Ten Thousand Hours

by Ren Benton

  He surprised a laugh out of Griff. In the absence of a deserving target, the strain holding him taut abruptly vacated, leaving him weak and unsupported.

  His surly, never-satisfied brother smiled and slapped him on the back. “Good work.”

  Griff might have to have his jaw surgically lifted to recover from this evening.

  In the parking lot, Sarah and Ivy waved goodbye to the modest Ford Taurus favored by the billionaire for everyday use. The women hugged each other before parting. Ivy shot a sour look at Dan over his wife’s shoulder and headed toward Griff’s car, leaving him to follow.

  He dropped a quick peck on Sarah’s cheek and trotted after the best impulse he’d ever acted upon, his strength fully restored.

  She squeaked when he scooped her into his arms. “Griff!”

  She did not demand to be put down, so he kept her close to his heart. He nodded at a pair of diners in passing. “Lovely evening, isn’t it?”

  Ivy latched onto his shoulders. “They’re going to call the police to report a madman in the parking lot.”

  “You could talk them out of arresting me.” He buried his nose in her hair. She smelled like coconut cream pie. Her charitable definition of romantic probably wouldn’t stretch to include being told she was sweet, soft, and left him with little bits to chew on after she was gone. Instead, he said, “You were fantastic in there.”

  “I nearly ruined everything for you.”

  “How did you arrive at that completely inaccurate conclusion?”

  “If I hadn’t been here, your brother wouldn’t have been here.” She tipped her face up. Little lines of worry crossed her forehead. “If your brother hadn’t been here, he wouldn’t have been such a douchebag.”

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so close to anyone. The way to a man’s heart was through mutual disgust toward his brother. “There’s a good chance he would have been just as much of a douchebag elsewhere.”

  “I understand now why you couldn’t wait to leave home for the comforts of a flophouse.” Her hand stroked the back of his neck, and he had to lean against the car to support his disintegrating legs. “If I’m too heavy, put me down.”

  His grip tightened. “I could carry you all the way to bed if you’d stop making my knees weak.”

  She rubbed his earlobe between her thumb and forefinger and exacerbated the problem. “You must not be too mad at me if there’s a possibility of getting you in a bed.”

  He set her on her feet before he dropped her on the asphalt and made love to her right there to prove how mad he wasn’t.

  To keep her close, he pressed her between his body and the car. “Rafferty cares about the character of the people he does business with. I could ooze all the charm in the world, and at the end of the day, all it would prove to him is that I produce a lot of slime. However, having a woman in my life who respects her elders, eviscerates her attackers, and looks warmly upon me casts me in a favorable light.”

  Her eyes were warm. Her thighs pressed against his were warm. Her breath was warm on his throat. She had the power to soften him and mold him into something better that met Rafferty’s approval. “He likes you. He trusts your judgment. If I’m good enough for you, I’m good enough for him. Good enough to overcome his dislike of my brother, even. He’s going to sign the contract.”

  “That’s wonderful news.” Her lips brushed his chin, warming, softening, molding him into something she would like. “Why don’t we get out of here and celebrate?”

  He wanted to prove to her there was more between them than sex. He was determined to do things differently. But he hadn’t counted on his honor and good intentions saying, You’re on your own, dummy, the instant she put her mouth on him and offered him something worth celebrating.

  He missed her so damn much. The way she played. The change in her when her need became serious. And yes, dammit, the feel of her lips and skin and her body wrapped tight around him.

  Her face was tipped at that perfectly kissable angle again. He bent his head to make the most of the opportunity.

  Her purse chimed, jarring both of them. Ivy closed her eyes. “That’s Jen.”

  He lifted the tiny purse she trusted him enough to downsize to for an evening and unsnapped the clasp so she could reach her phone.

  She answered. The change in her was immediate. Celebrating, kissing, and Griff were forgotten.

  Her worry stripped him of his own selfish interests, too. Jen’s voice was only a buzz to him. Was one of the kids hurt? Had Holly shown up? His fingers itched to snatch the phone out of Ivy’s hand and interrogate the babysitter.

  “No, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll be right there.” Ivy disconnected and pressed the phone to her temple as if to soothe an ache there. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

  “Are the kids all right?”

  “Fevers across the board. I’ll call a cab.”

  The flare of anger at the assumption he’d abandon her in a parking lot was self-directed. He’d never in his life been a model of reliability. He couldn’t say, Hey, give me some credit for all the times I came through. He had no collateral with her, and little with anyone else.

  He was overdue to build some.

  He opened the passenger door and repeated her words to Jen. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He drove her home and followed her to the door. She stopped just over the threshold at the sight of four flushed, miserable children lined up on the sofa. “Aw, you poor guys.”

  He invited himself in and closed the door at his back.

  She asked Jen, “What happened?”

  “I went to put Cole down for the night and noticed he felt warm. Before I could find your thermometer, Heather said she felt hot and asked for some ice, and within ten minutes, Lily and Blake were showing signs, too.”

  “Oh, Jen. I hope you don’t catch it.”

  “I’ll bathe in bleach and burn my clothes as soon as I get home, but as much time as we’ve spent mingled the past couple of weeks, I’m sure we’re all good and contaminated already. I’ve been expecting Roger to report an outbreak in ours.”

  “Fingers crossed you don’t get that call.” Ivy spun toward Griff, eyes wide. “I hugged Sarah.”

  She made it sound as if she’d been covered in radioactive waste at the time. He couldn’t keep a trace of laughter out of his voice. “Do you want me to call her and tell her to put on a hazmat suit?”

  “At least warn her. The baby’s so little.”

  She knew how to ram a point right into a nerve. “I’ll let her know. Can I drive you home, Jen?”

  “I’m only three houses away.”

  “I’ll walk you, then.”

  She mouthed something to Ivy that looked like Keeper.

  He held the door open for his new ally and told Ivy, “I’ll be back to help in five.”

  She gave him an absent smile as she pressed the backs of her fingers to Heather’s forehead, higher priorities than his whereabouts demanding her focus.

  He trailed Jen down the steps. “I always wondered why we need thermometers when mothers can lay hands and tell a temperature within a hundredth of a degree.”

  Jen laughed. “It’s not quite that precise. You learn the difference between normal, a little warm, and dangerously hot, and those are the only three temperatures that matter.”

  From the end of the walkway, he glanced back at the house. “They’re not—”

  “No,” she hastened to assure him. “Why do men fall apart when someone gets sick?”

  “Because being powerless destroys illusions we’re very proud of.”

  She tilted her head to look at him, surprised to get such a bare answer.

  Admitting shortcomings was an excellent way to get someone’s undivided attention. Her husband really should try it. “How’s it going with Roger?”

  Her voice frosted. “Ivy told you?”

  “I met him once. He was overwrought at the time.”

  She exhaled sharply. “I find th
at hard to believe.”

  He had an overwhelming urge to sit Roger down and give him some unsolicited advice that was obvious after one peek into the relationship from the outside. Do not play cool and controlled with this woman. Yell at her like you yelled at Ivy so she knows you feel something.

  That would make him a hypocrite, of course. He’d felt betrayed when he saw Ivy in a wedding gown, and his manly solution to that problem had been to pretend she never existed so he would have no feelings for her to wound. And what was he doing now? Pretending to be cool and controlled so he’d look more responsible while inside he was all heat and panic because he cared too much for comfort. Posturing to cover up feeling powerless.

  “We’re trying,” Jen said without enthusiasm. “Searching for a new normal. Now that I’ve seen him working on Ivy’s custody case, I understand how demanding his job is.”

  She sounded as if she’d resigned herself to the same circumstances she’d walked away from because she understood him better, while her husband made no adjustments for her. “How many kids do you have?”

  “Three.”

  “That’s demanding, too.”

  “Yeah. Well. That’s the stress right there. Fitting an us into the cracks between all the demands. This is me.” She jerked a thumb at a Craftsman house on a lot as narrow as Ivy’s. “Thanks, bodyguard. Don’t forget to warn Sarah she’s germy.”

  “Next on my list.”

  She went inside and lifted a lace curtain to wave him off.

  On the return walk, he called Sarah to report potential contamination and promised to convey her sympathy to Ivy for having four sickos to contend with.

  Missions accomplished, he trotted up Ivy’s steps, only to hesitate at the door. Knocking would put her in the perfect position to bar his entry and gently but firmly tell him to get lost. There was no doubt in his mind she could handle this crisis — any crisis — on her own, but if another pair of hands could lift some of the load off her shoulders, his were on offer. He didn’t want to give her an opportunity to decline because of her aversion to being burdensome.

  He opened the door and walked into her house as if he belonged there, just as Ivy came down the hall from the bedrooms, now wearing a sweatshirt and yoga pants.

  Lily bounced off the sofa and opened her mouth to announce his return.

  What emerged instead was a geyser of barf.

  In light of their discussion during the drive to the restaurant, Ivy could see the humor in an otherwise appalling situation. She asked Griff, “How special do you feel now?”

  Blake gagged and bolted past her to get to the bathroom.

  Lily emitted an ear-piercing wail.

  Heather wrapped a throw pillow around her head to cover her ears.

  Ivy scooped Cole off the floor to halt his imminent investigation of the puddle.

  Griff sidestepped the vomit and picked up the crying child with valiant disregard for what was probably an expensive suit. His instincts ended there. He looked to Ivy with obvious terror. “What should I do?”

  Oh, did he think there was a standard operating procedure for this? Ivy’s command of the situation up to this point had been to change out of her dress and into her feeling-sorry-for-myself sweatshirt so she’d be comfortable for administering cuddles and fluids. If anything, her horror exceeded his. At least he had the option of leaving.

  She was going to be a terrible person and take advantage of the fact that he seemed too shell-shocked to think of escape because, frankly, she was a bit overwhelmed herself. “Wash her face and give her some water. Heather, show Griff where the cups and paper towels are.”

  She put Cole in his crib. He promptly began rattling the bars and protesting like a wrongly convicted prisoner. She hated using the crib for anything but sleep for just this reason, but she didn’t have enough attention to give him at the moment and needed a safe zone.

  Blake emerged from the bathroom at the same time Ivy left Cole’s room. She stroked his hair back from his sweaty forehead. “Will you do me a favor and keep your brother company while I clean the carpet?”

  He nodded and trudged into the nursery, listless but on board with any chore that kept him away from the mess that triggered his heaving.

  Ivy lugged the carpet shampooer out of the hall closet. Someday, she would rip out the carpet and have floors that didn’t absorb everything expelled by children. In the meantime, a good portion of her limited storage space was occupied by the beast they’d dubbed the Gunk Gobbler.

  She scooped up unmentionable solids with paper towels, congratulated herself on retaining her own stomach’s contents, and let the machine suck up the residue, leaving behind a damp rectangle and a refreshing chemical scent.

  She emptied the tank into the toilet, rinsed it in the tub, and left it there to dry.

  Blake met her in the hall with Cole in his arms. “He wanted out.”

  “Do you want me to take him?”

  “I’ve got him.”

  He had become possessive since Holly abandoned him to take over all her parenting responsibilities. Ivy guessed he didn’t want to be caught with his guard down if it happened again. She probably shouldn’t have asked him to keep an eye on his brother to compensate for her inattention.

  If it weren’t so sad, it would be hilarious that Griff thought she had all the answers. “I’m headed to the kitchen to break out the sick kit. Interested?”

  Blake showed his interest by preceding her.

  Heather and Lily sat on the counter by the sink, which made Ivy’s stomach clench, but Griff was only inches away, a twitch of his hand from preventing a plunge to the floor. He supervised Lily’s noisy slurps of water.

  Ivy went into the pantry and rummaged behind spice bottles until she found a hidden can of 7Up.

  Griff gasped when he saw what she held in her hand. “Contraband? I am shocked.”

  “It’s medicinal.” The only times she had received 7Up during childhood were to ease an upset stomach, so she strongly associated the stuff with vomit. “Regardless of whether you believe the sugar counteracts the acid stomach, it does cheer them up to have a treat.”

  Also, it was clear, so in the event it came back up, there would be one less stain to worry about.

  “Do I have to throw up before I get some?” Heather was clearly willing to do whatever it took to get her share.

  “No, baby. That is one contest we are never going to have.” She dispensed half a cup of water mixed with a third of the soda to each of the older kids. Cole was content with a sippy cup of plain water and a transfer to her arms so Blake could drink without baby hands in his glass.

  The box of saltines in the cupboard produced only six crackers, wringing a sigh from her. “I can never remember eating these, but the box is always empty.”

  Griff remained on guard by the girls’ perch. “My mom swore by dry toast.”

  “We’ll try that if anyone’s ravenous after this feast.”

  Heather’s tummy wasn’t hollow enough to make saltines appealing. Cole was more interested in crinkling the empty wrapper against Ivy’s cheek. She gave two crackers to Lily and four to Blake, since he was twice his sister’s size.

  Blake waited while his sister nibbled hers and then handed her one of his, then another. Only when Lily pushed away his offering did he eat the last two.

  “Anybody want some yummy dry toast?” She hoped anyone who detected the catch in her voice attributed it to the plastic being smooshed against her nose rather than choking back a scream because a ten-year-old boy felt it necessary to give up his whole ration of food to take care of his siblings.

  Blake dusted his crumby hands over the sink. “I just want to go to bed.”

  Lily’s chin trembled. “Don’t wanna sick in my bed.”

  Ivy didn’t relish the thought of vomit where she slept, either, but if anyone was going to get any sleep tonight, someone would have to volunteer their bed for that risk.

  “How about a blanket fort?” Griff suggested
. “Then everybody can camp out in the living room together.”

  And nobody’s mattress would get barfed on. “That’s a great idea. You guys go get your pillows and blankets.”

  Blake plodded toward his room. Griff helped Heather, then Lily down from the counter. The girls held hands on their way to strip the beds in the room they shared.

  Griff leaned against the counter. “Do you want me to get your blankets while you put Cole to bed?”

  The baby had conked out against her shoulder, saltine wrapper clutched in one hand, sippy cup in the other. She gently extracted the cup and set it on the table. “That would be good.”

  In the absence of miserable kids and hazardous waste, she had a moment to devote to the man in her home. He had shed his jacket and tie and rolled his shirtsleeves up his forearms. He looked simultaneously at ease and unnerved, and the fact that he was there at all made her soft.

  Because he was there, she had the luxury of being soft for a moment. “Thank you for helping.”

  He stepped toward her, carefully studied her face, and brushed his lips as close to hers as he could without encountering crinkly plastic. “My pleasure. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go apply my skills and experience to fort construction.”

  Ivy put the baby in his crib, amazed that he slept through having the wrapper gently but noisily pried from his fist. She turned on the baby monitor before leaving his room. She went to her bedroom to grab the receiving unit from the bedside table.

  Her bed was stripped to the fitted sheet. Just her luck. Griffin Dunleavy had touched her bed, and she hadn’t been anywhere near it.

  She returned to the living room. The fort was more of a lean-to in its present state. Blake had succumbed to exhaustion lying on top of the blanket draped over the couch. Someone had tossed another blanket over him. The girls spooned in a nest of pillows on the floor, also asleep.

  Griff sat on the floor with his back against a chair, legs stretched in front of him. He patted the carpet beside him. “Welcome to Camp Weary, located on the shores of scenic Lake Better-Not-Think-About-It.”

  The pillows and blankets skirted the wet area of the carpet.