Them (Him #3)

by Carey Heywood

  “Coffee?”

  This kid loves Starbucks coffee. Since it supposedly stunts your growth, we don’t let him have it all the time, though.

  He nods.

  “Want to text Sarah and see if she wants us to get her something?”

  He nods again, pulling out his phone. The bill for his phone and his dad’s now come to our house. It’d be cheaper to turn off his dad’s phone and add his phone to our plan, but we haven’t done that because Logan likes to call and text his dad even though he’s gone. In my eyes, whatever little amount of peace that brings him is worth the added expense.

  His phone chirps with Sarah’s reply.

  “What does she want?”

  “An eggnog latte.”

  I crinkle my nose. “That sounds disgusting.”

  He laughs and given our earlier conversation, that sounds like music to my ears.

  Sarah is waiting inside the door with Rascal when we get home. Her eyes light up as Logan passes her coffee to her, and she gives him the puppy in exchange. Logan snuggles her to his chest and heads off toward the den. Once he’s out of sight, I motion for Sarah to follow me upstairs to our room.

  I close the door behind her and lean my back against it.

  “How’d it go?” she asks, taking a sip of her drink.

  “He asked me if he’s cursed.”

  Her eyes round as her mouth falls open. “Why would he think that?”

  I shake my head. “I asked him if any of the kids from school said anything but he said no.”

  She presses her hand to her chest. “That breaks my heart that he would even ask such a thing.”

  Taking her drink from her, I place both of our cups on the dresser next to the door before tugging her into my arms. “I know.”

  “Should we call his counselor?”

  I kiss the side of her head, comforted by the fruity smell of her conditioner. “That’s not a bad idea.”

  She presses closer to me. “You are a good man, Will Price.”

  “Hush, darling.”

  She pulls back, her eyes flashing. “I mean it. I was scared when you asked if Logan could come live with us. I know nothing about taking care of a kid, and even less about a teenage boy. I knew we could do it, though, because I’d have you and you’d know what to do.”

  I slip my hand behind her neck and pull her closer, tucking her face into my neck until I could feel her breath on my skin. “I have no clue what I’m doing.”

  She kisses my neck. “Well, you must be doing something right for him to confide in you like that.”

  “Thank you for saying that.”

  We grab our drinks and make our way into the den where Logan is playing a game called Minecraft. He’s tried to show me how to play a couple of times. I have to be missing the point because as far as I can tell, it’s nothing more than a glorified set of virtual building blocks. He’s mentioned being able to interact with other players, but so far he hasn’t.

  As long as he doesn’t have the volume up too loud, Sarah and I like to hang out in the room while he plays. Sarah reads on her e-reader and I play on the floor with Rascal, and Logan abandons that game not long after to play with the dog and me.

  “Hey,” Sarah says, making both of us look up. “Should we go get a Christmas tree tonight?”

  Logan shrugs but doesn’t say no, which is the same thing as saying yes, as far as Sarah is concerned.

  Standing, she asks, “Do we want a fake tree or a real tree this year?”

  I’ve been trying to talk her into getting a fake tree since we bought this house. Sure, a real tree smells nice and is more authentic, but I’m the one who ends up cleaning up all the needles and having to keep it watered. Plus, the fake ones can come pre-lit. All I want for Christmas is Sarah wearing a bow (and nothing else) and a pre-lit fake tree.

  She looks at Logan, clearly not interested in what I want.

  He looks back and forth between the both of us before speaking. “I’ve never had a real tree.”

  Real tree it is. Sarah beams at me.

  “Someone put Rascal in her crate,” I grumble, walking toward the front door.

  The local YMCA is where we’ve bought our last couple trees from. They have a decent selection and the proceeds go to charity. We each get a cup of hot cocoa before walking into the lot, and Sarah deputizes Logan to be the official tree-picker-outer. He takes his position more seriously than either of us could have predicted and has to look at every single tree on the lot before he’ll make up his mind.

  Sarah and I patiently follow him. He decides on a Douglas fir, asking for my help to see if there are any bald spots. Once he’s confident that this tree is the perfect one for us, we have a little bit taken off the bottom to level it off and the staff from the lot tie it down to the top of my car.

  Logan helps me carry it inside while Sarah scurries up to the attic to find our tree stand. He goes to let Rascal out back before coming to help me with the tree, and we set it up in the front window of our living room. Sarah shows Logan where the water goes as I head up to the attic to grab the rest of the Christmas decorations. Once I’m back downstairs, I notice Sarah has holiday music playing.

  “I know.” Her eyes light up. “Let’s have a fire.”

  I turn toward Logan. “Sound fun?”

  His grandparents lived in an apartment, one that his dad took over once he got back from South Korea. I don’t know if Logan has ever built a fire. He smiles shyly.

  “All right, come help me bring in some firewood.” I grin.

  We have plenty right now since we had a tree come down during a storm this summer. It was a pain to cut up at the time, but since it didn’t hit anything when it fell I can’t complain.

  This fire won’t be to heat the house, only ambiance, so we won’t need a ton of firewood. I make him hold out both arms and I stack five smaller logs on them. I manage to carry three bigger ones in myself. We drop the wood on some newspaper Sarah laid down near the fireplace and head back outside for another load.

  “Have you’ve ever made a fire before?” I ask when we’re back inside.

  He shakes his head.

  I wasn’t a Boy Scout but Sarah’s dad taught me to make fires at their house.

  “First, we need some kindling.”

  “Kindling?”

  “Yep.” I grab a page from the newspaper and ball it up. “Something that will burn easily and give the bigger logs a chance to catch fire.”

  I make a pile of smaller branches and pieces of wood from the stuff we brought in, and then set a larger log half across the pile.

  “Most fireplaces have something called a flue.”

  He laughs at the name, and I explain, “Not like a bad cold, but it’s what blocks the cold outside air from entering the house when you aren’t using the fireplace. If you don’t make sure it’s open before you start your fire, all the smoke will be trapped inside the house.”

  I motion for him to lean his head into the opening of the fireplace and show him the lever to open the flue. After that, Sarah brings me a long electric lighter she uses for her candles to get the kindling started.

  “Keep an eye on the dog. I don’t know how curious she’ll get and we don’t want her to burn herself.”

  Logan positions himself to sit on the edge of the brick ledge that comes off from the fireplace. There’s no way that dog is getting past him. While we were making fire, Sarah unpacked all the decorations. I head to the kitchen to grab our stepladder and together, we string the tree with lights.

  “Logan, want to put the star on the top of the tree?” Sarah asks.

  He stands so quickly he almost trips over his feet. I take over guard duty so he can use the stepstool. Watching him on one side, Sarah on the other, her face turned up to look at him with the soft glow of the Christmas tree behind them is something I’ll never forget. They probably won’t either since I scooped Rascal up and made them promise not to move as I ran upstairs to get my camera.

  Sarah
’s rolling her eyes at me by the time I make it back downstairs. She only acts annoyed, though; I’ve been onto her game for a while.

  I stand in front of the fireplace and snap a few pictures, content to know I’ll be able to share how magical it looked with Logan later. Once the star is on top, Logan comes back down to watch the fire. The three of us take turns hanging ornaments. Once the tree is finished, we take some more pictures.

  I use the timer and my tripod to get one of all of us, Logan holding Rascal.

  Sarah

  Logan’s grandmother passed away today. It wasn’t a shock to any of us, but we had hoped she’d make it through Christmas for Logan’s sake.

  That poor, sweet boy.

  When he gets home from school now, I’ve been going with him as he walks Rascal around the neighborhood. The puppy is looking more and more like a dog every day. She’s spoiled rotten. Well, that’s not entirely true; she’s spoiled, but overall has been an angel.

  She still sleeps with Logan at night. She has a dog bed in his room but ignores it to sleep on his bed instead. The dog has been a saving grace when it comes to Logan. He adores her, and it’s plain to see the feeling is mutual. She’s never far from him when he’s home. Unless he’s doing something that requires use of both of his hands, one is normally reaching down to pet her.

  I’ll never forget the night of his accident. It’s awful to think that everything happens for a reason. It’s impossible to believe there could be a reason to Logan losing his whole family by such a young age. Even though I struggle to find the reason in that, it seems impossible to believe Rascal came into our lives that day for any purpose other than to be there for Logan.

  Because their connection is so close, I made sure Logan was cool with me butting in on their walks before I started going. It’s not like we talk on them, normally we don’t. I enjoy his companionship, though. He’s an amazing kid. I can’t picture him in a group home. I’m happy Will stepped in and made it so we would become his foster parents.

  It was a welcome distraction after Will’s test came back to confirm I’m the reason we aren’t getting pregnant. Under my doctor’s theory that the polyp was tricking my body into thinking I was already pregnant, I had it removed. The procedure itself was no big deal; they didn’t have to make any incisions. There was some cramping the next couple of days, but nothing worse than a lousy period.

  There’s no real way to tell if that was the problem or not. With all the running around we’ve been doing since Logan moved in, I haven’t even thought about it, until today.

  Walking the dog together, we headed toward the park I took Calvin to when it was still warm enough to play outside. We pass a mother pushing her child in a stroller. As we approach, I recognize her as the other mom from the park that day. We do the polite ‘I don’t really know who you are’ half-wave to each other as we pass. I can’t help but wonder if she thinks Logan is also my child. With his brown hair and eyes, he could easily be mistaken for a younger brother, or my son.

  In a tragic way, he is.

  “You met Mr. Price in middle school, right?”

  It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to me since I’m so used to our quiet walks. “I did. We had English together and his desk was next to mine.”

  “When did you know you liked him?”

  His question had me reeling from ‘this is the cutest thing ever, he likes a girl’ to wondering when kids are sexually active these days. “I think I thought he was cute from the first time I saw him.”

  He doesn’t say anything in response, only nods. The rest of our walk is in silence. When we get back to the house, Logan heads upstairs to work on his homework. I find Will in the kitchen, starting dinner.

  “I think Logan likes a girl at school.” I grin.

  He waggles his eyebrows. “Where’d you get the skinny?”

  “Dork.” I push his shoulder, laughing. “He asked me when I knew I liked you.”

  He grabs my arms and pins them behind me, arching my back as he hovers over me. All thoughts of middle school crushes fly out of my head as I gaze up into his blue eyes. I want him to kiss me, but instead, he teases my jawline with his lips and teeth.

  “Will,” I plead.

  One of his eyebrows cocks up. The jerk knows what I want, but he’s waiting for me to ask for it.

  “Kiss me,” I beg, frustrated that his lips are right there but I can’t reach them.

  A lazy grin spreads across his face as he gives me what I asked for. Before Logan, I’d be dragging Will upstairs right now to have my way with him. Now, I’m terrified Logan will hear us, or even worse walk in on us.

  Will kisses me breathless before straightening and releasing my lips. I sag against him and he chuckles.

  “There’s more where that came from, Mrs. Price,” he teases.

  “I like the sound of that,” I counter.

  He arms flex around me, reminding me he wants me as badly as I want him.

  “After Logan goes to bed?”

  I nod, popping up on my toes to kiss the underside of his jaw. He has just enough scruff on his face to make me want to do very bad things to him. The hardest part will be the waiting.

  We torture each other all evening. Stolen kisses and touches during dinner and dirty words whispered afterword work to amp both of us up. I try to watch a show Logan likes with him, but Will makes it impossible by repeatedly catching my eye and biting his lip. God, I love it when he does that. It’s probably why he’s always doing it.

  I excuse myself, telling them both I plan to read in bed until I fall sleep. I use the time to change into some sexy lingerie. There’s a decent chance it will only last a couple of seconds on me once Will sees it.

  On the off-chance Logan would stop by and say goodnight or ask another question like he had on our walk, I pull a long pajama shirt on, as well. I’m asleep when soft lips start kissing my neck. My eyes flutter open and I smile up at Will’s handsome face.

  “Hey, honey.”

  His lips capture mine as he shifts over me. “You are so beautiful.”

  I push him off me. “Will, did you flip-flop the door?”

  He smirks.

  “William Ethan Price, you go flip-flop that door right now if you want any sex tonight.”

  Our house is older, and the doors have a habit of shrinking or swelling depending on what time of year it is. Not every door, but currently our bedroom door will shut but not lock.

  “He’s not going to open our door,” Will tries to argue.

  I glare at him until he gets up, grabs our sex flip-flop and wedges it under our bedroom door to act as a stopper. While he’s doing that, I quickly tug my pajama top up and over my head. By the time he comes back to bed, I’m laid out ready for him.

  “Hell, you had that on the whole time?” he asks, reaching out to drag his fingertip across the tops of my breasts.

  I nod and he flashes me a wicked grin. The next hour is a blur. My sexy lingerie lasted all of ten seconds before Will had me fully bared to him. He knows me like no one else, knows how to make my entire body quake with just the simple touch of his fingertip.

  He delighted in teasing me, in taking me so close to the edge where I could already feel the tremors of a scale-busting internal earthquake. By the time he finally did let me fly, I may have left my body. I did my best to return the favor, to wind him up so tightly he was dizzy when he found his release.

  We lay, a sweating, tangled, grinning mess in each other’s arms.

  “What do you want to get Logan for Christmas?”

  I cringe. “I have no idea. Has he mentioned anything specific that he wants?”

  I’ve come to the conclusion that Logan either wants nothing or wants to make us happy by not asking for a ton of stuff, even if he wants something. No matter what we ask him, he is always good. No clothes; he’s happy with what he already has. New video games? He’s cool with the ones Will has and whatever he brought with him to our house.

  He is the
most content child on the planet, and it’s driving me crazy. Do I want him to be some greedy kid who is constantly begging for stuff? No. What I want is for him to feel relaxed enough, considering that he’s living here, to let us know when he needs something.

  “I’m going to ask him,” I huff.

  Will laughs. “You know what he’ll say.”

  I fold my arms across my chest and glare at him. “Maybe I’ll find a way to ask it so he has to answer me.”

  Will leans down to kiss my temple. “Good luck with that.”

  Logan happens to pick that exact moment to walk into the kitchen. He pauses when we both look up at him.

  “Logan.” I grin.

  He takes a step backwards.

  “Get back here.” I laugh. “I need your help with something.

  Cautiously, his eyes flicking to Will’s face more than once, he walks further into the room.

  “Here.” I motion toward the stools that line the island. “Sit. Are you hungry, thirsty?”

  He looks at Will again, who shrugs.

  “I’m a little thirsty.”

  “What would you like to drink?

  “Ah, anything is fine.”

  See what I mean? Will moves to sit in the stool next to Logan’s as I list off all the options beverage-wise I’d be happy to get for Logan.

  “Apple juice would be good.” He pauses. “Please.”

  “Of course.” I busy myself pouring his glass then hand it to him.

  “Um, what did you need my help with?” he asks.

  “Well, Christmas is coming up and there are a lot of people in Will and my family who would like to get you gifts. The only problem is no one has any idea what to get you. I need your help making a list.”

  He stiffens. “I don’t need anything.”

  I drop forward, setting my elbow on the top of the island and resting my chin in my hand. “Good thing I didn’t ask what you needed; I asked what you wanted.”

  Will laughs. “Come on, man. Just tell her so she’ll leave you alone.”

  I smirk at him before setting my sights back on Logan. “You should listen to him.”