by JA Huss
“I got this, Veronica. Just go to sleep. You were up half the night. Cindy and I can kick it today. Ford’s gonna take all the kids skiing, so you don’t have to do anything but rest.”
“I have to get dinner started.”
“Stop,” I say. “It’s seven in the morning. Whatever you’re cooking doesn’t take ten hours.”
“I wanted to make cookies…” She looks down as she places a hand over her stomach and then scowls. “But the last thing I need is cookies, so maybe it’s better if I just skip it this year?”
“What?” Did she just body-shame herself? “You really need some sleep, Bombshell. Pronto. Go back to bed and I’ll take care of things.”
She doesn’t even fight me, just drops her head back to the pillow and lets out a long sigh.
I ease out of the room quietly and take the baby downstairs. The house is big and the kitchen is far, but I can hear the bustle of kids and dogs before I even make it downstairs. When I walk in, it’s a madhouse.
I love this fucking madhouse. My girls are all laughing and talking a mile a minute. Belle is stuffing her face with pancakes, Jasmine and Ariel are clinking their OJ glasses together like they are having a secret toast, and Rory is…
I squint my eyes at Rory. She’s talking to Five, but that’s not what makes me squint my eyes. She’s wearing a Shrike Trikes t-shirt and sweat pants, but it’s the way… it’s the shape of her…
“Daddy,” Rory squeals, getting up from her stool at the breakfast bar and coming towards me. “Five wants to know—”
“Absolutely not.”
She stops short. “What?” Her smile falters.
Cindy smacks her little fist into my eyeball, and I have to take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, what were you going to ask?” I eye Five suspiciously. I know he’s always liked her, but he’s so weird. Like Ford, just weird. Always wearing those suits. Always on that computer. And he’s been in and out of different college programs since he was ten or eleven. He’s gone a lot and that’s the way I like it.
But today he looks… different. Different in the same way that Rory looks different in her innocent nightclothes. He almost looks normal in his flannel pajama pants and Shrike t-shirt. Add in the fact that his normally perfectly coiffed hair is messed up a little like he just rolled out of bed, and I get flushed with anger.
In fact, Rory’s long blonde hair is all messed up too. Flowing over her shoulders like an unruly waterfall. And Five is looking at her the way I look at the Bomb.
“But Daddy,” Rory pleads. “I need to go shopping.”
“Shopping?” I ask, ratcheting down my suspicions and getting a hold of my paranoia as the seconds tick off.
“Yeah, we don’t want to ski today. We want to go shopping in the Village.”
Shopping. I mull it over in my head. Lots of people there. Crowds of people, actually. Not private, in other words. “Maybe,” I say. “But I’m pretty sure Ford is counting on you to help him, Five.”
“Mr. Shrike,” Five starts. “I’ve already cleared it with my father. Kate’s helping him today. Right, Kate?” He looks over at his sister and there’s… there’s some kind of secret look going on between the two of them.
“Yup,” Kate says. She is as normal as Five is strange. And she’s been Ford’s little sidekick since day one. But she’s smarter than people give her credit for. I think she secretly likes it that way. Like being underestimated is the best gift she ever got out of being Ford’s adopted daughter. “Ford and I are skiing a double black once the kids are finished.”
“Well,” I say, eyeing my brood. Rory needs a chaperone. Belle, Jas and Ariel won’t go shopping. They love Ford too much to skip out on a whole day with him on the slopes. And there’s no chance in hell that Rook and Ronin will have time to shop today. Sparrow has ballet rehearsal before The Nutcracker tonight. “Oliver,” I say, smiling. “Ollie, my boy. You don’t want to ski today, do you? You hate skiing.” He does too, he can’t ski worth a shit. “Will you go with Rory and finds something extra-special pretty for Mommy today? She’s tired and needs a pick-me-up present before Santa comes.”
“Yay!” Oliver says. “Yes, yes, yes! I want to go shopping with Five. He’s the best, Daddy.”
I roll my eyes. “OK, good. You can go, Princess, but…” I look at Five. “But…”
“But what, Daddy?” Rory asks.
But what am I going to say to Five? You touch my girl, I’ll break your fingers? I’ll grab that shotgun I’m hiding under my bed and—“Just be home in time for dinner. Your mom is making something special tonight.”
“She says she’s making healthy stuff tonight,” Belle says, wrinkling her nose.
“Healthy stuff?” I have to shake my head at that one.
“Yeah,” Jas pipes in. “She says she needs to go on a diet because her old jeans don’t fit anymore.”
“Diet?” I’m not following. The Bombshell has never looked so good in her life. God, her fucking tits, man. Every time I look at them, I want to fuck her.
“We don’t want healthy food on Christmas Eve, Daddy,” Rory says. And that’s when it all becomes clear. The reason my princess looks so… different in her t-shirt are those… Jesus fuck.
My sweet little princess has turned into my Bombshell.
I stand there dumbstruck as the novelty of the bustling kitchen wears off and Cindy begins to wriggle in my arms again.
I absently find the teething ring in the freezer and hold it out for Cindy until her little hands are able to grasp it and fling her towards her mouth. She starts biting on it eagerly.
“You OK, Dad?” Oliver asks a few minutes later when the kids are all back to their normal kid things and ignoring me.
I let out a long breath of air and lean down to whisper in Ollie’s ear. “I’ll give you twenty bucks and a ride on my motorcycle when we get back home if you tell me everything Five says to Rory while they are out shopping.”
Oliver’s face lights up. “Deal.”
Chapter Five
Rory is dressed and ready and waiting downstairs before me. Hmmm, maybe Kate is right. Do I spend too much time on grooming?
“We’re going to have so much fun today, Five!” Oliver says as he bounds down the steps ahead of me.
“Finally!” Princess says with a giggle. “I’ve been ready for twenty minutes.”
“Where is everyone?”
“They all left. It’s just us. Well, my mom is sleeping and your mom is making cookie dough for the decorating party after the ballet. I think my mom is stressed, Five. My dad said we should get her something special for Christmas while we shop, but she’s not the kind of person who likes expensive trinkets, and that’s all they sell in the Village.”
“Yeah,” I say back, mulling this over. “She does deserve something nice. She always cooks for us. And she throws the best birthday parties. What kind of things does she like? Maybe we can take the limo and go somewhere else?”
Rory’s eye open wide. “The limo?”
“Let’s take the limo. Let’s take the limo,” Oliver starts chanting.
“Will your mom let us?” Rory asks, her hopes high.
Now this is a way to make an impression, am I right? Taking your princess out in a limo for a festive day of Christmas shopping. “Let’s go ask.”
The three of us walk into the kitchen where Ashleigh—I’m allowed to call her Ashleigh in my thoughts—is busily banging baking sheets and grabbing mixing bowls from the cupboards.
“Hey, Mom, can we take the limo shopping? We want to buy Ronnie—”
“Aunt Ronnie,” Ashleigh corrects me, as she searches through a drawer looking for something.
I roll my eyes. “—Aunt Ronnie a special present.”
“Yeah,” Rory chimes in. “And she won’t think some over-priced gift from the Village is special. It says last-minute, Aunt Ash.”
“That’s true,” I say, pointing a finger at Princess. “She works so hard, Mom. She needs a special present.”
Ashleigh stops what she’s doing, immediately suspicious of my intentions. I shoot her my innocent smile, but that only makes her scowl.
“My dad says do it up right, Aunt Ash. I feel we need to expand our horizons to find the perfect gift.”
“Hmmm,” Ashleigh says, thinking this over. “You’re right. She’s sorta down today. And she was up all night with Cindy, so she’s exhausted. Where do you think you’re going to go?”
“There’s an antique store in Copper,” Rory says, her hands pressed together like she’s begging and her little feet jumping up and down a little. “We could find something really cool there, I know it.”
My mom frowns. “Copper Mountain?” She tasks her tongue. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, come on, Ashleigh.” I do that on purpose to make her take us seriously. She trains her eyes on me, ready to pick a fight about what you call adults. But I hold a hand up. “We’re not kids. It’s not snowing. There’s no ice on the roads. It’s a limo, and Richard has been our Vail driver for ten years.”
“He’s not on call today, Five. It’s Christmas Eve. So no. You kids will have to find something nice for her in town.” And then she turns her back and returns her attention to the baking.
We walk back out to the foyer and when we get there, Rory has a royal pout on her face. “We’re never going to find anything good, Five.”
“I know!” Oliver says. “We can get her a new stroller for Cindy.”
I shoot him a look.
“Don’t be stupid, Oliver,” Rory says. “She’s tired of babies. She’s got six kids. She doesn’t want a new stroller. She wants something cool that makes her feel special and pretty. Like some new Frye boots. Or tickets to see Metallica. Or a new leather jacket. Or…” Her words trail off but her eyes light up. “Oh my God, I have the best idea.” But then her face falls again. “But it’s back at my dad’s shop.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“Never mind,” she says, clicking her tongue. “It’s pointless to even talk about it, because we can’t go all the way home.”
“Hmmmm,” I say.
“I know that hmmm,” Oliver says. “It says Five has an evil plan.” He rubs his hands together like a mad scientist.
“What if I can get us to Fort Collins? Do you know exactly where it is?”
Princess crinkles her face at me. “How would we get back to FoCo? It’s two hours away.”
“Well, we don’t technically have to be back here until six for dinner. And it’s only eight-thirty in the morning now. So we have tons of time.”
She smiles a smile that matches Oliver’s mad-scientist palm-rubbing. “Tell me.”
“We can Uber.” I smile as I say it. Uber is the teenager’s gift from God.
“Won’t Ash and Ford get an alert if we use the app?”
“Pffft. What do you think I am? A child? I’ve had my own credit cards since I was eleven.”
My princess hooks her arm into mine and leans her head on my shoulder. “You’re my hero, Five.”
Wow. Life lesson learned. Find a way to give a woman what she wants and you turn into her hero.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s walk down to the Village and call from there. I bet there are a ton of cars today.”
“Will they take us all the way to Fort Collins?” Rory asks.
“They will if we pay them enough.” That’s one lesson I learned growing up Aston. Money talks.
Chapter Six
“I don’t get why you’re giving me the silent treatment,” I say as we drive Sparrow over to the Vail theatre for the last Nutcracker dress rehearsal before the performance tonight.
“Sparrow,” Rook says, an edge to her voice. “Do you want me to hang out with you backstage and do your hair and make-up?”
“Oh, yeah,” she says. I look at my thirteen-year-old daughter in the rearview and smile. She’s so perfect. Her dark hair, her blue eyes. They are the same blue as Rook’s. The same blue as mine. Electric.
But I don’t like the idea of modeling. Rook knows this. I’m the one who should be giving her the silent treatment for telling Sparrow yes before we talked it over. Once, when Sparrow was six and Starling was just a new baby, Antoine took pictures of them. And since they both have bird names, like Rook, Elise thought it would be cool to dress them up in feathers and make them look like birds. Sparrow was holding Starling in her arms, her long dark hair falling over her face as she leaned down to give her new baby sister a kiss.
It was the most beautiful picture I’ve ever seen.
But lots of other people felt the same way. Antoine had it up in his office and every time a client came, they asked about it.
They asked about Sparrow, specifically. Was she available?
Was she fucking available? Antoine’s photographs are more child-friendly these days—he mostly does fashion now. But back then he had a few lingering clients for the erotic stuff.
I saw red.
Normally I’m a pretty easy-going guy. I don’t get worked up and I take it all in stride, knowing that there is a solution for every problem. But I punched that guy in the teeth that day. I almost got arrested. Antoine had to smooth things over so the client didn’t press charges. Antoine ended up doing the shoot for free.
I do not want my daughter’s face plastered all over the world like mine was. I do not want people to look at her and remark on her weight, or her legs, or whether or not she’s graceful or she can hold a pose that reminds people of a cat. It’s no one’s damn business.
Rook knows this. She was there that day.
I huff out a breath.
And yet here I sit getting the silent treatment.
I pull into the Vail theatre and stop at the backstage security guard and flash our pass. He nods at Sparrow, who looks like a dancer, even when she’s not in her costume or leotard.
“Do you want me to come in too, Sparrow?” I ask her, smiling into the rearview mirror.
“We got this,” Rook says, grabbing her purse. Sparrow is already halfway out of the backseat, pulling her bag filled with shoes, make-up and whatever else they use to put on a show behind her.
I grab Rook’s hand before she can make her own escape and pull her close. “Why are you mad at me? I never said a word. I should be the one mad at you.”
She crosses her arms. “Are you mad at me?” she challenges.
“No, but you know I don’t like the idea of her modeling. I hate the thought of people looking at her.”
“You do realize she’s a ballerina, right? You do realize that there will be three hundred people watching her tonight?”
“It’s not the same,” I say, weary of this fight before it even starts. “It’s dancing.”
“It’s the same thing. They want tall, skinny girls to dance, Ronin. They want girls who can work hard and dedicate their lives to the art. It’s the same thing. So I don’t understand why she can’t model for this equestrian catalog.”
“Well, you already told her she could, Rook. So if I say no, then I’m the bad guy.”
“That’s not the point. I want you to be happy for her. She doesn’t want to be a model, Ronin. She doesn’t even want to be a ballerina. She wants to be a veterinarian. But along the way she wants to explore these other things. She loves riding. The job isn’t about the modeling, it’s about the location where they’re doing the shoot. A big horse park down in Parker where she dreams of show jumping one day. And while we’re on that topic, you complain about that too.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“Well, why don’t we just forbid Starling from skiing then? That’s dangerous. Hell, let’s just stop them from walking across the street when we get home. They might get hit by a car.”
“There’s risks, and then there’s risks. Starling out on the bunny hill with Ford is—”
“Bunny hill?” Rook laughs. “Are you kidding me? When’s the last time you went out there to see her ski?”
I sigh. I’m totally losing this battle. Beca
use everything she said was true.
Rook opens her door and starts to get out, but then turns back. “I want you to enjoy them, Ronin. I want you to enjoy the skiing, the catalog shoot, the show tonight. The jumping she may or may not do next year. Because these kids are all growing up way too fast, and you’re going to miss out on memories if you don’t stop and enjoy it.”
Rook gets out and closes the door, walking to the backstage door where Sparrow is waiting. I wave at them. Only Sparrow waves back.
Hmmm. Am I working too much? Is that what’s she saying? And what kind of skiing is Starling doing? I really don’t go out on the slopes much. I’m busy running the Fort Collins theatre and we have film festivals twice a year. The prep work is never-ending. As soon as one festival ends, it’s time to get ready for the next one. Six months is barely enough time to make it come off without a hitch. To make it perfection.
But I’m home every night for dinner. I do go see Sparrow ride because she takes lessons out at Spencer’s farm with Kate and Rory and Belle. And I catch all her shows and recitals.
But Starling… she might get the short end of the deal from me. She’s only six, so I guess I just figured she was too young to miss me at all her little kiddie activities. Soccer, and T-ball, and tennis.
Hmmm.
A car honks behind me and I wave to the eager stage parent who needs to drop off a daughter for rehearsal and ease the car forward.
I’m going to see what Starling is really up to out on those slopes.
Chapter Seven
“Here, Dad,” Kate says. “Let me put this on you.”
“What’s that?” I ask, not taking my eyes off Starling as she navigates the freestyle area of the terrain park.
“Just a colored armband so the kids can find you easily.”
“What?” I ask, looking down at the swath of red fabric. “Why do I need this? We only have Belle, Ariel, Jasmine, and Starling out here today.”
“It’s crowded, Dad,” Kate says, looking down at a clipboard.
