Dr. Strange Beard: Winston Brothers #5

by Reid, Penny

  “Hi, Roscoe,” someone said from the foot of my bed, and I reluctantly swiveled my attention to the new voice. Mrs. Payton stood there wearing a small smile. Next to her was Mr. Payton, his arm around his wife.

  “You got something on your face, son.” He motioned to my chin, grinning and stepping forward. “You want me to help you with that?”

  Overwhelmed, emotion clogged my throat, and I had to clear it a few times before I could speak. By then, I’d noticed the four of us were the only ones in the room, my siblings had cleared out.

  “If you don’t mind, Mr. Payton.” My voice was hoarse, thick with emotion. “It seems my barber has abandoned me mid-shave.”

  “I think it’s time you called me Trevor,” he said, picking up the discarded razor and inspecting my face. “I had to do this for Poe when he broke his left hand, kind of missed it when he got his cast off.”

  I gave Mr. Payton—uh, Trevor—a tight smile as a familiar pang burned the back of my throat, but not nearly as bad as when I’d been a kid.

  Watching Trevor with Poe had been my first introduction to the acrimonious taste of envy. Billy and my brothers were great—no doubt—and I’d reminded myself often how lucky I was. I was so fucking lucky. But seeing a father and son as close as Trevor and Poe, the mutual respect and care between them, their relationship had always made me jealous.

  Presently, I pushed the sensation away, irritated with myself for allowing anything to taint this moment. I swallowed the faint echo of envy and focused on what mattered. The Paytons were here. Simone was here. She was alive and safe and holding my hand. I’d been dreaming about this for weeks. Thoughts of her were my constant companion, having her here the most unbelievable gift.

  These reminders chased away the strange ghosts of the past as Mr. Payton—Trevor—picked up where Beau had left off, a warm smile behind his eyes. “Just make a sound if you need me to stop, son.”

  “I will. Thank you, sir.”

  “Trevor,” he reminded.

  I gave him a small smile, feeling both grateful and honored. “Trevor.”

  Keeping my head still, I shifted my eyes back to Simone, greedy for the sight of her. She’d dried her tears and likewise stared at me, her gaze dreamy.

  My injured heart gave a sudden hard beat, like a thwump, but it felt good. A reminder that I was still alive and my heart could feel something other than pain.

  Simone’s smile softened and she sighed. “It is so good to see you,” she whispered, even though her daddy could definitely hear.

  “You too,” I said as Mr. Payton—uh, Trevor—paused to rinse the blade, forcing myself to look at Mrs. Payton so as not to be rude. “Thank y’all for coming,”

  “We’ve been so worried about you.” Mrs. Payton was moving around the room, folding a blanket, tossing a coffee cup in the trash. “I understand your sister Ashley is taking time off work when you’re discharged? To be your nurse for a bit?”

  I waited until Trevor was finished with his next swipe before asking, “Is she? She hadn’t mentioned it to me.”

  “We talk,” Mrs. Payton said, a knowing smile hovering behind her eyes and lips. “As a matter of fact, I suggested you stay with us. Simone will need some tending to as well. We’ve already hired another nurse your sister recommended—Marissa? Right Trevor?—to help out.”

  “I don’t need a nurse.” Simone’s tone was equal parts stubborn and amused.

  “Even if it’s Ashley during the day and it means Roscoe is staying at our house?” Mrs. Payton’s eyebrows were raised, and though her words asked a question, her tone made it rhetorical.

  Simone sighed, her eyes narrowing on her mother, her lips pressed together as she fought a grin.

  “That’s what I thought.” Mrs. Payton gave her daughter a sweet smile, and then surveyed the room. “You need some flowers. Or a balloon.”

  I shook my head. “I asked folks to donate to animal shelters instead.”

  Mrs. Payton blinked at me, just once, and shook her head. “My goodness, you are the sweetest boy. Just for that, I’m going downstairs, buying you a balloon, and making a donation to your shelter.”

  Trevor’s shoulders shook with silent laughter as he picked up a towel and dabbed at my face. “There. All finished.” He stood back, surveying his work.

  Simone’s momma came over to have a look, standing next to her daughter. “And handsome, too.”

  I grinned at the both of them, finding the action easier than usual. “Thank you. Thank you both for bringing your daughter and for being so kind.”

  “We came as soon as we could.” Simone’s statement brought my attention back to her. She was still holding my hand to her heart as her eyes moved between mine, searching. “How are you feeling?”

  “How are you feeling?” I asked, my grin falling away. “Should you have made this trip? Aren’t you still healing?”

  Mrs. Payton bent forward and placed a kiss on my forehead, patting my cheek as she straightened. “She’s stubborn like her father, needs to do things her own way.”

  “Excuse me?” Trevor stared at his wife. “Stubborn like who?”

  “Oh my, look at the time.” Mrs. Payton fought admirably against a grin and began backing away towards the door. “We need to get to the hotel to check in. We’ll be in town for just two days, Simone has a consult with some doctors here, so we’ll be back tomorrow. In the meantime, you rest up, Roscoe. And think about staying with us when you’re out of here.” She then waved Trevor forward. “Come on, my love. Let’s give them a minute.”

  Giving me a look like, Can you believe this woman? Trevor picked up the razor, bowl, and towel, and moved to the sink. “Fine. But I get to pick out the balloon.”

  “See?” Simone’s mom whispered. “Stubborn.”

  I tried not to laugh, because laughing hurt. But Simone did laugh, which gave me another heart-thwump. I sighed, grateful for the sight of her laughter. Until I was discharged, this moment would make fine company.

  Simone and I shared a smile as her parents closed the door. Her gaze studying my face, she lifted her free hand to my jaw, smoothing her palm over the skin.

  “It’s strange, to see you without a beard.”

  “It’s strange to be without a beard. Do you like it? You want me to keep shaving?” I found myself grateful for the light conversation, unwilling to take it for granted.

  “I love your face.” She bent and brushed her lips against mine, just a light touch. It wasn’t enough, but I knew it would have to do for now.

  “And I’ll take it however I can get it,” Simone added, leaning away.

  I twisted my lips to the side. “That’s not an answer.”

  “Fine.” She lifted an eyebrow, giving me a mock-irritated look that was ruined by her mischievous smile. “Here I was, trying to be polite—like we’d agreed—and there you go, pushing me. The truth is, I love your beard and I want it back. Happy?”

  “More than ever,” I said, because it was true.

  We’d almost lost the chance to have these teasing moments. We’d almost lost the chance to have any moments at all. I knew the desperation to make each second count would eventually fade.

  For now, I embraced it, noticing details I might’ve missed before, because I was anxious for each and every new memory.

  Epilogue

  “I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

  Maya Angelou

  *Roscoe*

  A knife to the heart hadn’t killed me, but six weeks of living with the Paytons might.

  Don’t get me wrong, I loved the Paytons, and being with them had been awesome, just like I remembered. They had dinner together every night. Everyone helped. Everyone cleaned up. Everyone talked about his or her day, their interests, what they were reading, what they were into. And everyone else listened and asked questions.

  They debated, playing devil’s advocate, challenging each other. I
recalled this phenomenon from when I’d come over and stayed for dinner when we were kids. Back then, I’d sat quietly and listened. This time I sat back and listened, but I was also encouraged to share my thoughts. It was so great. They were all so smart—so damn smart—and none of them treated me like a kid, like I was the youngest and needed looking after.

  Well, that’s not exactly true. Daniella visited one weekend and treated me like I was an idiot. She’d roll her eyes every time I spoke—even if I agreed with her—until Simone called her on it and challenged her to a thumb war (which was how the Paytons dueled).

  Daniella lost and had to keep quiet for the rest of dinner. However, she did laugh at one of my dad jokes when Trevor and I got into an impromptu contest. Unsurprisingly, he won. In all fairness, he had three kids and thirty years more experience with the craft. Maybe when I was fifty-six and Simone and I had our own kids, I’d catch up to his punny genius.

  Yeah, the Paytons were fantastic, kind, and unbelievably generous. But they were also Simone’s parents and—as much as I respected Simone—I was having seriously dirty thoughts about her all the freaking time, especially since the plumbing broke in her bathroom and she’d been using mine.

  Even something as mundane as coming upon her while she was brushing her teeth felt erotic, likely because she wore underwear and a tank top to bed with a measly, thin cotton bathrobe thrown over both. Of course, it didn’t help matters when she made a point to brush against me every time either of us were passing by the other.

  We’d been good, so good, painfully good. Stealing only kisses, or a quick make-out session in the hallway. I stayed out of her room and she stayed out of mine, though longing glances had been sent in both directions near bedtime and I’d often had difficulty falling asleep, thinking about all that smooth skin and softness on the other side of the wall.

  For me, the main hurdle had been deference for her parents. They’d been kind enough to have me stay under their roof, I refused to undermine their rules.

  For Simone, and by her own admission, she would have snuck into my room weeks ago, but she was worried about my physical fitness, not wanting to push me too far too fast.

  As of yesterday, that concern was a nonissue. Though I still had phantom aches along the incision line, my breastbone had healed, and my cardiologist had declared me ready to increase my level of strenuous activity. I’d been working with a physical therapist on range of motion and flexibility, but now strength training would be added.

  I never thought I’d say it, but I couldn’t wait to lift weights again.

  The timing was perfect, too. Jethro, Sienna, and family had been back in town for a few weeks and decided to throw a barbecue and bouncy house birthday party for their second son, Andy. Sienna had been trying to talk me into moving back home. As an extra enticement, she’d offered either my old room or sole use of the carriage house, whichever I preferred.

  For my immediate needs, I preferred the carriage house.

  For my long-term goals, however, I preferred Simone’s apartment in DC—or her apartment building at the very least, if she wanted to live separate—a topic I planned to raise as soon as I could get Simone alone in the carriage house.

  My suspicions were that my family had been hoping I would look for a job at the Park since I’d left my job in Nashville. I’d turned in my notice as soon as I’d been well enough to contact Dr. Tucker, no use prolonging the inevitable.

  Not one to prevaricate, Sienna had made a point to mention our family’s hopes several times.

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if you lived in the carriage house and worked with Drew?” She’d made the statement one morning when she and Cletus had come over, using yoga as their excuse to visit.

  “That would be nice.” I’d given her a half-smile, my eyes wandering to Cletus. His eyes were closed and he had his mouth open, presumably to breathe.

  “It would be more than nice.” She’d continued to push. “With Billy gone, off gallivanting who knows where, the boys have no uncles to play with.”

  “Excuse me.” Cletus finally spoke, but his eyes remained shut. “I am sitting right here. Do I not count as an uncle? What am I? Lima beans?”

  Sienna rolled her eyes. She was one of the only people who could get away with rolling their eyes at Cletus. “I mean an uncle at the house. Ashley and Drew are nearby, so are Beau and Shelly, which is fantastic. I’m just saying, it would be great if the boys had family who lived on the property. That house is so big.”

  “Then have more children and fill it up,” Cletus suggested, like it was the obvious answer.

  This led to her making sarcastic remarks about how easy childbirth was, leading Cletus to comparing it to passing a kidney stone, leading to a discussion on the pain-scale faces one encounters in hospitals and doctor’s offices, leading to them both trying to mimic each face, leading to laughter, leading to Ashley coming out and warning me against overextending myself.

  That had been three weeks ago, and Sienna had brought it back up every time she saw me since, which was why I’d agreed to move into the carriage house as soon as my cardiologist gave me the all clear. Ideally, the situation would be temporary, the two-bedroom house serving as a base as I searched for a job in the DC area.

  Wherever Simone was, that’s where I wanted to be. From all our conversations thus far, Simone missed her research and her lab. Ergo, Washington, DC was where I would be.

  With these thoughts—and hopes—on my mind, I packed my room at the Paytons. I’d told everyone last night about my doctor’s visit, and we’d had a little celebration. My move-out day wasn’t a surprise as I’d discussed my plans with Daisy and Trevor as soon as I’d made up my mind, but it was bittersweet.

  “You know, you could just stay here.” Daisy stood in the doorway, watching me pack my suitcase with a crease between her eyebrows. “The houseplants will miss you. You’re so good at watering, my peace lilies have never looked so good.”

  Shooting her a grin, I opened the second drawer of the dresser and pulled out my clothes, carrying them to the bed. “If you want, I can stop by on occasion and see to your greenery.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” she said, sounding distracted, pensive, which had me turning to study her. The crease between her eyebrows had intensified. “I hope you know that you’re welcome here anytime, Roscoe.”

  “I know that, Daisy.” I nodded once, the sound of her name on my tongue still tripping me up. I’d called her Mrs. Payton my whole life, switching to Daisy these last few weeks had been a struggle.

  “You’re like a son to us,” she said suddenly, her voice a little rough. “And, whatever you do, wherever you decide to go, you have a home with us.”

  That pulled a grateful smile out of me and I dropped the shirts I’d been holding, crossing to her, and gathering the sweet lady into a big bear hug.

  “Is your chest okay?” she asked, fretful. “Is it okay to hug this tight?”

  “Yes and yes.” I chuckled, giving her a squeeze. “Your kindness, yours and Trevor’s, means the world to me.” I pulled away, smiling down at her. “Thanks for being consistently great role models and showing me—showing everyone—how good folks live their lives.”

  She sniffed, sounding a touch watery, and nodded wordlessly.

  I laughed, taking her by the shoulders. “I’m not disappearing into the ether. I’ll be two miles away. You’ll see me all the time.”

  Her expression turned flat, like she didn’t believe me. “Oh really? You’re telling me you plan to stay in Green Valley, then?”

  My eyes widened, because I’d been caught.

  And that made her laugh.

  Taking my face between her palms, she placed a kiss on my cheek and stepped away, wagging her finger at me. “I know what’s on your mind, plain as day. First chance you get, you’re moving to DC.”

  I shrugged, scratching my short beard, and admitting quietly, “She’s it for me, Daisy. She’s always been the one. I live and I breathe, and I lo
ve Simone Payton.”

  This seemed to make her exceptionally happy, and she gave me a beaming smile. “I know, baby.” Simone’s momma clasped her hands under her chin, a delighted glint in her eye. “And I can’t wait to help plan your wedding.”

  * * *

  *Simone*

  I was going to a three-year-old’s birthday party and I couldn’t stop wondering whether there would be clowns.

  If there were, so be it. Roscoe was worth it. I’d deal. I just needed some time to mentally prepare before coming face to (freaky-and-unnatural-makeup) face with one.

  Can we pause here and talk about clowns for a second? Yes? Great.

  Why? And who? Who first thought this was a good idea? What possessed them? What bet did they lose and how much money had they lost? It must’ve been epic.

  Yes, I could have Googled “first clown” and researched the topic to become actually knowledgeable about the first modern clowns, but I didn’t want to risk the image results. Therefore, I dwelled in sweet, sweet ignorance and assumed a lot about clowns and their gambling habits.

  But back to now and my sweaty hands.

  I wiped them on my jeans after placing my car in park and I glared at the front door of the Winston house. I needed to come up with a plan to extract myself from the clown. Clowns, in my experience, are like cats. They can sense when a person isn’t into them and then go out of their way to interact with that person.

  Once, in my case, I’d had a clown follow me around a co-worker’s child’s birthday party, trying to foist balloon animals on me (I thought they all looked like genitalia, but what did I know?) When that hadn’t charmed my pants off, he’d made a comment about my hair, saying we must shop at the same wig store.

  . . .

  . . .

  . . .

  So, long story short, he didn’t press charges, which was nice of him. Meanwhile, I’d used turpentine to take the clown makeup off my fists.