She lifts a hand and waves me off. “Not necessary, Jace.”
“Not up for discussion. You’re only here because I needed your help, so it’s the least I can do.” My voice is steady, my hands tightening into fists inside my pockets.
Her lips flatten into a thin line, and I know she’s going to fight me on this.
Her gaze finally locks on mine, the vibrant combination of her green eyes and red hair hitting me like a punch in the gut. It reminds me of hope and new beginnings, like when the dead brown soil gives way to new life in the spring, opening itself up to a beauty that’s incomparable to anything else.
Transcendent.
I want to step closer, get a better look at her face that mesmerizes me more every time I see her. And to think I initially cast her aside as a simple kids’ entertainer who wears a silly getup.
That joke’s definitely on me.
Her phone vibrates and she looks at the screen. “My car’s here. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Without more than a quick glance at me, she’s out the door before I can utter another word.
Needless to say, she’s left behind a whirlwind of chaos in my mind, and I’m not sure what to do with any of it.
“What is going on with you? You’ve been fidgeting ever since I walked through your door.” Hunter’s gaze is burning a hole in the side of my head as we’re both spread out on the couch.
As far away from the earlier vomit crime scene as possible. Even though Emilia was an angel for cleaning it up, it’ll probably take until tomorrow to fully dry.
“It’s nothing. Just a long couple of days.” A yawn pulls through my body, a wave of exhaustion right on its heels. I should have told him not to come and taken a nap instead.
Now, Tanner will wake up any moment, and it’s too late to lie down. With training waiting in the morning, I will definitely have to turn in extra early tonight.
“Are you sure?” His eyes are still on me, studying me in a way that he would a competitor. Calculated. “You seem, I don’t know . . . flustered?”
A nervous chuckle escapes my mouth, and I want to punch my fist into his spreading grin.
Thank goodness, Tanner chooses that moment to wake up, his coughs echoing through the baby monitor.
“Be right back.” I almost run toward the bedroom, unable to get away fast enough from Hunter’s questions and appraising gazes.
Opening Tanner’s room—which was painted and decorated in a jungle theme he seems to love—I keep the light off as I walk over to his crib. He’s still lying down—on his back, of course—coughing his little heart out.
I don’t understand why they don’t switch positions when they’re so uncomfortable. Halfway coughing up a lung sounds like a pretty good indicator to me that it’s time to flip over, or to sit up. But then, I’m not a toddler.
“Hey, buddy.” Due to the blackout curtains, the room is mostly dark when I reach out and brush over Tanner’s hair. He’s woken me up more than enough nights, and I quickly had to learn how to navigate in the dark. “Come here. Let’s get you something to drink.”
He snuggles on my shoulder the second I pick him up. I feel his warm cheek through my shirt as I gently pat his back, inching toward the door so his eyes can adjust to the brighter light from the hallway. At least the upright position seems to help with his cough.
I grab his water bottle from the shelf, my gaze automatically flickering to the framed picture of Tanner and his mom. Lila has her arms tight around Tanner as they laugh at the camera. They look so happy, and Tanner deserves to remember her exactly like that.
I’m not in the position to give him any memories of her, so the least I can do, is provide him with the few pictures of her existence. Lila’s neighbor, Bette, was kind enough to pack them for me.
Tanner holds his cup at an angle, and the straw makes a loud noise when it hits air. He must have drunk at least half of it. Poor guy.
“Let’s get you out of your diaper and go potty, okay?”
We use the bathroom across the hall, and I’m glad to see his diaper is dry when I take it off. “Good job, buddy. Let’s go potty in the toilet.”
He steps on the stool on still wobbly legs and I help him turn around and sit on his small potty seat that’s on top of the regular toilet seat. “There you go. Push it all out. You’re doing so good. Just a few more weeks of dry diapers and you can wear underwear to bed too.”
At least, that’s what Millie said because what do I know? It took me several days and nights of cussing and wanting to rip my hair out until Millie finally saved my sanity. When she started working for me, she asked if Tanner’s still wearing pull-ups when he sleeps. Man, I felt so stupid. At that point, I’d changed about a gazillion wet sheets, sleepsacks, and pajamas.
How was I supposed to know that he’s only potty trained when he’s awake and that the rest would come later?
Tanner starts singing, or rather babble-singing, and when I recognize the melody of “ABC,” I quietly sing with him like I’ve seen Emilia do before.
“Now I know my abc’s …”
His face lights up, and we keep singing until he’s done in the bathroom and dressed in underwear and pants.
I grab all his things and hold out my hand for him to take.
His little one grabs my bigger one and nothing has ever felt like it.
Even though we were all small at some point, it’s a strange concept that a peanut like Tanner puts his trust in someone as big as me. You’re literally responsible for their life, which makes it equally special but also stressful.
Especially the way he’s blown into my life.
I know that wasn’t his doing of course, or his choice, but normally you have months to prepare for such a change. And then you grow and learn with them as they do. Our situation is so different, and has had such a big impact on my life, that I’m still not sure how to handle it all. Or if I’m even doing a good job at it.
But I’m trying, pushing down the frustration and irritation that wants to bubble up so often. At least, I’m attempting to do so, knowing I don’t always succeed. When I don’t, I do my best to not let Tanner see any of it and letting it out in the pool or at the gym instead.
When he sees Hunter in the living room, he immediately perks up, pointing at him and smiling. Then he stops and looks at me, babbling something that sounds like a question. Right before trying to fingerspell some gibberish.
It’s fast and messy, but I can see the distinct letter m, where three fingers of his right hand—pointer, middle finger, and ring finger—are draped over his thumb.
I know what he wants before he starts scanning the room, or rather who he wants.
Millie.
The only thing he can fingerspell, or at least tries to.
“Did he . . . did he just ask for Millie?” Hunter leans forward on the couch, his eyes focused on me.
I blink at him. “How would you know?”
He shrugs and chuckles, immediately leaning back on the cushion. “I told you I watched a few of her shows.”
Like there’s nothing abnormal about a full-grown man watching a kids’ show for the lady chick.
I groan. “Hunt, I don’t even know what to say right now.”
Tanner pokes my leg. When I look at him, he signs Millie. Again.
“Are you asking about Millie, buddy?”
Tanner smiles.
I barely manage to hold back another groan, not wanting Tanner to think there’s any sort of beef going on with his nanny. “Millie had to go bye-bye.”
His mouth turns downward, and I hate it. I had no idea that having a child meant opening yourself up to a vulnerability like you’ve never experienced before. The pain cuts deep, like we have an invisible connection, and what hurts him, hurts me too.
It’s overwhelming and terrifying.
At least the same can be said for the other side. Seeing him happy makes me happy. One of his smiles is an instant mood boost for me.
“I
knew it.”
I startle at Hunter’s abrupt outburst, shaking my head at him. “What now?”
“She was here, wasn’t she?” He gets up from his spot and walks over to us.
“Yes.”
Tilting his head to the side, he goes back to sending me inquisitive looks. Like he can magically make me spill whatever he’s after. “Isn’t it her day off?”
“Yes.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Instead, I quietly enjoy giving him these monosyllable answers, knowing it drives him crazy.
Serves him right, the curious bastard.
Hunter surprises me when he holds out his arms to Tanner instead of throwing more questions at me. “Your daddy isn’t any fun, T. But Uncle Hunter is awesome and brought you some presents. Want to see?”
If there was any man that would win over kids quickly and easily, it’s Hunter. We didn’t get to hang out like we usually would last Sunday, but he did spend hours with us, just playing on the floor with Tanner.
Together they go to the couch and sit down. Hunter hands him something he stashed in a bag under the table. It’s something . . . yellow?
I walk over to get a better look and stop short when Tanner squeals, his babbling so high-pitched, my ears ring for a second. And he’s back to signing Millie.
Millie? Yellow? No fucking way.
When I sit down next to Tanner, my suspicions are confirmed. A doll that looks like Millie.
My head snaps up to Hunter and I mouth what the fuck?
He only shrugs and chuckles before focusing back on Tanner’s excited face. “Is that Millie, buddy? Isn’t she awesome?”
What an asshole. Unbelievable.
Hunter’s hand disappears in the bag once more and he gets out some pretzel sticks, handing Tanner one after opening the bag. “Let’s see if your tummy’s okay with one first.”
Since Tanner’s now happily occupied, Hunter’s back to trying to burn a hole in my head.
After a moment, I give in because I know how relentless he can be. The last thing I need right now is him being constantly on my ass.
I brush my hand through my hair. “Tanner’s cough got really bad last night, so I called her. She met us at the ER, and since it was late, and I didn’t want her to drive home on her freaking moped, she stayed the night.”
“So you got some . . . naked time with her? Saw her birthday suit and all?”
I shake my head and lift my hands, palms up. “How on earth did you come to that conclusion after what I just told you?”
He sighs dramatically, like I’m the one who’s clearly missing something. “Wishful thinking?”
I let my head fall back and stare at the ceiling for a moment.
“So is that a no, then?” Of course, he’s still at it.
My problem is that I hate lying. Absolutely detest it.
Maybe it stems from that one time when my mom knew I was lying about my high school project, but instead of helping me fix the problem, she left me to fend for myself and I ended up embarrassing myself in front of the whole class. Scarred me for life.
I rub my hand over my forehead and down my face, exhaustion still rushing through my veins. “Just drop it, Hunt.”
“Shut the—”
“Shush.”
“Calm down. I was gonna say shut the front door.”
I can’t help myself and chuckle. I guess I should give him some more credit. He’s Super Uncle Hunter to a lot of nephews and nieces, after all.
He reaches over Tanner, who’s munching and playing between us, and punches my shoulder. “Dude, for real. Spill.”
“There’s nothing to spill. It was an accident.” Since I know that doesn’t explain anything, I tell him what happened, watching his eyes look like they’re dangerously close to popping out.
“Lucky duck.” Hunter’s kid-friendly vocabulary is turning out to be rather entertaining, and judging by the way the corners of his lips twitch, he knows it too.
“Like I said, it was an accident.”
“Uh-huh. Sure, sure.” He wiggles his eyebrows like the lunatic he is. “Like one of those accidents you don’t mind happening again?”
I pick up one of the pretzel sticks and throw it at him. Of course, he catches it, throwing it happily in his mouth.
“Don’t even pretend like you don’t want a repeat. It’s written all over your face.” He holds out his hand in front of Tanner, who’s still marveling at his Millie doll. “Am I right, T? High five.”
Tanner beams and slaps his palm against Hunter’s and they both laugh like they know something I don’t.
But that’s where they’re wrong. Because, fuck yes, I’d like a repeat even when I know I really shouldn’t want one.
Nine
Emilia
“Emilia, are you listening to me?” My mother’s exasperated sigh blasts my brain with a magnitude only she can achieve. No one else I know can put this much disappointment in one sigh.
“Yes, Mom. I’ll be there on Sunday. Prim and proper, as always.” Four more days of dread for me until then. I can’t remember the last time I missed our monthly family dinner.
“Wonderful.” She sneezes, and it’s so delicate, it could be mistaken for a kitten sneeze. But kittens are adorable, my mother isn’t. She’s more like the evil queen who eats cute kittens for breakfast. “I’m guessing you’re coming alone?”
If I continue to bite my lip to keep from groaning, I might draw blood. This woman loves to play mind games with me and has done so her whole life. I’m equally terrified and thrilled to see what happens if I can pull an “in your face” one day. If that will ever happen.
I still haven’t had the guts to take anyone with me to dinner at my parents’ house. Not that I’ve had a lot of candidates over the years—I had my last boyfriend a few years ago—but I’m also not that mean.
“Yes, Mom.” I say what she expects me to say, knowing it will make this phone conversation be over that much quicker.
“I thought so.” Another exasperated sigh. “Just know that one of your dad’s business partners will join us, so let’s keep quiet about your unfortunate job situation right now. That’s nothing anyone needs to know.”
I count to five, inhaling deeply every time.
Every single time.
She’s your mom, the person who gave you life.
I can’t remember the last time we had a conversation that didn’t demand every ounce of patience from me.
It’s exhausting.
“There’s nothing wrong with my job, Mother.” She hates it when I call her that, and I take full advantage of it right now, even though I’ll probably pay for it next week when she’ll nitpick even more than usual. “It pays the bills, and I enjoy it.”
“Your father needs something. I’ll see you next week, Emilia. Be on time.” She doesn’t wait until I reply to hang up. It’s her standard line she uses whenever she’s reached her limit and is too “tired” to talk more.
If there’s one thing she doesn’t like, it’s disagreements aimed at her. She only likes to dish it out but can’t take it.
“Ugh.” I let myself plop back on the couch and throw my fists and feet in the air like I could punch it. I probably look like a struggling insect that’s stranded on its back, but I couldn’t care less. It feels too good.
Until someone clears their throat.
Loudly. Deeply.
All male sexiness-ly.
I close my eyes and blindly grab one of the throw pillows to pull over my face.
How embarrassing someone actually watched me behave like this, and not just any someone either. Of course, it has to be Jace.
It was supposed to be one of those meltdowns that was just mine. Where I could be one hundred percent my crazy self, lost marbles and all.
And all of that only a few days after he saw me naked.
This is clearly not my week.
“What are you doing here?” I don’t take the pillow off, so my words come out muffled. I’
m actually not sure if he can understand me—and I’m aware it’s not very polite or possibly socially unacceptable—but I don’t care.
My face and neck are impossibly hot, and my earlier irritation is still making me all twitchy too. It’s not a good mix, and I’m sure not very pretty either.
Since my ears aren’t covered by the pillow, I hear his low chuckle just fine.
“Well, I just happen to live here.”
His footsteps come closer, and I mentally calculate the chances of him not coming in my direction. Or maybe I could make a run for it? I mean, after our disastrous shower run-in, and my humiliating bug-imitation just now, how much worse could it possibly get?
A weight settles next to my hip, making the couch dip toward the edge.
I’m so startled he’d sit right next to me, basically gluing his hip to mine, that I push the pillow far enough aside to peek at him.
“Hey, ladybug.” The corners of his mouth twitch, and I let out a loud groan, pulling the pillow right back over my face.
So he definitely witnessed my meltdown. Every second of it.
“Wanna talk about it?” His voice is gentle, making me want to pour my heart out.
Then he pokes my arm.
I shriek, the sound thankfully swallowed by the pillow. Well, mostly at least. Wanting to breathe better, I pull it aside the tiniest bit. I also use the chance to hiss around the corner. “Did you seriously just poke me?”
“I had to make sure you’re still alive. Maybe that was an ‘I’m dying’ bug dance that I walked in on. Can’t be too sure around here.” The humor is easy to detect in his voice in the way it’s slightly wavering, like he’s trying hard to hold on to his control and not laugh.
“Ugh. Why, oh why? Because my mom wasn’t bad enough today?” I realize what I just said and shut my mouth.
“That was your mom?” He’s quiet for a moment, and I’m dying to see what he’s doing. “Is she trying to set you up for a date?”
“Huh?” Playing dumb, another one of my favorite methods to use on people. His question pretty much crushed any hope that he didn’t listen to the whole conversation. Great.
Fresh Meet Page 7
