Hook

by Chelle Bliss

Tate and her food. She’d probably be more upset about missing a meal than she is about finding Tilly and me fast asleep on the couch.

  “I should go.” Tilly scoots to the edge of the couch. She’s about to get up, but Tate puts her hand out, stopping Tilly in her tracks.

  “No.” Tate shakes her head. “You can’t.”

  I move to the edge of the couch next to Tilly. “Why not?”

  Tate toys with the edge of her unicorn nightgown, looking at us from under her ridiculously long eyelashes. “Because she’s hungry.”

  “I’m not really much of a morning eater,” Tilly tells Tate.

  Tate’s mouth drops open, and she lowers her head. “You don’t eat breakfast?”

  Tilly looks at me out of the corner of her eye and grimaces. “No.”

  Tate’s still in shock. She’s staring at Tilly like she’s an oddity in a sideshow. “I’d die of starvation.”

  I glance at Tilly and roll my eyes. “She’s a little dramatic.”

  Tate crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “I am not.”

  “And she’s feisty in the morning.”

  “I’m hungry,” she whines and points to her stomach, always ready to eat. “Can you make Tilly and me pancakes?”

  I don’t even bother arguing with her. There’s no getting her to change her mind when her belly isn’t full. She’s like a little monster. She takes hangry to a whole new level.

  “You should stay,” I tell Tilly because I want her to know I’m okay with it.

  If Tate’s not freaking out about Tilly being there, I can let it slide if it makes her happy. Plus, it’ll be nice to have an adult to talk to over breakfast instead of just two little kids.

  Tate jumps from the coffee table and starts to run around the room, cheering in victory. “Best breakfast ever!” She pumps her fists in the air.

  Tilly turns toward me until our knees are almost touching. “Are you sure?”

  I remember the way she made me feel last night. “I am. Plus—” I tick my chin toward Tate who’s still celebrating her victory “—she’s happy, and so am I. I’ll start breakfast. You just relax.”

  I want to kiss her again, but I stop myself. Tate’s seen enough for one day, and kissing Tilly in front of her wouldn’t be right.

  Tate stands near the hallway, waving her arms. “Tilly, come see my room.”

  She’s adorable, even when she’s a total pain in my ass. If I’m not careful, my mother and sister will turn her into a monster by the time she’s eighteen. The thought alone gives me a headache.

  Tilly slides her hands into mine, and I pull her up from the couch. “Go see her room. I’ve got this handled.”

  She nods, biting her bottom lip and driving me a little crazy. Morning wood is a real thing, and right now, I’m suffering.

  Between last night and the crazy dream I had about Tilly wearing nothing but those hot-as-fuck red stilettos, I knew I was on the verge of blue balls.

  Tate grabs Tilly’s hand and pulls her toward the hallway. “Come on,” she says to her, impatient as always.

  I stand there, watching them as they walk hand in hand toward Tate’s bedroom.

  Part of me is happy to see Tate content and seeming to latch on to Tilly so easily. But there is another part, the one that’s become a part of me since Marissa took her last breath, that makes me feel like I am betraying the memory of my wife.

  “Daddy,” Tate calls out, turning around near her doorway. “We want chocolate chips and bananas in the pancakes.”

  “Sure, baby.” There isn’t any reason to argue. The kid isn’t giving me any problems about Tilly being here. Chocolate chips and bananas are always her favorite combination.

  “You want plain, Tilly?” I ask.

  “Chocolate and bananas are perfect.”

  “There’s nothing better, and my daddy makes the best pancakes in the world.”

  The kid clearly needs to get out more. I am okay at pancakes, but there’s not much you can fuck up about pouring some batter and turning it over before charring one side.

  Brax wanders out of his room, rubbing his eyes with his tiny fists and doesn’t even stop to look in Tate’s room, even when he has to hear two voices.

  “I’m hungry.” He stands in the middle of the kitchen, making my job of prepping the pancakes a little more difficult.

  I lift him up, placing his ass on the middle island so he’s out of the way and can’t get into too much trouble. “You can help,” I tell him, but there’s no way I’m letting him mix a damn thing.

  I place three bananas in a plastic bag, seal it tightly, and hand it off to Brax to smash into tiny pieces. It’s enough to keep him occupied while I finish everything else.

  “Who’s Tate talking to?” He uses all his might to mash the bananas, staring at the plastic bag with so much focus.

  “Tilly.”

  Brax’s eyes widen. “Yay!” he says, sounding every bit like his sister. “I like Twilly.”

  “Daddy, can I wear my pink dress?” Tate yells from her room. “Tilly’s going to help me get ready.”

  I stare down the hallway, caught off guard. I don’t answer right away.

  “Daddy!”

  “Sure,” I yell back, but I’m not sure if I’ve totally fucked everything up.

  As I finish prepping breakfast, I analyze all the ways I could’ve messed up my children by having a woman in the house. Every book I read on grieving and how to move forward with children said to introduce children to new “friends” slowly. The last thing I wanted was for them to get attached to someone who wouldn’t be a permanent fixture in my life.

  There’s a knock on the door, but I’m knee-deep in batter, and the griddle is covered with pancakes. Before I can move, Tate comes running out of her bedroom and heads toward the door. Her hair is tied up in a pink bow, and she’s wearing her favorite pink dress.

  Tilly walks out behind her and comes my way. “Are you sure this is okay?”

  “I am.”

  “She insisted I help her get ready.”

  “She’s demanding. I’m sorry.” I flip the pancakes.

  “Vinnie,” Tate screams so loudly, my ears ring.

  Moments later, Lucio and Vinnie, with Tate in his arms, walk into the kitchen and stop dead in their tracks. They look at Tilly and then to me with their mouths hanging open.

  “It’s not what it looks like.”

  “Daddy had a sleepover,” Tate tells them, throwing me right under the bus.

  “I have a lot of those too.” Vinnie has the biggest freaking smirk.

  “Hey,” I warn because the kid doesn’t need to know about the endless stream of women my brother has in his bed.

  “We were watching a movie and fell asleep on the couch.”

  “So.” Lucio slides onto a stool on the other side of the island. “You making enough for everyone?”

  He’s letting the entire Tilly sleepover slide now, but I know as soon as we’re alone, he’s going to grill me.

  “Maybe I better go.” Tilly fidgets next to me.

  I glance over at her. “Stay.”

  “Tilly has to stay.” Tate grabs Vinnie’s face. “She gives me cupcakes.”

  Vinnie laughs. “A girl after my own heart.”

  “Vinnie, why don’t you and Tate set the table?” I tell him before he has a chance to say something I know I’ll want to slap him for.

  “Sure. Want to help me, baby girl?” he asks Tate before blowing a raspberry in the crook of her neck. She squeals and tips her head back, loving every minute of the way my brothers fawn over her.

  “How’s the shop coming, Tilly? Did Angelo get everything done?” Lucio asks.

  “He was a big help.” Tilly leans over the end of the counter, keeping a safe distance from me.

  “I’m sure he was,” Vinnie mumbles and earns the evil eye from me.

  “Good.” Lucio doesn’t say anything more.

  “Why’s everyone here so early? It’s not even nine.” I ask while I
take the pancakes off the griddle.

  “We had to run to the restaurant supply store, and since your place is on the way back, I figured we’d stop and see how you were doing. Vinnie wanted to talk to you too.”

  “About?” I glance at Vinnie because the only time he wants to see me is when he needs something.

  “It can wait. I’ll talk to you at the bar,” Vinnie says before he turns his attention toward Tilly. “So, Tilly. Why cupcakes?”

  “Why not?” she shoots back at him.

  I laugh as I check the undersides of the second batch of pancakes, liking the way she isn’t a shy little mouse around my brothers.

  “Fair enough.” Vinnie nods, placing the last plate on the table. “What’s the best one you make?”

  “My double caramel pecan turtle cupcake. You should stop in and try it. I made a new batch yesterday.”

  “I’m there,” he replies quickly. “It takes a lot of calories to maintain this body.”

  I roll my eyes because he’s flexing, showing off his muscles, which are almost out of control.

  “Your head’s looking smaller than usual,” Lucio tells him, saying exactly what I was thinking. “You get any bigger, and other things may start to shrink as well.”

  I laugh and glance at Tilly. She’s laughing but covering her mouth, trying to hide her amusement.

  “You can fluff off, brother,” Vinnie snaps.

  “Fluff?” Tilly’s eyebrows draw inward.

  “We try not to swear in front of the kids,” Lucio tells her. “We have to be creative.”

  “Cute,” Tilly replies.

  I flip the pancake onto the platter, wanting to feed the troops so they can get the fuck out. “Breakfast is done.”

  “I want to sit next to Tilly and Vinnie,” Tate announces. “Is that okay, Daddy?”

  “Anything you want, sweetheart.” Somehow, I’ve become her third priority in a room full of people.

  Lucio grabs the platter off the counter and nudges me with his elbow. “We have a lot to talk about,” he whispers as everyone sits down at the table, waiting to eat.

  “We’ll talk later,” I tell him, knowing he’s going to have a lot to say.

  “You surprised me this morning.” He motions toward Tilly with his chin. “You took a big step.”

  Hell, I surprised myself. I was reckless with Tilly. Something I’d promised myself I’d never be with my children. Although I haven’t said it, I think it’s time to backpedal a little, putting my kids before myself. Even if that means keeping whatever Tilly and I have on hold.

  13

  Tilly

  “Well, well, well.” Roger leans against the building outside the bakery, staring at me as I climb out of my car. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  “Don’t say it.” I stalk past him and barely make eye contact.

  “Tilly, I’m not judging you.”

  He doesn’t need to say the words. I know Roger would never judge me, especially after everything he’s been through with me the last five years.

  My hands are shaking, and putting the key in the lock of the shop’s front door is virtually impossible. “Stupid door,” I groan.

  “Gimme.” Roger takes the keys from my hand, easily unlocking the shop. “You’re out of sorts today.”

  “Just today?” I snort. “I’ve been out of sorts for years.”

  There’s no normal after loss. Last night was the first time I felt anything even remotely like the old me. But this morning, when I woke up on Angelo’s couch with Tate staring at us, all my newfound normalcy flew right out the window.

  Roger follows me into the shop and shrugs off his jacket, throwing it on a banquette chair near the doorway. “That’s not true. You’ve been doing well for a long time. This last week, I saw a glimpse of the old Tilly.”

  I spin around on my heels and tap my foot against the marble tile. “And who is the old Tilly?”

  He rubs his hands together and tilts his head, probably trying to figure out if I’m about to lose my shit entirely. “The old Tilly is playful and fun. Her smile is infectious and flirtatious.” He takes a few steps forward, easily closing the space between us, and grabs my shoulders. “She’s happy.”

  I sigh. “I feel more like myself than I have in years, even today, but…”

  “What happened last night? Was he an asshole?” He narrows his eyes, trying to read more into my statement than what I actually said. “Because I’ll kick his ass.”

  I can’t stop myself from laughing. Although Roger’s built, I don’t think he’s thrown a punch in ten years, which I’m sure hasn’t been the case for Angelo. “You aren’t going to hurt Angelo.”

  “I will if he hurt you.”

  I wrap my arms around Roger’s middle and rest my head on his chest. “Angelo was a perfect gentleman last night, Roger. Don’t be overdramatic.”

  He places his hands on my back, holding me tightly like he’s done so many other days. “Then what’s wrong?”

  “We kissed,” I whisper into his dress shirt. “A lot.”

  “That’s great, Til,” he says sweetly. “That’s a big step for you.”

  “Can I be honest?”

  He moves his head backward and glances down at me. “Always, doll.”

  “When we were kissing, everything was great. But afterward, when I woke up this morning, I felt like I was cheating on Mitchell.”

  Roger moves one hand off my back and brings his fingers to my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You can’t think that way.”

  “I do, though.”

  He has both hands on my face now. “Hey,” he whispers when I try to look everywhere else except his eyes. “Look at me.”

  For a moment, I keep my gaze trained on the cupcake case because this isn’t a conversation I am ready to have with Roger. He’s been trying to get me to find my happiness for years, but even talking with him about last night seems like a betrayal.

  “I’m proud of you,” he says softly as soon as I finally look at him.

  “For what? Kissing a man?”

  “For taking that step. It’s a big one.”

  I fist the sides of his dress shirt, tethering myself to him. “Will I ever get past the point of feeling like I’m cheating on your brother?”

  Roger sighs. “There’s no one in the world who loved my brother as much as you, Tilly, besides me. Sometimes even I feel guilty.”

  My eyes widen. “For what?”

  “For everything.”

  “That’s silly.”

  “No. It’s not.” I can see the pain in his eyes. “Mitchell isn’t here, standing with you today with his arms wrapped around you. I’m here in his place instead. There are moments where I’m happy, flying high on life, and then it all comes crashing down around me when I realize my brother won’t experience that type of joy again.”

  Tears form in my eyes. Sometimes, I forget I’m not alone in my grief. Moments like this, when we’re being raw and honest, remind me Roger’s lost just as much.

  “Don’t cry.” He swipes his thumbs over the top of my cheeks, wiping away my tears. “We’ve cried enough.”

  I don’t think I’ll ever cry enough tears for Mitchell. There were so many days when I thought I didn’t have another tear to shed, only to end up bawling my eyes out because of a song on the radio or a memory of something sweet from the past.

  “Now tell me what happened. Maybe I can help you figure out what’s really causing you so much pain.”

  I swallow hard before taking a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. “When we woke up this morning, Tate was staring at us.”

  Roger’s eyes widen. “Oh shit.”

  “We were dressed. We fell asleep on the couch, but still. I felt so shitty that she found me there.”

  “Was she upset?”

  I shake my head. “She made me help her get dressed and do her hair, and she insisted I stay for breakfast.”

  Roger smiles sweetly. “It sounds like Tate’s quite taken with you.�
��

  “But…”

  Roger raises an eyebrow. “Tilly, Tate’s been through more trauma than finding a fully dressed woman sleeping on her father’s couch.”

  I know he’s right. The kid’s been through more in her first seven years than I did in my first twenty. But that doesn’t make it easier for me to swallow or for any of it to feel right.

  “She shouldn’t have found me there.”

  “How did you sleep?”

  “The best sleep I’ve had in years.”

  I haven’t slept well since the day the men showed up on my doorstep, telling me the news of Mitchell’s death. But last night was the first night I slept peacefully.

  “I’m sure Angelo’s feeling a lot of what you are today, sweetheart. You should talk to him about it.”

  “I will,” I promise him. “You aren’t mad at me?”

  He looks at me funny. “For what?”

  “Kissing Angelo and staying over at his place.”

  “Tilly, there’s nothing you can do to make me mad. If you’re alone forever because you can’t move on, I’ll be pissed. But you can never make me upset by finding your happiness.”

  The bell above the front door rings. “Tilly,” Tate says from behind me.

  I turn, moving out of Roger’s arms. “Tate, baby. What are you doing here?”

  She’s eyeing Roger, probably wondering who the man is who’s touching me. “Who’s that man?”

  I walk toward Tate and crouch down so we’re eye-to-eye. “This is Roger. He’s my brother.”

  There’s no other way to describe him, especially to a seven-year-old. Roger’s the only family I have. Even though we’re not related by blood, he’s mine forever. No two people could go through what we endured and not have an eternal and lasting bond.

  “You have a brother like me?” she whispers.

  I nod.

  Tate steps around me and cranes her neck upward to look at Roger as he approaches. “I’m Tate,” she tells him.

  Roger laughs. “I’m Roger.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  “For what?” Roger asks Tate.

  She motions for him to bend down, and he does. “Because you have a sister like Tilly,” Tate whispers. “And she makes the best cupcakes in the world.”