Blast From The Past (The Boston Five Series #2)

by Poppy J. Anderson

  Despite being slammed by both his mother and Thorne right now, he realized with surprise that he had rarely felt this happy. He didn’t know whether that was because his mom was speaking to him again, or because Thorne was looking at him with an exuberant smile for a change. He didn’t care whether she was laughing with him or at him—he was just glad the exuberant smile was directed at him.

  “Honey, would it be okay if I chatted a little with Brady?” Ellen asked gently.

  He could see Thorne swallow before amiably answering, “Of course.”

  She called Brady over to her side, and he slipped underneath the table to emerge next to her, nestling into her arm and looking at his grandmother with great curiosity.

  Ellen’s eyes were moist with emotion, but she smiled warmly. “Hello, Brady. Do you know who I am?”

  Brady cocked his head to the side and, with the typical seriousness of a six-year-old, said, “No. How would I know that?”

  Ellen leaned closer and giggled. “Of course you’re right, my dear. So I’ll tell you. I’m your grandma.”

  “Are you sure?” Brady asked skeptically.

  “Yes, I’m very sure,” she said, visibly touched. “When your dad was as little as you are now, he looked exactly like you.”

  Brady’s gaze traveled to Shane, scrutinized the tall frame of his father, and came to rest on his face. “Will I have all that hair on my face when I’m older, too?”

  Shane felt his face with his free hand, rubbing his stubble, restraining Joey with the other. His mother was running her hand through Brady’s hair. “That remains to be seen, honey. Do you want to show me your new toy?”

  With a grand gesture, Brady placed the tiny red vehicle on the table in front of her. He moved a little closer to her and explained knowingly, “It’s a fire engine, and it has a turntable ladder.”

  Shane realized that his mother hadn’t looked this happy in a long time, either. She listened attentively while Brady explained all he knew about the small truck. Ellen placed a shaky hand on the back of her grandson’s thin neck. A tiny spark of jealousy flickered in Shane’s chest, because he realized how precious this time with his son was. He wanted the boy’s attention all to himself. He wanted to place his own hand on his tender neck, pull him closer, and listen to his explanations. Instead, he was standing behind him studying the little dark head with so much longing that it made his throat constrict. Brady was still so new to him that it was hard to share this miracle with anyone, even his mom. But he knew she wouldn’t have stood for anything less.

  And he had to admit it felt great to see his family expand to incorporate Brady and Thorne.

  “Are you going to be a firefighter when you grow up, too?” Ellen asked. “Like your grandpa and uncle?”

  Shane opened his mouth to suggest his son might just as well follow in his footsteps and become a policeman, but Thorne’s breezy laughter stopped him. This was not the right moment to risk opening old wounds, so he was silent.

  “Was my grandpa a firefighter, too?” Brady asked.

  “Yes, he sure was. And Shane’s grandpa, too.” Stroking the back of Brady’s neck, Ellen went on to tell him, “Your uncle Ryan is a policeman, and your aunt, Kayleigh, is a doctor. Your uncle Kyle used to work here, too, but now he’s going to school again to become a doctor like his sister.”

  Brady tilted his head back and let out a loud sigh. “I have a lot of uncles and aunts.”

  His grandma giggled happily. “That’s right, honey. And you’re going to meet them all when you come visit me soon.”

  Shane clenched his teeth and gave Thorne an inquisitive look.

  Her expression was unreadable at first, but then she nodded with half a smile.

  Chapter 11

  Nothing had prepared her for the sight of Shane in swimming trunks.

  She and Brady had just entered the pool area when Shane approached them with his hand raised high and a wide smile on his face. A quick glance at Brady told her this was no coincidence.

  “Brady?” she asked, struggling for composure yet again. “What is your dad doing here?”

  The look on Brady’s face was pure innocence mingled with unadulterated joy. “I asked him to come. He’s a really good swimmer.”

  She cleared her throat and licked her suddenly dry lips. “How do you know that?”

  Her son shrugged. “Dunno.”

  Before she could comment on that, he started running towards his father, his flip-flops slapping the wet floor, and then he hugged Shane excitedly. Thorne didn’t know whether she wanted to spank or tackle-hug her clever son. Sometimes he made her want to scream in frustration—like right now, for example.

  It was nice to see he was already so fond of his dad, and it was also nice to see they got along so well. Shane was also more than nice to look at in his trunks. But what was not quite so nice was the fact that she hadn’t known he would be here today. A small warning would have been nice so she could have decided for herself whether she wouldn’t prefer to stay home. Or at least buy a new swimsuit. Now she was wearing her ugly, old, black one-piece. She immediately started panicking over when she had last shaved her legs and how much weight she had gained in the last seven years.

  Now there was no way she could relax and enjoy an idyllic excursion to the pool with her son.

  She felt at a disadvantage facing Shane in a bathing suit, whereas he didn’t seem to have any qualms about parading in his swimming trunks before her. And he did look the very picture of health.

  Frustrated, she pondered how unfairly Mother Nature had distributed her charms. Women had to spend hours applying make-up, doing their hair, squeezing themselves into tight and uncomfortable clothes, and wobbling about in horribly high heels—all just to be reasonably presentable. The only thing men had to do, on the other hand, was act cool and casual. They could be unshaven, uncombed, even covered in dirt, and women would still swoon over them. Shane might have been shaven and combed and devoid of dirt at the moment, but she felt her knees go weak at the sight of him anyway.

  In the intervening years, he had lost all the youthful attributes she had known. He had been tall when she met him, but the twenty-three-year-old she remembered now possessed broader shoulders, more prominent muscles, and darker hair on his chest and the well-defined six-pack. It would have been fairer if he had been cursed with a receding hairline or a growing beer belly, but no such luck. Shane Fitzpatrick was not only blessed with a damned handsome face but also with such an impressive physique that a few of the female patrons of the pool were already openly staring at him.

  Thorne ground her teeth, damning her bland old swimsuit and feeling like Cinderella—before the magical transformation.

  The difference between her and Cinderella, however, was that she didn’t have pigeons who helped with the housework or a prince to come riding in on his steed and present her with a glass slipper. But what she did share with the fairy-tale character was her ability to put up a brave front. So she walked over to where father and son were standing and crossed her arms in front of her chest protectively.

  “Hello, Shane.”

  “Hi, Thorne.” He grinned, taking the wind out of her sails immediately. “Thanks for letting me join you guys today.”

  She waved it away. “No problem.”

  “I want to jump from the tower,” Brady declared, pulling at his father’s hand.

  For a moment, Thorne was afraid Shane would agree to everything their son suggested, but she was relieved when he shook his head and stopped the already panting boy from dragging him along. With a patient but firm expression, he said, “First of all, you don’t just jump in, because it’s cold. And secondly, I want to see how well you can swim before we do anything else.”

  Thorne made a face as Brady unquestioningly obeyed his father. She knew he would have badgered her with a thousand buts and ifs in the same situation.

  “Okay, but I’m really a good swimmer, Dad.”

  “And that’s what I want to see
.” Shane gave her a confidential wink before turning back to Brady.

  She didn’t let on that she was miffed, but she had a bitter taste in her mouth. To add insult to injury, Shane didn’t seem to be even mildly interested in seeing her in a bathing suit.

  She shook her head at her idiot self. She should’ve been glad he didn’t show any interest in her. Shane Fitzpatrick was history, and she wouldn’t let him fool her again—so why was she feeling this queasiness in her stomach?

  When Brady took both his parents’ hands in his and started pulling them along to the pool like an overexcited puppy, Thorne caught a glimpse of the way it must’ve felt to be part of a small family. She was happy for her son, but for her, it was hard to deal with having Shane around all the time.

  The good thing about the situation was that she could sit on the edge of the pool and watch them while Shane took care of her son’s swimming practice. She was glad to pass on that honor to someone else, because she was really no sporting ace. In the beginning, she had joined them in the water, but then she’d retreated to the edge of the pool and wrapped herself in her towel, observing the saintly patience with which Shane showed Brady how to dive and bring back a ring from the bottom of the pool.

  She smiled when her son dunked his father and squealed triumphantly before being pulled under and re-emerging with a lot of splashing and giggling and spitting of water. And then she felt her heart expand with pride as Brady climbed the steps to the tower with a determined expression. She held her breath as he jumped the great distance into the pool, where Shane was treading water, ready to grab him if necessary.

  At the end of the afternoon, they convinced her to get into the water once again so she could watch Brady dive for the ring and swim an entire lap. He paddled the water proudly, looking a little like a panting dog, and she couldn’t help wrapping him tightly in his towel when they got out afterwards and cuddling him like a baby.

  “Mom,” Brady protested, self-conscious because of his dad’s presence. “That’s embarrassing.”

  She let go and watched him play it cool, emulating the way Shane was rubbing his hair dry with his towel.

  “I know a great restaurant close by,” Shane said. “They have really tasty burgers. What do you think? Should we go get something to eat?”

  Thorne answered Shane’s expectant look with a curt smile, but she knew she didn’t need to ask Brady what he thought of the suggestion. He was always up for burgers, and right now, he liked nothing more than spending time with his dad.

  As soon as she was alone with her son in the changing room, she asked him off-handedly, “Did you have a good time today, honey?”

  “You bet!” He tilted his head back and grinned as he carefully combed his wet hair. “It was great, and I can swim really well now. And Dad showed me how to dive. I never got it right before today! The next time we go swimming in school, I’ll be able to show everybody.”

  His ambition was cute, but she had also noted something else. Thorne buttoned her blouse. “Do you like your dad, Brady?” she asked casually.

  “Oh yeah,” he said, his childlike voice serious. “I like him a lot.”

  “You know, love, he likes you a lot, too.” She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I think he would be very happy if you called him ‘Dad’ to his face, too—but only if you’re comfortable with that.”

  She had already noted a few times that while Brady was finally approaching his dad without the slightest reservation or inhibition, he had never called him “Dad” to his face. It was obvious he avoided addressing him at all because he wasn’t sure whether to call him “Dad” or “Shane.”

  His wide eyes scrutinized her expression, before he asked anxiously, “Really?”

  She nodded in encouragement and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Really. If you want to call him Dad, then of course you’re welcome to.”

  “And you think he’ll like that?”

  She smiled and nodded again. “I’m certain.”

  When they reunited with Shane at the exit, Thorne noticed the satisfied smile with which Brady looked up at his father, taking in every word he said. And Shane’s expression was just as contented as he began an animated discussion on the merits of ketchup versus mustard on a burger, which lasted all the way to the restaurant he had recommended. As they had ordered their food, Thorne noticed appreciatively that he had picked a place that even had a separate room where kids could play and make noise without bothering the other patrons.

  Brady had sat next to Shane, giving Thorne the opportunity to observe the two dark-haired heads engrossed in conversation. Brady was delighted to hear that his father disliked pickles and tomatoes on his burger, just like him, and from time to time Thorne rolled her eyes as father and son laughed in an identical fashion.

  “Today we had our first real rehearsal for the play,” Brady said. “Forester Smith forgot most of his lines, and then he started crying because a few of the other kids laughed at him.”

  “Brady, I sure hope you weren’t among them,” Thorne chided. She gave him a questioning look, which he answered with an innocent shake of his head.

  Of course he had laughed, she thought, because she knew her own son. Instead of keeping on about the issue, though, she let him go on with his story and sipped her hot chocolate.

  “And now Forester doesn’t want to be part of the play anymore. His mom came to school to talk to the teacher about it. And nobody else wants to play his part.”

  “Why not?” his dad wanted to know.

  “Because he already wore the costume.” Brady shrugged. “He farts when he’s nervous. That’s why nobody wants to sit next to him when we’re taking tests. And now everybody thinks he farted in the costume, and nobody wants to wear it.”

  Shane burst into laughter, but Thorne lowered her head and sighed loudly.

  “Brady, what did I say about using certain words in public?” she demanded dryly.

  “But, Mom! All people fart! Forester just does it more often than everybody else.”

  The logic was flawless, but Thorne patiently said, “Be that as it may, we can still decide to talk about something else over dinner.”

  This only seemed to incite Brady, because next he confided to his father, “When Forester eats burgers, he farts a lot more. Because of the onions, I think.”

  “Brady!”

  His gap-toothed grin was unrepentant.

  Something seemed to occur to Shane. “Forester?” he asked. “Who calls their son ‘Forester’?”

  Thorne turned up her mouth and nodded in Brady’s direction, trying to remind Shane that he needed to restrain himself in front of his son.

  Resistant to advice as Shane was, he merely grinned inveterately. “No wonder the boy’s bullied, if he’s cursed with a name like that and a farting problem.”

  Father and son broke into exaggerated laughter.

  “Wonderful,” she muttered. “You’re a pair of clowns.”

  Brady suddenly surprised them both by pulling on Shane’s sleeve and timidly asking, “Do you want to come see the play, too?” He paused for a moment and then added, “Dad?”

  Shane looked positively bamboozled for a long moment. His eyes widened, and his face grew serious. “Of course,” he finally answered hoarsely. “I’d love to.”

  Brady didn’t seem to notice the emotional weight that had suddenly descended on the table. He merely nodded, satisfied with the positive answer. “Cool.”

  “Yeah,” Shane said, “very cool.”

  ***

  “Hello, Dad!”

  Shane smiled when he heard his son’s voice over the phone and turned away from the computer screen. “Hey, buddy. Since when do you call me?”

  “I took Mom’s phone out of her purse.”

  Shane’s suspicion was obvious in his drawn-out answer. “Oooo-kay.”

  “I’m allowed to do that,” Brady added hastily.

  Shane didn’t believe that for a second. He frowned as he took
off his shoulder holster and placed it on his desk. “Why don’t you put your mom on, Brady?”

  “I can’t. She’s sleeping.” The boy lowered his voice and spoke in a whisper, “I want to cook soup for her. Dad, what’s ‘vegetable broth’?” He seemed to be reading it off something.

  Brady’s explanation only served to alarm Shane. He bolted upright. “Wait a minute, Brady! Where are you now?”

  “I’m in the kitchen—”

  “Keep your hands off the stove, do you hear me?”

  “But I want to cook soup for her,” his son protested weakly.

  Shane told him a second time, trying to make his voice sound authoritative. “I’m not joking, Brady. Don’t touch the stove, okay? I mean it.”

  “Okay …”

  Shane exhaled anxiously. “What’s wrong with your mom? Why do you want to make her soup?”

  “She’s sick in bed. She told me to go upstairs and play with my friend Gayle, but then I thought if I made soup for her, she’d get better.”

  Shane wondered what was going on over there, and he felt his heart beat faster by the minute. “Listen, Brady. You stay away from the stove and go sit in the living room. Maybe watch some TV. I’ll come over and see if I can do anything for you, okay?”

  “Okay.” Brady sounded undecided. “I could make her a cup of tea.”

  “No.” Shane grabbed his jacket and put away his gun. “As soon as I get there, I’ll make her that cup of tea. Please do me a favor and don’t try to cook anything in the kitchen.”

  “Okay,” Brady said again, sounding slightly annoyed now.

  “You promise me that, pal?”

  His son sighed into the phone. “I promise.”

  Luckily, Brady seemed to have kept his promise, as Shane noticed a few minutes later when he stepped into the apartment. Sometimes being a cop had its advantages, he thought, because he’d broken the speed limit to get here quickly.

  “Hey.” He ruffled Brady’s hair and closed the door behind him. “So what’s wrong with your mom?”