She was only just seeing how that might have been a bad thing.
“Why would you think you’re a bad father?”
“I’m never there for Tin. I should be around more. T-The boy… his father was working on the computer when he was snatched from his backyard. I mean, that could have happened to us.”
Considering their backyard was walled in, and the alarm system they had was beyond ridiculous, she doubted that. Rubbing his temple with her forehead, she murmured, “That’s highly unlikely. And you give him plenty of your time. You’re not always working cases. Being busy does not make you a bad father.” She pulled away from him at that, needing to look him in the eye so he could see she was resolute in that. “You’re a great dad. You all are.”
His mouth tightened. “You can’t understand, Sascha.”
“No? Well, explain it to me.”
Her simple words had him stiffening, and he shook his head, hiding from her like Tin hid from the monsters in his closet—only God knew how he’d found out about such things at his age, she’d figured that was a six-year-old’s fear, not a two-year-old’s.
Realizing she wasn’t going to get anywhere, she guessed that he needed sleep more than he needed a lecture on why he was a great father. Pressing her lips to his temple, she said softly, "I think we should go to bed."
Sawyer murmured, "I'll grab Tin."
She nodded, watching as her large Scot got to his feet, leaving Devon behind. The worry on his face had her wishing she could hug them both equally, and it was then, she knew, her bed was going to be very full tonight.
"You sleeping with me and Sean, bud?" she asked Devon.
He stared blankly at Sean a second. "Do you mind, Sean?"
"'Course not," came his reply. "More the merrier."
"You say that now," Sascha retorted. "Wait until Tin climbs in with us in the morning."
He snorted, and the sound snuffled against her throat in a pleasant tickle. "I hope he does. I've missed him. We've all missed him. The house is so fucking quiet without him. It's horrible." His hand came out to pat her stomach. "God, when this one comes along, the house will be so much busier." He swallowed. “We need that. It brings life to the place.”
He sounded so happy about that, which, truth be told, was surprising. The men were all serious, and utterly studious when it came to their work. And their work was at home.
That meant they required a lot of quiet time.
And yeah, you didn't get so much of that with a toddler in the throes of the terrible twos.
She always tried to keep him entertained, but he was Andrei's child.
Andrei.
The economist.
The one who wrote economic manifestos for fun, and actually worked as a hobby. He'd made several fortunes over the course of his lifetime, and had no need to work at all now.
A man like that didn't breed a child who found crayoning fun. He’d already started tinkling with the piano in the salon at the Kensington house, Andrei teaching him a few choice notes that no two-year-old should have been able to retain so young.
Was it horrible that she really hoped this baby was Kurt's?
Of them all, he was the most restful. Devon's baby might be a potential nightmare. Two of them in the household? Jesus, they’d never get anything done, and the Nobel committee might as well just camp out in her kitchen waiting for the next miracle to drop.
Of course, she mused, Devon’s unusual brain wasn't something their baby was guaranteed to receive, but Sascha just knew she was destined to be surrounded by men for the rest of her life. Not just any men, but brainy men. Guys with IQs who made her own substantial one look subpar.
Not that they made her feel that way, but still, it was hard not to feel like a dumbass when the guys discussed quantum mechanics for fun at the breakfast table.
Her lips curved at the thought. Maybe another woman would have been intimidated by that, but she wasn't. She never had been. It wasn't about taking it all in stride, it was simply about loving them all.
Being loved by them.
It just worked.
She knew it always would too, so long as they fought for that love, and she couldn't imagine a day where that didn't happen.
With that thought in mind, she pressed another kiss to Sean's head when she saw Sawyer was hovering in the doorway. He had a slumped-over Tin in his arms, the baby's head was lolling on his shoulder, and his little body, which was usually worse than a wriggling puppy from fidgeting, was still as he slumbered.
It was amazing how one little terror could be so restful while he slept. It was unnerving, actually.
"They're here, baby," she told Sean. "We can go to the annex."
He nodded, but didn't move his face. She smiled though, and when Devon levered to his feet and held out his hands for hers, she let him maneuver her off Sean's lap.
With a grunt, she righted herself. Tonight had been a lot more energetic than she was used to, and she'd definitely be feeling the burn in her ass and thighs tomorrow.
Likely her lower back as well.
Oh the joys of mid-term pregnancy.
"Come on, baby," she prompted Sean. "Let's get some sleep."
Though he was a bit zombie-like, he did as requested and, with Devon's help, righted himself. His staggering gait spoke of how much he’d drunk, even if she hadn’t seen the evidence for herself in a bottle.
What had he said?
The police hadn’t listened? They’d let the parents of the child who’d perished hold a press conference?
A knot formed in her throat as she thought of all the trauma they must be going through tonight. God, was it any wonder Sean needed to see Tin? Needed to hold him and reaffirm that he was well?
And how hard was it going to be on him? The knowledge that if the police had just listened, that small child might still be with his parents, alive.
She wasn’t a watering pot. Not even during her pregnancy, but now, tears blurred her vision as she empathized not only for the parents, but for Sean who would hold onto this guilt for an eternity.
When he stumbled, almost falling into the cabinet where a lot of Jacinta’s dinnerware rattled with the jolt, Devon hauled Sean’s arm over his shoulder. Keeping him propped up as they walked out of the kitchen, back down the hall, meeting a hovering Cinta, they managed not to do too much damage to any of Sawyer’s mother’s fancy porcelain.
Cinta, standing at the front door, was wringing her hands in concern as she watched Devon and Sean stagger down the corridor, and when her eyes caught on Sascha, she jerked her chin up. "He okay?" she mouthed.
Sascha shook her head, and mouthed back, "Work."
Cinta's lips pinched but she nodded. She reached up to press a kiss to Tin's limp hand—in his father's arms he was a good two feet higher than Cinta was at her tiny four feet-eleven inches, so there was no way she’d reach Tin’s forehead.
Where Sawyer had come from, Sascha didn't know. Hamish, at only five-eight, wasn't tall. Yet they'd produced a son over six-feet tall, who'd make Mel Gibson in Braveheart look scrawny.
Eying her man, who looked a thousand times more delicious with Tin in his arms, because that was their child, and he was a hands-on dad who felt no shame in being his kid's impromptu mattress—hell, he didn't even mind being Tin's drawing pad! No, Sawyer was sexy, but when he was in dad mode, she could almost forget about what had just happened in that rest area.
Shoving her thoughts of that aside, because hell, Sean was feeling like crap, and they'd definitely all be passing out once they climbed under the sheets, she pressed a kiss to Jacinta's cheek, touched at the concern in her eyes, and murmured, "Tomorrow," before all five of them headed out into the cold, directly to their annex.
Sascha knew sleep was in their future, but she prayed Sean’s wasn’t loaded with nightmares.
Though she wanted to go harpy on whichever detective had ignored Sean’s advice, she couldn’t. There was nothing she could do except be there for her man, be there to h
old him, to ease his internal agony over today’s misery.
He needed rest, and when he woke, she just hoped a few days in the Scottish countryside would be what he needed to find some semblance of peace.
"What are ye doing, mon?" Sawyer bellowed when he found Devon peering at him from the side of his bed.
"Waiting for you to wake up," was the reply from the man who was like a brother to him.
"I told you not to watch me sleep," he grumbled, squinting as he ran a hand over his face.
God, he was tired.
And that had nothing to do with the hours of dancing last night, the impromptu threesome on his car, or the late hour they’d gone to bed.
It was Sean.
Sean, who’d driven hours to hit Glasgow, because his need to be with his family had reached a fever pitch.
Sawyer had fallen into bed, but he had lain awake for hours. Sean had kept the details of the case he was working on from Sascha, but Sawyer knew. As did Kurt and Andrei. Only Devon didn’t, and only because he hadn’t spent much time in Sean’s office. When they worked in there, sometimes there was no avoiding the white board that held the details of the cases Sean worked on. Even when he’d been taking pains to hide them from Sascha.
When Devon’s face didn’t even twitch with regret, Sawyer said with a huff, "I told you. It creeps me out!"
Devon shrugged, but Sawyer stared at the coffee mug in his hand with greedy eyes. "I wasn't watching you, per se. Just watching your chest."
Grunting, Sawyer pulled a face. "That just sounds even worse, ya perv."
"Why would it? If you were Sascha, then it would make sense. I'd be eying up your tits. You don't have any. There's nothing interesting to look at."
"Apparently there was enough of a show to warrant you sitting there with some damn coffee!" Sawyer argued, then he beckoned with his hand. "Give me some."
"It's mine. It's the stuff Sascha makes for me," Devon countered, hugging the mug to his chest.
"Tough shite. You woke me, you have to pay the price." He motioned again with his fingers, and with a huff of his own, Devon complied, handing over the mug as though he were handing over priceless jewels. He took a deep sip of the brew, relieved to note it was hot— an indicator Devon hadn't been perving over him for very long. Pulling a face at the taste of the decaffeinated shite in his hand, he murmured, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Devon replied. Quickly. Too fucking quickly.
He cocked a brow as he took another sip of the noxious brew. "How long have I known you, Dev?" Before he could answer, Sawyer gritted out, "Too fucking long to not know when you're lying. What's. Wrong?"
"Why was Sean drinking?"
"You heard him. A bad case. He was too late to help that little boy." Sawyer stared down at the mug in his hand; better that than stare Devon in the eye. The man’s brain chose inopportune moments to discern truth from fiction.
"He mentioned Tin though."
"Aye. He said the bairn looked like Tin."
"But he wasn't Tin. So why was he so upset?"
Times like this, it was like talking to Bender from Futurama. Except Devon didn't fart fire or drink beer.
God help them all if he ever drank beer.
That being said, there were times when Bender was more empathetic. In his own way, when it didn't concern the people he considered his, Devon was surprisingly cold.
"We're parents, Dev. Aren't we?"
Devon frowned, apparently unsure where Sawyer was going with this. "Yes."
"How would you feel if Tin was snatched from us?"
"He wouldn't be."
The confident answer had Sawyer hiding a small smile behind Devon's coffee cup. "How do you know?"
"Because I'd kill the bastard who tried to take him." Devon’s response didn’t altogether come as a surprise, but the lack of tone did.
He meant it.
One hundred percent.
Devon would kill to protect Tin.
When Sascha had given birth, he’d been terrified Devon’s quirks would manifest in such a way that he couldn’t show the boy any love and affection. But Sawyer’s fears had been for nothing.
In his own way, Devon was more dedicated to Tin than the rest of them.
Tin always sat on Dev’s knee whenever they were together, which was a lot. The boy was glued to him unless one of his other fathers demanded cuddles. And hell, Sawyer wasn’t even ashamed to admit that.
He’d never wanted fucking cuddles in his life. But when it came down to his boy? He never got enough.
"I'm sure that's how the parents of the little boy who died felt." The words tasted wrong, but he needed to make a point. “I’m sure they thought they’d kill to save their child.”
Devon pulled a face, his brow scrunching in contemplation. "People are funny about life."
"Narrow it down for me, Dev." He waved a hand. "I mean, give me specifics. Funny—ha-ha or funny—weird?"
"Funny weird," he replied after a second's thought.
"Okay, in what way?"
"To protect you, or Sascha, or Tin, or Kurt, Andrei, and Sean. Jacinta and Hamish too... I'd kill someone. In a heartbeat. I wouldn’t care if I went to prison." He paused. “I’m sure they’d still let me do math, so I’d be okay in there, and I’d know you were safe. I wouldn’t care that I’d killed someone. Not if they were trying to hurt you, anyway.”
"It's easy to say that now, when you're safe. When we're all safe."
But Devon was shaking his head. "No. I mean it. I would." He narrowed his eyes at him. "I know you think I walk around with my head in the clouds, and I do for the most part. Not much goes on that interests me. But you interest me. You all do. That means I protect you." He scratched at his stubbled jaw. “That’s what the money’s for. I don’t want it. I’d open source most of the stuff we work on, but the money?” He shook his head. “That will protect you. Even if we don’t need it so much because of Sascha’s inheritance, it’s always better to have too much, than not enough.”
He was so staunch about it, Sawyer had to punch him in the arm. "You don't have to protect us. We can protect ourselves. And hell, we have fortunes of our own." They weren’t exactly poor. Although, admittedly, Devon and Sascha were technically the richest in the household.
That didn’t seem to faze Devon though, because he simply shrugged. "I know you can. Doesn’t mean I don’t need to make certain of that though." Even as Sawyer frowned at him, surprised by this admission, Devon pursed his lips as he eyed the mug. "Are you done with that? You’re not even enjoying it. It's completely wasted on you."
Like he hadn't just been discussing murder, the topic changed direction entirely.
Sawyer handed it back then he scraped his hand over his jaw—if he wanted anywhere near Sascha today, and he did—he'd need to shave. She liked him with a bit of stubble, but not broken glass as she considered this current level of 'fuzz.' And it itched like a bastard too.
"Sean's okay," he said, his tone contemplative. "You know what he's like when he has to deal with cases where kids are snatched. And the last one was before we had Tin. Now, it's different."
"Why is it though?"
"He can empathize."
"In what way?"
"He can understand what those parents are going through." Sawyer regarded him with calm eyes. "Can't you?" He pursued the topic, even though he knew it could spell disaster for the day. "Think about if someone took Tin. How would you feel?"
"I already told you. Murderous."
Sawyer cocked a brow, surprised by the sustained control in his voice. Devon didn't handle trauma well. He shut down. He closed up. He locked the world out. He didn't get angry.
Not at anyone save himself.
Contemplating his best friend, and the usual conundrum that was a part and parcel of being the idiot's companion, he murmured, "Okay, so, you'd feel murderous. Sean, well, he doesnae feel that way. He feels sad. He feels he let the family down."
Well accustomed to Sawyer’s ‘doesnae
’s or doesn’ts in regular English, Devon didn’t bat an eyelid.
"But he didn't. He didn't take the child," Devon argued, his chin setting in a way that Sawyer recognized he was in for the long haul—great, just what he needed at four AM. At least, that's what a quick glance at his alarm clock informed him.
Wait a second.
Four AM?
Wanting to complain, but knowing it was pointless because Devon had obviously been thinking about this for a while, he murmured, "Why couldn't you sleep?"
"I was worried about Sean."
"Why were you?" he asked, knowing he wasn’t speaking emotionally because Devon, at times, could be pretty robotic.
"I thought he might throw up and choke on his vomit."
Sawyer's eyes widened. That was pretty detailed—he narrowed his eyes. "Have you been watching that stupid show with Sascha again?"
Devon scowled down at his mug, reminding Sawyer way too much of Tin when he'd been caught in the act of doing something he'd been expressly forbidden from doing—like another Sudoku. "No."
"You liar," Sawyer retorted. "You have. I told you to stop watching that."
Devon hated TV, but he'd started watching it because he liked sitting next to Sascha in their lounge. He said it was because watching her crochet comforted him, but Sawyer knew the truth.
Sascha's tits were epic. Seriously. They were porn worthy.
But when she was pregnant?
Sweet Jesus, they were even more astonishing. And with the way Devon sat, he had a perfect view down her blouse.
"You're such a pervert," Sawyer snapped at him.
"Why? She doesn't mind," Devon answered, apparently knowing where Sawyer was heading with that argument. "You said it was weird, so I decided to get consent."
Sawyer pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's something, I guess."
"And anyway, you check out her arse and feel it up when Tin isn't looking. You don't get consent for that," he retorted on a huff. "So, who's the pervert now?"
Sawyer: Quintessence: The Sequel Page 5
