by Jill Shalvis
Millie ran down the hall. They heard the bathroom door shut and then the lock clicked into place. And out of place. And back into place. Four times.
So maybe Millie was more Brooke’s Mini-Me than Mindy’s . . . Brooke didn’t know much about kids, and she was certainly in no position to tell her sister how to live her life, but things did seem out of control—something Mindy had never been a day in her life. Her car was parked in Brooke’s short driveway, the doors open. Two little boys were rolling around on the grass. One was naked.
“Yours, I presume,” Brooke said.
Mindy was staring at them like one might stare at an impending train wreck. “Yeah. Want one?”
She ignored the way her stomach clenched. “Tell me more about Linc.”
Mindy sighed. “I keep up the house, work at the shop thirty hours a week, and handle all the kid and life stuff. I’m the heavy. The bad cop. And I get that Linc and his brother, Ethan, had to take over their dad’s medical practice when he had a stroke, but that wasn’t in our life plan. And now Ethan’s having some sort of midlife crisis and taking a lot of time off, which leaves Linc working seventy hours a week. When he finally walks in after a long day, I’m invisible. And the kids, they love the good cop. I want to be the good cop.”
“So be the good cop,” Brooke said.
“I can’t be the good cop. I’ve tried. I’m too anal.” Mindy lowered her voice to a whisper. “I want to be you, Brooke. You get to bounce all over the planet, living out wild adventure after wild adventure, and you get paid to do it. No wonder you never come home.”
It wasn’t adventure that kept her away from Wildstone. Shame, maybe. Okay, definitely. And regrets. Lots of regrets. She’d been haunted by them for seven years, throughout which she’d stayed away from her childhood town, only four hours north of here.
But sometimes in the deep dark of the night, she dreamed about going back.
Pushing those thoughts aside, she stared into her sister’s red-rimmed, despairing eyes. She knew despair. She knew it to the depths of her soul, and some of the pent-up resentment she’d been holding for Mindy and her very perfect life shifted slightly. It didn’t fade away, not exactly; more like it just moved over to make room for a teeny-tiny amount of compassion and empathy. “Why don’t you head into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of wine,” she said. “I’ve got the kids for now.”
“You do?” Mindy asked with clear disbelief.
“Yeah.” If there was one thing Brooke had down, it was the ability to bullshit her way through any situation. She’d summited Mount Kilimanjaro, the roof of Africa. She’d been one of the few to get to and photograph the limestone formations of the Stone Forest in China. She’d gone swimming with giants—migrating humpback whales—along the waters of Ningaloo Reef in Australia. Certainly she could handle her sister and her kids. She waited until Mindy had vanished inside before calling out to the boys wrestling in the grass. “Hey.”
Neither of them looked at her.
She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. Loudly. All destruction and mayhem stopped on a dime and two sets of eyeballs turned her way. “Inside,” she said. “Everyone to the couch.”
The boys met up with the freshly washed-up Millie in the living room, and they all sat, even the naked one. Brooke winced, but let it go. She opened her laptop and scrolled her way to a menu of Disney flicks to stream. They were rated by viewer age, which was helpful. “Okay, so you’re almost three,” she said, pointing to the nudie-patootie, Maddox. “And almost four, right?” she asked the one with clothes, which meant he was Mason. He nodded, and she turned to the oldest. “Millie?”
Millie didn’t answer.
Brooke looked at Mason.
“She’s almost eight,” he said.
Brooke looked at Millie. “Is this movie okay?”
Millie didn’t answer this question, either.
“You have to call her Princess Millie,” Mason said. His knee was bloody. “She only answers to Princess Millie.”
“Right.” Brooke sent a glance toward the kitchen, but heard nothing from Mindy. Either she’d made a run for it through the garage, or she was hiding out, drinking her wine in peace. Brooke went to her backpack, pulled out the first-aid kit she always carried with her, and grabbed the antiseptic.
Mason covered his knee. “Only need a Band-Aid.”
While she could appreciate the sentiment more than he knew, the cut was dirty. She doctored him up and looked at Millie. “Back to the movie. The Lion King or no?”
Millie shook her head. “The dad dies and it makes Mad Dog cry.”
“Yeah, me, too,” Brooke said, and scrolled to Toy Story 3.
“That one makes all of us cry,” Millie said. “And you can’t play Frozen, either. Mason will sing it for three straight days until Momma says she needs a pill.”
They finally settled on Cars 3. Brooke brought Maddox his clothes.
“Don’t forget a diaper!” Millie said. “Or we’ll all be sorry.”
Right. A diaper. Brooke helped the kid into everything. She then tented a big soft blanket over the back of the couch to the coffee table, pinning it in place with several heavy books, one of which was filled with her own photography. From the old days, back when she was actually having the adventures Mindy thought she was still having.
“Yay, a fort!” Mason yelled enthusiastically.
Maddox barked with equal enthusiasm, flashing a smile and a devastatingly adorable dimple while he was at it.
“Aunt Brooke is the best,” Brooke heard Millie whisper to her brothers.
She smiled with pride, and felt a sense of warmth and affection that had been all too rare in her world lately. But along with the goodness came something else. A sense of dread. Because blood or not, family or not, this couldn’t happen. She couldn’t fall for Mindy’s kids, no matter how much she wanted to.
“Mad Dog!” Millie suddenly cried out, voice muffled like maybe she was holding her hand over her mouth. “You pooped!”
This was followed by a giggle. Mad Dog, presumably. Thank God for diapers.
“You’re supposed to do that in the bathroom!” Millie yelled. “Mom said!” And then she yanked the blanket down around them to dramatically gasp in some fresh air.
Mason and Maddox were rolling with helpless laughter.
“Boys are disgusting,” Millie announced.
Brooke shrugged. “You might think differently in a few years.”
“No way.” She jabbed a finger at Maddox. “He needs changing. If you don’t do it right away, he gets a rash and screams bloody murder.”
Brooke slid another look toward the kitchen. Still nothing from Mindy. So she scooped up Maddox and then nearly staggered back from the stench coming off the sweet little boy.
At the look on her face, Maddox giggled again and drooled down her front.
“You know what would be even funnier?” she asked, walking him out to Mindy’s car to find his diaper bag and then changing him outside on her porch lounge so that she didn’t have to hazmat her place afterward. “If you used the toilet like a big boy and showed your siblings what you’re capable of.”
He stared up at her, not committing to anything, but clearly considering it.
When she was done, she brought him inside, sprayed some Febreze, and re-created the blanket fort. Then she walked into the kitchen.
No Mindy.
Troublesome. Brooke filled a bowl with cut-up apples and a pile of almond butter for dipping, and thrust it into the fort.
It was immediately accepted with squeals of delight.
Proud of her aunting skills, Brooke went in search of her sister. It was with great relief that she found Mindy in her bedroom, sprawled out on the bed with a bottle of wine.
No glass.
“You’re drinking in my bed,” Brooke said, trying not to hyperventilate.
“Do you mind?”
Her OCD sure did. “Um—”
“Mom called,” Mindy murmured,
staring off into space. “She told me that my husband and children are perfect.” She took a swig of wine. Clearly not her first. Or tenth. “Which means it’s me.”
Brooke took the bottle and set it on the nightstand.
Mindy flopped to her back on the mattress. “Oh my God, Brooke. This bed. It’s heaven.” She rolled around. “Your sheets are clean. You’ve got plants that haven’t been eaten. There’s no poop anywhere. It smells delicious.”
“Okay, seriously.” Brooke sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re scaring me. Who are you and what did you do to my sister?”
From the bathroom in the hallway, Mason called out, “I finished!”
Mindy sighed. “He doesn’t wipe efficiently and needs to be checked. As for what happened to me, I had babies.”
Brooke didn’t flinch. Progress. “You still haven’t told me about Linc, other than that he’s working long hours and is the good cop.”
“I never see him. A few days ago, he left for a conference in Florida with some colleagues and suggested I take the kids to Mom and Dad’s while he’s gone. So I asked Brittney if she wanted to come with me, but she said she couldn’t. Then later that same day on her Instagram, she was on a beach.”
“Okay,” Brooke said. “So . . . ?”
“So what if she’s on a beach in Florida with my husband?”
“Is someone going to come check me?” Mason yelled.
Brooke stuck her head out the bedroom door. “Listen, kid, you’re going to need to hang on a second, or handle the paper work yourself.” She turned to Mindy. “Have you actually talked to Linc?”
“No. He’s too busy. We’ve got a rule—when he’s traveling, we only check in via text once a day unless there’s an emergency. It’s because he’s so busy, and when he doesn’t call me all the time, I tend to get murderous and want to kill him. Hence the rule.”
Brooke loved Linc, and she got it. Mindy could be incredibly . . . needy, but she thought the rule was pretty shitty. “Maybe you’re wrong about all of this. And anyway, what does this Brittney chick have that you don’t?”
“Uh, boobs that haven’t been ravaged by three babies. And a waist. And I bet she doesn’t pee a little when she sneezes.”
Brooke grimaced. “Okay, let’s stay on topic. You’re the goal-orientated one here. What’s your goal?”
Mindy stared at her blankly.
“What do you need?” Brooke prompted.
“Linc to say he can’t live without me. In lieu of that, I could use a day or two away from the merry-go-round before I fall off and can’t get up.”
“You need to tell Linc this, all of it.”
“But I want him to just know.” Mindy reached for the wine and took another swig before squeezing out a few more tears.
Brooke sighed. If there was one thing you could say about the Lemon sisters, it was that they were night and day. Oil and water. Apples and oranges. But here was the thing—night and day melded together twice every twenty-four hours, oil and water could be forced to work together with a good shake, and apples and oranges were still both fruit. “What if I take the kids away for a few days?” she heard herself say. “You could stay here and relax.”
“Where would you go? To Wildstone?”
The thought brought a burst of hope and an equal burst of gut-wrenching anxiety. To go to Wildstone, she’d not only have to face her past, but the consequences of that past. “I was thinking maybe Disneyland. I’ve got some free passes. Perks of the trade.”
Mindy looked so hopeful it hurt. “You’d do that for me?”
Damn, she’d really been a crappy sister. “Yes. Now go to sleep. We can make plans in the morning,” she said, hoping this whole meltdown thing wasn’t contagious. Once again, she wrestled the wine away from Mindy’s hot hands and set the bottle on the dresser. Then she pulled off her sister’s sneakers and eyed the rest of her clothes. “How comfortable are those yoga pants?”
“They’re my skinny-weight ones. But since I’m not at my skinny weight, they’re not comfortable at all.” Mindy paused. “I’m not even at my medium weight. I’m the heavyweight champ right now, but I threw away all my heavyweight clothes.”
“Why?”
“Because my skinny-weight self is a complete selfish bitch who thought I had more control than I do,” Mindy wailed.
“You’re not fat, you’re just . . . easier to see.” Brooke tugged off Mindy’s leggings and set her hands on her hips. “I get that life sucks right now, but that’s never a reason to wear granny panties. Like, ever.”
“My skinny panties give me wedgies.” With a sigh, Mindy turned on her side and curled up in just her T-shirt and granny panties.
Brooke spread a blanket over her.
“But the kids,” her sister said, eyes already closed. “I’ve gotta make sure the kids brush and floss and clean up . . .”
Mindy infamously micromanaged everything and everyone around her because she hated surprises. Brooke was the opposite. If you asked anyone who knew her, they’d say she was the free bird, the wanderlust spirit, the . . . well, the crazy one.
They had the crazy part right, especially given what she was about to say. “I got them. Just sleep.” And please God, wake up like your usual calm, unruffled bitch self . . .
“Thanks,” Mindy murmured. “I owe you one.”
“Wiiiiiiiipe meeeeeeee!” Mason bellowed.
With a sigh, Brooke headed down the hall to save the kid, thinking she was going to have no problem not falling for these kids after all.
Chapter 2
“The cats have been fed, do not listen to their bullshit.”
The next morning, Brooke had the boys in the car and was just waiting on Millie to make her way from the front door. They’d all said good-bye to Mindy. Millie had gone last and was skipping toward the car and counting her steps. “One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four . . .”
Brooke’s heart squeezed, but she smiled at the girl. “Hop in.”
“Do you have hand sanitizer?”
“Always,” Brooke assured her. “In my backpack. Help yourself.”
Millie smiled gratefully and went to climb into the car, shuffling her feet at the last minute because she was only on “three” and needed one more step to get to “four.”
The kids had no idea what their destination was. All they knew was that they were going to get to spend two days with Auntie Brooke—yay! Mindy had said it was best to surprise them to keep expectations low. Brooke was pretty sure that was a statement on her ability to “aunt,” but she got it. She had things to prove, to the both of them. She hoped to surprise the kids and herself.
Up ahead was a freeway transition. If she stayed where she was, they’d go south. South would take them to Disneyland. If she changed lanes to go north, it’d take them up the coast of California. They could go to Santa Barbara. San Francisco.
Or Wildstone.
She bit her lip, thoughts racing. Disneyland would be a huge hit. But anyone could survive a trip to Disneyland. She didn’t want to just survive. Been there, done that . . . barely. And then there was the real problem. Thoughts of Wildstone wouldn’t leave her alone. She’d left there without looking back under less than ideal circumstances of her own making. She’d hurt people, people who hadn’t deserved it.
So maybe she could go do something constructive for a change, something to right some wrongs. At the thought, she channeled her inner Mindy and organized herself, formulating a plan for how to fix not just her sister’s problems, but her own as well. Her mental list was:
Face Wildstone again.
Kick Linc’s ass.
Face her own regrettable past actions, the worst of which had affected a certain six-foot-tall blast from her past whom she’d not faced since.
The only problem with this plan was it was an odd number of things. So she added one more:
Return to LA a new Brooke. Or, better yet, the old old Brooke, so she could get her life back, including
the principal photography job she missed.
A quarter of a mile left to make her decision. Sucking in a deep breath, she changed lanes. They were going north. To Wildstone. She was going to be unselfish, she was going to fix things, because that’s what grown-ups did, and she was supposedly one of those now.
“You’re going sixty,” Millie noted very seriously.
Brooke nodded. “It’s the speed limit.”
“Earlier you went to sixty-four.”
“Yes. I was passing someone.”
Millie met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “You like even numbers like I do.”
The solemn expression on the little girl’s face cracked Brooke’s heart wide-open, making her more honest than she might’ve been. “I do.”
Millie thought about that for a beat and nodded, a very small smile crossing her mouth. “I’ve never met anyone like us.”
Brooke’s heart pinched again, and when her phone buzzed, she had to swallow the lump in her throat to answer.
“Am I on speaker?” Mindy asked. “And the correct answer is yes.”
“Of course you’re on speaker,” Brooke said, and, grimacing, put Mindy on speaker.
“Now make sure Millie’s got her headphones on and isn’t listening.”
Brooke eyed Millie, whose head was now bopping to some kid tunes. “Done.”
“She’s got some things you’ll need to work around,” Mindy said.
“Things?”
Mindy sighed. “She needs to have her hands clean at all times. She can’t touch stuff if she thinks it’s dirty. She counts in fours, often out loud. Things have to be even. Even steps. Even miles per hour for your speed in the car. The thermostat. Everything, it all has to be even.”
“So?” Brooke asked carefully.
“So it’s who she is. Her pediatrician says the OCD isn’t a problem right now, and we’re watching it, but people don’t always understand her quirks, and that upsets her.”
From a young age, Brooke had done the same things as Millie, but knowing she was different, she’d hidden her “quirks,” even from Mindy. That Millie didn’t hide them made Brooke’s neglected heart ache with pride for the kid. “I told you I’ve got this, and I do. I’ll take care of her.” Great job on not getting attached . . . “Of all of them.”
