by Julie Cross
“Sorry, sir—” I stop and shake my head. Finley and her dad both laugh. “Sorry.”
I trail behind Sam and his wheelchair when he heads inside. The second the door opens, two towheaded, identical little boys race out.
Finley scoops up the first one and kisses his cheek. The kid wrinkles his nose and swipes at his cheek. “I swear you guys get bigger every time I see you.”
She sets the kid down, and we all head into the foyer. Finley introduces me to Connor and Braden, which is a bit pointless, because I’ll never be able to tell them apart. I make a mental note of Braden’s red shirt today compared to his brother’s white T-shirt. Finley carries Connor inside, his little arms tight around her neck. I shift from one foot to the other, slightly uncomfortable. I don’t have a single memory of my sister Ruby ever hugging me. Or my parents, for that matter.
Braden tugs Finley into what looks like a family room, or it might be their living room. He’s talking her ear off, going a mile a minute, but I drown out the words, my gaze sweeping the room. The walls are covered with family photos, not the stiff portrait studio type that we have in a couple places at my home, but more like candid shots of family vacations and what might be the backyard pool, or pictures with Finley and her brothers in pajamas around a Christmas tree. Another wall is covered with artwork, the kind made out of construction paper with blobs of paint that resemble handprints.
Large foam puzzle pieces connect together on the floor to form a mat in the corner of the room where bins of toys and LEGOs sit around it. A chalkboard hangs at eye level for the boys with each of their names written on it, plus “Fin” and “Dad.” Tallied numbers are beside each of the boys’ names.
I spin slowly in a circle, the voices around me melting into the background as I take in the room. I can’t imagine having toys and construction paper in any of the rooms in my home. One of my favorite nannies, when I was around Connor and Braden’s age, kept toys in plastic containers under her bed for me and would pull them out and let me play on the kitchen floor while she made dinner. Until Ruby told my mom, and I got a new nanny a week later.
The crushing fear and anxiety of needing to make a new home comes down on me again, and for a few seconds, I can’t breathe.
A tiny hand closes in mine, and I jolt back to life. Braden, the red shirt twin, tugs at my hand. “Wanna help with the Star Wars ship?”
I can feel Sam watching from my right side. Did I look weird standing here staring at the walls just now? I look down at Braden again. “Uh…sure.”
I sit on the red, yellow, and blue foam puzzle-piece floor with both boys. Braden does all the talking, while Connor remains silent. From the chatterbox twin, I learn that Grandma gave them the Star Wars LEGO set for their birthday and that Grandma lives in the house next door. Also that the boys’ real birthday was two days ago.
“Fin sent us a giant box of coloring books and Hot Wheels,” Braden says, using his arms to model the size of the large box.
Despite all the information sharing, I’m still sitting on a couple big questions regarding this family. But I shove those aside for now. Slowly, I slide a hand toward the LEGO pile in front of me. I haven’t spent any time around little kids, and I’m quickly realizing how alien they seem to me.
“A big box of Hot Wheels, huh?” I say to Connor, trying to get him involved in the talking.
Connor nods, his head down and gaze focused on the LEGOs.
“He doesn’t talk lots,” Braden tells me. “Cameron calls him deaf all the time, but deaf means you don’t listen—”
“Hear,” Finley and her dad both say together. Sam adds, “Deaf means you can’t hear.”
“Right. That’s what I said. Hear.” Braden dumps a box of LEGOs onto the foam floor, mixing them with the new Star Wars set. “Cameron says Connor is deaf, but he’s not.”
Connor shakes his head, agreeing with his brother.
“And Miss Leonard made Cameron sit out recess today and yesterday ’cause of it.”
“Sounds like Cameron is stupid.” I snap a few sections of the ship together and then look up when I feel two pairs of eyes on me. Both boys have sat up straighter, eyes wide, like I’ve suddenly grown another head.
Braden finally turns around and picks up a piece of chalk from the board. “How do you spell Eddie?”
I spell it slowly for him while he prints my name on the board, the d’s facing the wrong direction. Then beside my name, he adds a tally mark.
“Oh…I got a point?” I don’t know what great thing I did to score on their chalkboard, but whatever, I’ll take it. “Thanks.”
Behind me, Finley laughs. “That’s the bad word board. Whoever has the most points at the end of the day helps with the dishes or has to clean the bathroom.”
I scan my memory of the last couple minutes, digging for any swearwords that may have slipped, but come up empty. Finley leans down, her breath hitting my neck, causing goose bumps to form, then she whispers in my ear, “Stupid.”
Stupid? That’s a bad word? “That’s a bad word?”
Finley and her brothers all nod. I’m about to apologize when Sam interrupts, and he and Finley start making plans for dinner. After they disappear into the kitchen, I’m left with the alien kids and the LEGOs.
We work together building the ship while Braden continues filling me in on the details of his life. The more minutes pass, the less awkward it feels. But then my phone vibrates in my pocket. The second I glance at the number, my stomach plummets. I excuse myself before stepping out onto the back patio.
CHAPTER 17
Finley
Dad and I head out back, each of us carrying a plate of burgers to grill. The second we step onto the patio, Eddie’s voice rings loud and clear from around the side of the house.
“I’m sorry I missed the appointment…of course I’m still planning on signing—things are crazy with my Princeton classes right now. It’s not easy to get back to New York.”
I open the grill, allowing it to clank loudly to dilute Eddie’s voice. Dad follows my lead, lighting the grill and making more noise than necessary.
“…I’d rather you didn’t tell her that I haven’t signed yet…”
“So,” Dad says, obviously wanting to let Eddie have his privacy. “Jason is back.”
I groan internally, remembering Summer’s embarrassing hijacked call to Jason last week. “Yeah, I know.”
“Yes, sir,” Eddie says to the person on the phone. “Tuesday night. Princeton alumni center. Got it.”
“Anything happening with that?” Dad asks, working hard to ignore Eddie.
“Not sure.” I slide the first burger onto the grill and let the sadness and confusion roll over me. What am I not sure about? Jason or me? I don’t think we’re a factor any more.
Before I have to decide, Eddie comes around the house and onto the patio. He’s startled to see us here but hides it well. The color has drained from his face, and his eyes no longer hint at amusement but instead are full of panic.
“What’s wrong?” I ask immediately.
He scratches the back of his head, his gaze drifting from me to the pool in the backyard. “Oh…nothing. I’m good. Just had to take a phone call…” Dad and I both hang there, waiting for more, but Eddie forces a grin and points at the pool. “Wow, nice. How deep is it?”
Dad and Eddie begin a lengthy discussion on the inground pool structure while I cook dinner. On the train here, I got super nervous thinking about everything Eddie doesn’t know regarding my family. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked me more, but maybe this is one of those “treat others as you want to be treated” situations. He’s not asking much, because he doesn’t want me to ask about his family. Or phone calls that leave him panicked.
Later, after dinner, Eddie and I get roped into hanging decorations in the backyard for the party tomorrow. All Star Wars–themed, of co
urse. Eddie seems oddly comfortable, and I’m back to wondering what he hasn’t had a chance to sign because he’s been so busy with “classes” and who this “her” is. Forget it, Finley. It’s none of your business. He’s just hanging out for the weekend. Nothing more.
“Where do you want the Jedi banner?”
I shake my head and refocus before glancing around the patio, which is now lit by light-saber torches. “Um, I think maybe here”—I point to the edge of the patio roof that faces the pool—“but it might be too high to reach without getting out the ladder.”
“We can do it.” Before I realize what’s happening, Eddie hoists me up onto his shoulder and grabs a roll of tape along with the banner. His fingers spread deliberately across my stomach, and my heart picks up speed in response. But when my dad rolls into the family room, glancing outside, Eddie shifts his hand to a more polite location on my hip. “I’ve never had a birthday party with decorations like this.”
“Like what?” I ask, reaching for the post to secure one corner of the banner. “Star Wars–themed? Me either.”
Eddie laughs and tightens his grip on me before walking across the patio to hang the other side. “I mean kid-themed. I can’t even remember a birthday party of mine with kids other than my older sister.”
“Never?” I tape the other corner up, and then Eddie backs up so we can check out the Jedi sign that reads “Happy 6th Birthday, Braden and Connor.”
“Nope,” he confirms. “But I don’t remember all my parties, I guess.”
I know very little, but I’m already disturbed by the coldness of his home. Then Summer’s accusations come back, and I work hard to lump Eddie into the wounded animal category. But when he sets me down on the ground again, the heat of his body hitting mine, all I can think about is him gripping me tight after I led him up to my bedroom the night of the party, his voice quiet and confident in my ear, telling me to relax, telling me I’m beautiful and perfect and yeah…
I take a giant step back from him and say as firmly as possible. “We’re just—I mean, you’re here as my friend. Got it?”
“Got it.” The amusement returns to his face. He leans in to add, “Naked friends.”
I point a finger at him in warning. “Once. And only once.”
“Right. Of course. Gotta be true to the one-night stand club.” Eddie lifts an eyebrow, his grin too big and confident.
My dad chooses that moment to open the sliding glass doors and say, “So…I’m assuming you don’t need me to get sheets and blankets for the pullout couch?”
I snap around to face Dad, my cheeks probably bright red. “Why not?”
He shrugs. “Just figured Eddie might be staying in your room.”
“Dad!” Jesus Christ, why can’t he be a normal father and pull out a shotgun at the sight of a boy near me?
He holds up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Just trying to be cool, you know?”
“Well, stop,” I snap. “And yes, sheets. Blankets. Pullout couch. All of that.”
After Dad is gone, I glance back at Eddie, expecting more of his teasing, but he looks almost as embarrassed as I am. Maybe even a little anxious. He scratches his head again. “You don’t think he heard the naked friend comment, do you?”
I laugh, the humiliation already dimming. “No, he didn’t hear you. And even if he did, it wouldn’t be a big deal. Unfortunately, he is one of those cool dads. Maybe not cool, but realistic. I am eighteen. Not fifteen. And I live on my own now.”
An awkward silence falls between us—the problem with one-night stands, I’m quickly learning—and we both put a bit more distance between us and continue the decorating. When we finally go back inside, my dad and the boys are in bed. I hang back, not wanting to stand close to Eddie now that there’s a bed in the family room. Eddie doesn’t go near the couch bed either. He strolls past the photos on the wall, stopping at one hanging above the mantel.
“Is this your mom?” Eddie asks. I nod, waiting, knowing what’s coming next. Eddie adds, “She doesn’t look like you at all.”
“Yeah, I know. My mom used to joke all the time that my dad must have been running around on her, since none of her kids look like her.” I slide closer to him, assessing the photo of the dark-haired woman. It’s been a while since I’ve really looked at these photos and remembered my mom like this. I’m still staring at the picture, my thoughts elsewhere, when Eddie says, “Was it a car accident?”
I wouldn’t say that it’s difficult for me talk about it. I’ve made peace with it, I keep my mom close to me, and I believe in heaven. But whenever I have to explain to someone who doesn’t know anything about my family, someone like Eddie who’ve I’ve kept things cool and casual with, it’s not easy.
Heat rushes to my face. I glance sideways at Eddie for a second and see that he’s moved on to one of our last family photos, one where my dad is standing to his full height of six feet two and my brothers are little rubber-necked infants.
I open my mouth to answer Eddie’s question but then decide to nod instead. I don’t want to hear any emotion in my voice. I don’t want to move backward.
“Were you—” Eddie starts.
“No. I was at the studio.” I take a breath, surprised by how steady it is. Surprised that saying these details out loud hasn’t transported me back to that day. “Connor and Braden were in the car.” Worry creases his face, so I add, “They were fine. Barely a scratch.”
Eddie turns to face me, his gaze so heavy and intense that I pull in a breath and hold it. “You have her eyes.”
I hang on to his gaze, my feet shuffling closer until heat fills the space between us and completely envelops me. My head clouds with a million thoughts—Who are you, Eddie Wells? What is your story? Why does it seem like you have so much to tell? And why is your mouth so easy to stare at? And why do I want to kiss you so badly? I can hardly remember kissing him the first time, or maybe I’m refusing to let myself remember, but this only means it would be like the first time again.
My fingers brush lightly on the front of his T-shirt at the same time as his hand drifts over a loose strand of my hair. My eyelids begin to flutter and close, my heart thudding a million beats a minute.
Behind me, a door opens, and I jolt back to reality. Eddie releases a nervous laugh, and I shake my head and back away. “Friends. Just friends.”
Both of us pull ourselves back together. Eddie seems to be done with his Belton family inquisition, so I move on to more technical hostess duties.
For a couple minutes, while I’m handing Eddie a towel, pointing out the bathroom, and showing him the path that needs to stay clear for my dad’s wheelchair, it does feel friendly. Just friendly. But when I finally close my bedroom door and I’m lying in my bed, my heart’s still racing, and my cheeks are still warm.
I bury my face in a pillow and groan loud enough to release some of my frustrations but not enough to alert anyone else.
Summer is right. I’m drawn to the guys who need rescuing. This has to stop. Now.
CHAPTER 18
Finley
I had anticipated one or likely two little boys keeping me from sleeping in this morning, so I’m not too bothered by music waking me up. I roll over in bed, glancing at the clock: 7:10 a.m. Definitely not too early for Connor and Braden to be up. Especially on the day of their birthday party—something that has become a neighborhood affair around here.
I toss back the covers and venture out to the living room to see the twins seated on either side of Eddie on the piano bench. I lean against the doorframe and watch Eddie’s fingers fly over the keys—he wasn’t kidding when he said he was a piano player. The music book opened in front of him is one of my dad’s favorites—Broadway Belter’s Songbook. He’s helped tons of actors land musical roles with these songs over the years, even some who were less than stellar singers.
Conner and Braden are, in fact, b
elting out the lyrics to “Maybe This Time” while Eddie plays along. Eddie’s wearing a bewildered look, but he smiles when he glances over his shoulder and spots me. He lightens his touch on the keys and asks, “Is this too loud? Your dad is still sleeping, right?”
“He’ll wake up to his favorite song,” I say with a shrug, not wanting to explain that my dad has probably been up for at least two hours. It takes him that long just to use the bathroom and get showered and dressed in the morning, but I know he wouldn’t want me to explain that to Eddie.
Eddie returns to playing at full volume while my brothers continue to sing. The longer I stand there, the more animated all three of them become—even Connor, who often uses music as his excuse to speak—and the more I’m laughing.
“Why do they know this song?” Eddie shouts to me.
Dad wheels in and answers, “Because it’s in their blood.”
I roll my eyes. “Because they’ve been force-fed show tunes since birth and aren’t allowed to listen to the radio.”
“It pays the bills, right?” Dad flashes me a grin and then moves closer to Eddie. “You sing too?”
“As little as possible,” Eddie says, and my dad laughs.
Dad flips pages in the Broadway Belter’s Songbook and thus begins a testosterone-fueled show tune jam session. I watch for several minutes, surprised by how at ease Eddie now seems in front of a piano compared to around my dad last night. After a way too loud rendition of “Everything’s Coming Up Roses,” I retreat to the kitchen to make breakfast. The songs continue on and off for a couple hours until my grandma comes over from next door to get the party food ready and the boys are too wired to stay inside any longer.
“Don’t go in the pool until I get out there!” I shout at Braden when he nearly plows me over while I’m carrying their Star Wars cake.
Eddie brushes up behind me. “You know, if you give directions using a negative, they only hear ‘go in the pool.’”
I stop my life-saving quest to turn and look at Eddie. “Who are you, Dr. Phil?”
