by Jen Doyle
Dorie gave a cute squeal as Nate pulled her into his lap once she got close enough—not minding at all that Nate was a sweaty mess, something Courtney would have been sure to wrinkle her nose at—and again Jack made sure to school his expression into complete impassivity. He had no interest in Dorie; but he couldn’t deny his mind had wandered at the thought of pulling Lola down like that as she lifted her lips up to his. Of having her look at him the way Dorie looked at Nate.
After a quick kiss, Dorie giggled and batted Nate’s hands away even as she curled up into him. “Jack’s here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Ox doesn’t mind,” Nate murmured into her neck. Jack didn’t. They’d spent a lot of time together over the years, and there had always been women revolving around them. Jack tended to be a lot less affectionate than Nate and a lot more private. Nate’s whole life had been lived on a public stage and Jack sometimes wondered if having so many people around him was the way Nate kept the rest of the world from getting in.
“Well, that’s all fine and good for you and Ox,” Dorie said, emphasizing the nickname Nate had used, “but not exactly for the third part of the equation.”
Hiding his grin, Jack ducked his head. Yeah. He definitely liked Dorie for Nate.
Jack powered down the treadmill. “You know? I think I’ll probably head out now anyway.” Meaning, he was going to run the half a mile back to the farmhouse and jump into an ice-cold shower since the Nate and Dorie display had him thinking about Lola. Again.
Nate cocked his head. “I thought you were holding off on doing anything else until Lola approved the drawings from the architect.”
Right, although after last night she’d probably never talk to him again. He really needed to do something about that—at least explain why he’d reacted the way he did; tell her what her touch did to him.
Well, no. Probably not that last part.
“I actually have to get the drawings from her.” Which wasn’t entirely a lie, it was just that Lola didn’t know it was part of the plan. She probably would have rejected it anyway.
She hadn’t acted any differently toward him than usual after he left her in the kitchen, but the intensity he’d felt during practically every moment he’d spent in her presence was gone. She hadn’t even seemed mad, just indifferent. Which should have been good—he should be leaving it alone. But he couldn’t.
Jack grabbed his bag off the floor and gave a quick wave, ignoring Nate’s narrow-eyed look as he no doubt got ready to enforce the whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t sentiment from the other day.
“See you guys later,” Jack said. Then he booked it the hell out of there.
Once he’d gotten back to the farmhouse and in and out of the shower, however, he realized he’d made a crucial mistake. Sure, he could pick up the phone and call her, but odds were she’d either hang up on him or not answer at all. Since it was coming up on dinnertime, she wouldn’t be at the bar—the schedule she’d posted in the farmhouse kitchen said she only worked nights on Mondays and every other Thursday.
The kitchen still had a landline and an old yellowed phone book sitting on the counter next to it. What were the odds?
Opening it up to the M’s, Jack shook his head and laughed. D & L McIntire. 22 Ashwood Dr. Thank God for small towns.
He didn’t think too hard about why he was shaving or about the fact that he’d taken to carrying around a Tom Ford pullover and Hugo Boss pants despite spending his days either in a dusty old farmhouse or in Nate’s home gym. After all, his entire life had been spent going back and forth between locker rooms and swanky clubs. It was mostly habit, even when in the middle of nowhere.
Except it hadn’t been his habit since he’d been here in Iowa. The cold showers, yes. The changing into expensive clothes because he knew he looked damn good in them, not so much, especially when he’d mostly just been heading back to his hotel room in Des Moines each night.
But whatever. He was pulling out the big guns because he needed them. She’d gone out of her way to be understanding, and he’d been an ass.
Thanks to the sleet that was beginning to fall, it was forty minutes later before he found himself pulling off the main road and down to the end of a cul de sac. The houses were not what he’d pictured for her at all. Each house was almost identical to the next. Or, rather, identical to the one three down from it, since it was obvious there were only three floor plans for the entire street. The only thing that really stood out at all, in fact, was the house with the bright red door. He knew without checking the number that it was Lola’s.
As he stepped out of the truck, he saw curtains in at least four houses pull aside, the occupants checking to see who was visiting Lola, no doubt. Jesus. How did people live like this? Thank Christ he’d driven the truck rather than his Maserati. He was attracting enough attention as it was. Hopefully he’d be able to make it into the house and at least get as far as apologizing before someone called Deke to show up and take him away.
He rang the doorbell, and even though just about all the lights in the house were on, he almost gave up because it took so long for someone to come to the door. It was freaking cold out, not to mention icy and wet. Even then, they didn’t open it right away. Something bonked against the door a couple of times and then the peephole darkened.
“Iceman?”
To his complete surprise, his smile was entirely genuine when he realized it was Silas’s voice. He was actually happy to see the little guy. He hadn’t been lying the night before when he’d said he hoped the kid would be at Nate’s. It had been one of the high points of the evening as far as he was concerned.
“Hey, buddy,” he said, waving at the peephole. “Okay if I come in?”
“Hold on!”
There was another series of bumps against the door, and it took another full minute after that. But Silas had a huge smile on his face as he finally opened the door, and it was contagious. Jack stepped in and closed the door behind himself, noticing the step stool that had been pushed aside and the phone that was resting on it. What he didn’t see was Lola. “Is your mom around?”
Silas nodded with a big grin on his face.
Jack ran his hand through his wet hair, shaking out the ice chips along the way. The phone started making a loud beeping noise. “Do you need to hang that up?”
“Oh,” Silas said, snatching the phone up off the stool and silencing it. “It was just my Aunt Jules. I told her we didn’t need her to come.”
Um... Okay.
Jack took another look around, this time with a little more focus. There were jackets thrown on the floor, and two of the three clones were sitting on the couch in what appeared to be the family room. There were two boxes of cereal on the coffee table in front of them, one on its side with colorful o’s dropping out over the edge of the table. The TV was on low.
Jack didn’t know a thing about kids, but he did know Lola, and it all seemed kind of strange. The kids were wearing nothing but their Star Wars underwear.
Looking down at Silas again, Jack said, “You sure your mom is here?”
This time when he nodded, he said, “She’s in the bedroom. But you’re not allowed in.”
As if he was going anywhere near her bedroom with her kids around.
No. As if he was going anywhere near her bedroom, period.
“Do you think she could come out and talk to me?” Jack resisted the urge to turn around and go right back out the door. He was getting a very bad feeling about all of this.
It didn’t get any better when one of the younger boys started crying, something even Jack and all his kid cluelessness couldn’t ignore. There was definitely something weird going on. After taking off his coat and hanging it on the coat rack in the entryway, Jack headed to the room with the TV. “I think you need to get your mom, Si.”
The boy sho
ok his head. “My mom’s asleep and I told Aunt Jules that we have it covered.”
“We?” Jack asked, stopping short. “You told her I was here?”
Silas’s cheeks turned bright red. “I, um...”
When Jack raised his eyebrows, Silas straightened up and resolutely added, “I told her my favorite baseball player was here.”
Aw, hell.
Crouching down so he could look Silas in the eye, Jack said, “Did you maybe make it sound like your Uncle Nate rather than me?” Because there was no way in hell anyone in this town, Lola’s best friend/Nate’s older sister most especially, would tell Silas it was a good idea to let Jack Oxford into the house under these circumstances. Which, given the greenish tint to the face of the kid crying on the couch, was that there was something going around. If Lola was down for the count, help was needed.
Silas shrugged and very specifically didn’t look Jack in the eye. “Maybe a little like that.”
Jack didn’t bother to hide his sigh. “Do I need to worry about the third one?” He hadn’t even attempted to learn the triplets’ names because that ventured into territory he didn’t want to be anywhere near. And anyway, triplets. Enough said.
With a shake of his head, Silas said, “Luke is in with my mom.”
Well, it couldn’t be any worse than taking care of a house full of hungover rookies after one of Nate’s legendary Spring Training parties.
Right?
As if in answer to his unspoken question, the kid on the couch let out a wail, stood up, and clutched his stomach.
That didn’t look good.
“I don’t suppose your Uncle Deke has a change of clothes lying around here anywhere.” Jack wasn’t sure he was up to this task, but he sure as hell knew Tom Ford and Hugo Boss didn’t come close.
Showing that he was a lot smarter than Jack gave kids credit for, Silas backed away from the mess on the coffee table, his intention clearly being that Jack could deal with it. “No,” he said, “but my mom never cleaned out my dad’s stuff in the garage and there are some clothes in there.”
Hell, no. Jack was not going to wear Lola’s dead husband’s clothes, no matter what the circumstances were. He had a workout bag full of gear in the truck that, yes, needed a good washing first but was still infinitely better.
Just as he was about to say that, however, a look of horror came over Silas’s face. Eyes wide, he pointed to something behind Jack. Jack, being an idiot, turned to see the same kid standing on the coffee table, no more than a few feet away. Before he could even register what was happening, the kid let out another wail and...
Fuck me.
Jack didn’t even bother looking down. He could feel the mess seeping through his sweater. So much for Tom Ford. He whipped it off before any of the puke could breach the wool, dumped it on the floor to deal with later, and, telling himself that this kid couldn’t possibly get sicker than the rookies, he scooped the two younger boys under his arms and hoped like hell the sick one could hold in everything else until Jack got them to a bathroom. At least there he could just keep hosing them off when necessary.
“Show me the way to the showers, Si,” he said, looking grimly at his partner in crime.
“Should I get the ginger ale?” Silas asked as he pointed up the stairs.
Yep, just like draft week. “As much as you can carry.” The kid under his right arm started to moan again. “And better make it quick.”
* * *
When they said twenty-four-hour bug, they weren’t kidding. If only all four boys had gotten it at once, instead of Silas, then James and then Luke, at nearly exact twelve-hour intervals beginning almost immediately after they’d gotten home from Nate’s, Lola would have been fine. And she was grateful Emmet had escaped it, giving her the chance to finally sleep. She was too old for all-nighters, and Thursday night’s had done her in.
She lay in her bed, savoring the peace and quiet for just a moment. The only high points of the last thirty-six hours were the dreams she’d had through the night. About Jack, despite him making it clear the other evening he wanted nothing from her whatsoever.
He wasn’t willing to get past his own issues and, honestly, Lola had no patience for it. Fantasizing about him was one thing; taking on his demons wasn’t something she had time for. Hell, she didn’t have the time for fantasizing about him in the first place. There had been enough aborted attempts to make that clear. Honestly. She could barely even manage to give herself an orgasm these days. The boys had an unerring sense of timing when it came to middle-of-the-night visits. So it was highly annoying that the most vivid dream she’d had involved Jack brushing a strand of hair off her face and leaving a can of ginger ale next to her bed rather than anything intriguingly naughty, but she’d take what she could get. Especially as recent events made it clear it was all she’d be getting. With a sigh, she turned her head...
And sat up straight.
There was a can of ginger ale next to her bed. How the hell had that gotten there?
She reached for her phone. Although most of yesterday was blurry, she was fairly certain she’d texted an SOS to Jules and Fitz. She hated to ask, given the horrendous weather and even more horrendous stomach bug, but, going into hour twenty-four of no sleep, she’d known this wasn’t something she could manage alone. Powering up her phone, the first thing she saw was a response from Jules asking how she was doing this morning and whether or not she needed anything.
The silence, which had been so peaceful just a moment before, suddenly seemed ominous. Lola jumped out of bed not bothering to put on even so much as a robe, and yanked her bedroom door open as she called Jules.
“Hey,” Jules answered. “How are you feeling?”
“Do you have the boys with you?” Lola asked, a sense of panic rising up within her as she stuck her head into Silas’s room first, then that of the younger boys. It was impossible to tell if they’d slept in their beds, given the state of their rooms, something she usually couldn’t care less about. Today, however...
All Jules managed was, “Uh...” Not the response Lola had been hoping for.
Maybe they were just watching TV. After Luke had exhausted himself and fallen asleep next to her, she’d left James and Emmet in Silas’s hands. Not something she would ordinarily do but it had been a necessity. Only for the twenty minutes it would take for Jules or Fitz to get there. Not overnight. Not even for an hour.
“Were you here last night?” she asked Jules, attempting to stave off hyperventilation. Except the TV was off and the boys were nowhere to be seen.
Jules had to have been here. Or maybe Deke or Fitz had come and gotten the boys?
She figured she would’ve known, but she’d been pretty out of it. Oddly, the house was in better shape than she left it. And she couldn’t really see Silas picking up the living room.
Well, she couldn’t really see Deke picking up the living room, either. He was almost obsessively neat on his own, but the triplets freaked him out, and even though Fitz had had a good influence on him, odds were he would’ve packed up the boys and left.
No, that didn’t make sense either. No way would they take all four boys to their condo. The place was just too nice. If they’d decided to take care of the boys they would’ve done it here.
Had someone vacuumed?
“Nate isn’t there?” Jules asked, an odd tone to her voice.
Nate? Lola loved the man and all, and she was quite fond of Dorie. But they didn’t generally come by to take care of her kids just for the hell of it. “Why would Nate be here?”
Jules was clearly trying to keep calm for Lola’s sake. “But Silas said Nate was there.”
“No one’s here.” Oh, God. “I think I need to call 911.”
“Okay,” Jules said. “Call them from the house phone and don’t hang up on me. I’m on my way o
ver. It’s going to be okay.”
It was not going to be okay. Lola had already lost Dave. She couldn’t lose—
And then, over the pounding of her wildly beating heart, she heard it. Laughter. The kind that accompanied horsing around. The relief was so visceral her knees nearly buckled. “Hold on.”
She was going to kill them. Following the noise, she found herself at the doors to the back deck. Sure enough, she saw four colorful parkas, worn by her very okay, very oblivious—heartily laughing—sons.
So angry she could barely see straight, she jerked the door open and rushed outside, not caring one bit that there was six inches of snow and ice after the storm the day before, and all she was wearing was a pair of fuzzy socks and an oversized T-shirt.
“Silas!” she shouted, about to start a rant of epic proportions.
All four boys looked up at her with confusion on their faces, and then their eyes went to something under the deck. Two seconds later another figure appeared, this one a much older, much more developed, fully grown man.
For a second, a haze of delusion overtook her. She nearly even called Dave’s name, despite knowing it was a complete impossibility that he was the one playing with the kids. And yet for just that moment, years’ worth of hopes and dreams came true and she watched a happy family—her happy family—playing in the snow together.
“Lola? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
The voice wasn’t Dave’s. Dave had been dead three years next week.
She shook the vision out of her head and gazed down at the man below her. “Jack?”
That was nearly as impossible as the idea of Dave being here. The man looked more beautiful than a walking snow beast should look.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve got them. We’re good.”
