, unless we both want to pretend to be virgins. I’ll have to be seventeen then.”
“Too weird,” I tell her and move over top, brushing her thick, dark red hair away from her pretty face. “Who did you lose your—never mind. I don’t want to know. And like you said, we don’t have much time until we’re called down to dinner.”
“What should we do until then?” She flutters her lashes at me, and I lose it. This woman is everything I want. Everything I need and then some. And more than I’ll ever deserve. She laughs and sticks her hands inside my boxers. Kissing her neck, I move to the side so I can remove her clothes.
“I don’t know how many times I imagined myself here,” she tells me as I start stroking her.
“Probably not as many times as you imagined me.”
My phone vibrates on the nightstand next to me, waking me up. Over the years, I’ve gotten used to taking short naps and having to wake up and be one hundred percent with it. There’s no time to break out of a nap-induced fog when you have to go straight into surgery or rush to intubate someone.
Chloe is still sound asleep next to me, and I’m a little annoyed at being woken up. Another text message comes through, and the phone vibrates again. I sit up, keeping the blankets over Chloe, and grab my phone. It’s Stacey, and the peace I was feeling leaves me, making my stomach clench and my throat tighten.
The room swirls around me as the truth sinks in yet again. I’m home in Silver Ridge, at my parents’ house with my brothers and Chloe.
And I’m lying to their fucking faces.
Letting out a breath, I unlock my phone to read Stacey’s text.
Stacey: Hey, you working?
Stacey: If not, want to get some dinner?
It would be easiest to tell her yeah, I’m working, but I’m already trying to keep the truth buried for another day and don’t want to convolute it with more lies. The weekend. It was all I wanted, and it’s quickly coming to a close.
Me: I’m visiting my parents.
Stacey: In Michigan, right?
Though I never brought Stacey home to meet my family, and they never met her when they came to Chicago to visit me, she knows damn well I used to live in Michigan.
Me: Yeah.
Stacey: Sounds nice. You didn’t tell them yet, did you?
I know what she’s talking about, and the fact that I will have to tell them soon makes anxiety rise inside me.
Me: No, not yet.
Stacey: Good. I want to be there when you tell them. I haven’t told my mom. I want you to be there too.
My eyes fall shut in a long blink. Right. It’s not just Stacey I’ll be involved with. She has siblings, her parents. Cousins. I think most of her family lives around the Chicago area. We’ll have to work out how to share the child around holidays and birthdays. Not even a minute goes by before Stacey texts me again.
Stacey: You don’t want to be there???
Me: I do. I told you, if this is my child then I will be there.
Stacey: IT IS YOURS
Stacey: Sorry. I’m hormonal, I suppose. It makes me sad you don’t trust me.
I never fully felt like I could trust Stacey, which was a big reason I knew we’d never work out long-term. We had fun, got along well enough, but never had that spark.
Me: It’s not that I don’t trust you. Once we get the paternity test results back, there will be no question.
Stacey responds with a thumbs up. She’s mad, and I don’t want to offend or upset her, but she has to see where I’m coming from. We weren’t exclusive, and the one time we attempted it, she couldn’t stay faithful. I put my phone back down and settle next to Chloe. She feels hot again, so I carefully move the quilt off of her shoulders. The rain has stopped, and the sun is trying to come out from behind the storm clouds.
I can hear my family talking and laughing downstairs, and it sounds like Lennon, my cousin, is here. Careful not to wake Chloe, I get out of bed and get dressed, slowly opening the door. It’s always creaked, and it was always just enough of a warning to know if Mason was getting into my shit when we were kids. I don’t know how many times I’d be sitting in the kitchen, hear the door open, and run upstairs to beat Mason’s ass.
Closing the door behind me, I go downstairs and into the kitchen. Everyone is gathered around the counter, filling plates with pizza.
“Sam!” Lennon says as soon as she sees me.
“Hey,” I say back, going over to her. “I haven’t seen you since Rory’s wedding. How are you?”
“Wow, it’s been that long? And good. Busy with teaching, but good. How are you?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “You have a girl upstairs. I know all about that.”
I chuckle. “You remember Chloe, right?”
She nods and goes back to the counter, squeezing in between Jacob and Mason to get pizza before it’s gone. “Yeah. We never talked much, but I definitely remember her. I think the whole town does.”
“That’s for sure.”
I get pizza and join the rest of my family in the formal dining room, which is getting more use today than it normally does all month.
“Hey, Nana.” I put my plate down and go around to the other side of the table to give my grandmother a hug. She’s the last remaining grandparent we have, and is still very much with it, though she’s starting to forget things much more frequently now.
Desperate Times (Silver Ridge Series Book 2) Page 12
