Squared Away
Page 3
* * *
Mark let Isaiah hug him, because the alternative was to sink to the flour-covered hardwood floor and never get back up. World’s fastest packing job at the base. Five hours to Germany. Long hours waiting for the flight to the US, another sixteen hours before he reached San Diego. Cab to the base. And here. With Isaiah, kids screeching, air stinking of burned food, the house that his mother had always kept as such a showplace looking like it had been attacked by a flock of angry goats. And all of a sudden this was all so fucking real that he couldn’t deal.
“You didn’t call,” Isaiah said, still holding on, no rebuke in his voice. And damn, his voice was lower than Mark remembered. More mature. Body more solid now too, probably a good thirty pounds of muscle he hadn’t had six years ago.
“Didn’t know what to say.” Mark was too slammed by emotions for anything other than bald honesty. This felt like the worst déjà vu of his life. Five years ago, he’d made a similar trek when his parents had died in a plane crash. But Danielle and Cal had been at the other end of the journey, and now...
“It’s okay. You’re here now.” Isaiah rubbed his back. Fuck. I’m shaking. Mark tried to make his body cooperate, pull it together, but he couldn’t do more than choke in air.
“Who’s dis?” a small voice asked from somewhere around their legs. Mark looked down to find a small cherub with a riot of curly hair looking up at them with concern.
“It’s Uncle Mark.” Isaiah finally released him and scooped up the girl. This had to be Daphne. No. Wait. Zoe. Daphne was bigger now, maybe five. Zoe had been the baby last time, a big butterball of a baby in a bouncy seat, shown off by the nanny. Had he held her? He honestly couldn’t remember.
“We made a big mess, Unca Mark.” She looked to be three or so now, and like the bigger girl hanging back near the fridge, she was utterly filthy, covered in flour and glitter.
“I see.”
“And Unca Ikey burned down the dinner.” She shook her head sadly as Isaiah set her down.
Take charge. Assess. Damage control. It was what he did. He did not fall apart. That was not what he did. “Is there other food?” he asked Isaiah.
“Yeah, we’ve got casseroles for days. You must be starved. I’ll get something else on.” Isaiah pulled a foil-wrapped dish out of the big fridge. He messed with the oven, set a timer before Mark could give that next order.
“Good. Now, to clean up.” One step. Then the next step. Then one more after that. He knew how to do this, knew how to keep going even in the face of utter disaster.
“Bath time!” The girls raced away.
“I’m going to go clean them up. Any way you can hang out with the big guy here?” Isaiah indicated the baby strapped into the wooden high chair. “I’ll clean the floor when I’m back.”
“No. I know where the broom and mop are.” He headed to the pantry, as intent as if he were dealing with a chest wound. Which he kind of was. Just his own, and one he might not recover from.
“No. No. No.” The baby bleated out the refrain while Mark attacked the floor. I hear you, kid. He’d been hearing those same syllables in his head the past two days. No. No. No. No, this could not be happening. No, he was not dealing with this. No, Danielle and Cal were not gone. Any second now, she’d come through the patio doors over there, breezing into their childhood home, wineglass in hand, looking more and more like their mother with every year that passed.
When their parents had died, Cal and Danielle had sold their downtown condo, moved in here with baby Daphne, and Mark had been so damn glad. Danielle had chattered at the time about how it was only fair, with him living in the barracks and gone most of the time anyway, and how they needed the extra room so that they could get the live-in nanny she wanted, and could host parties for her endless supply of vapid friends. Whatever. Mark hadn’t really cared about her motivation, had only wanted her here, wanted to never again come back to it empty and sad.
“Whoa. I’m pretty sure Danielle’s cleaning service doesn’t get it that shiny.” Isaiah’s voice—the new, deeper one—pulled him from his task. And yeah, he pretty much had scrubbed the floor down to its finish, hardwoods now gleaming in the light from the pendants over the kitchen island. He hadn’t even been aware what he’d been doing, just keeping moving.
“It’s done.” Mark straightened, returned the cleaning supplies to the pantry, ready for the next task.
“Okay, dinner for you, then a shower.”
Wait. Isaiah was not supposed to be the one giving orders. That was Mark’s job. He was Wizard, master of triage. He did not—
“Eat.” Isaiah shoved him in the direction of the stools rimming the huge island. “I’ll get you a water.”
A huge plate of some sort of pasta dish and a glass of ice water appeared in front of him as he took the stool.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, really not sure what to do with himself without another disaster to manage. The kids, who had followed Isaiah into the kitchen, started whining about their turn and how hungry they were. Mark sprang from the stool. Good. He could solve this. “What do they eat?”
“Sit.” Isaiah’s voice was far more commanding than Mark had ever heard it. “They’re getting some vegetables from a tray a neighbor brought over, some bread, and a bit of the pasta. I’ve got this.”
“I can—”
“I’ve been at this all week.” Isaiah sounded as world-weary as the most hardened senior chief. “I know what they will and won’t eat. Just let me handle it.”
Fuck. Mark had not needed the reminder of how long Isaiah had been alone, dealing with this, while they hadn’t been able to get a message to him on the mission. Thank fuck they’d finished when they had, or it could have been weeks...
Don’t think about that. He needed to keep his focus. Next task, which was apparently to eat. He could do that. He settled himself back onto the stool and chewed without tasting a damn thing. Just calories. He was used to forcing himself to eat MREs regardless of how they tasted or how actually hungry he was.
Isaiah got the girls situated at a low table tucked over by the patio doors, then dished himself out a big portion of the casserole and came to sit next to Mark. “I know you’ve probably got a dozen questions for me, but I think you should probably sleep first. We can talk arrangements when you’re rested.”
Arrangements. Another task. One he wanted to do less than having every last tooth extracted without Novocain, but it was the mission in front of him. “No. Tell me what needs to be done. Make me a list if you have to.”
“Everything’s already handled. We were just waiting for you. I’ll make the calls, but we should be good to go day after tomorrow? I know that’s fast—”
“No. It’s fine.” Mark wasn’t ever going to be ready for this. Better to just get it over with, move onto the next task. “But surely you need me to help with the calls. The decisions—”
“Mark.” Isaiah’s voice was gentle now. And God, he hadn’t been Mark in so damn long that his eyes burned. He’d been Mark to Cal and Danielle too. “You look like the ruined food. I’m seriously worried you’re gonna collapse, and I’m not sure I can drag your a—butt to bed if you pass out on me. I need you to eat, shower if you can, and then sleep as long as your body will let you.”
“That’s what you need?” Somehow Mark could deal easier if this were an order.
“Yes.” Isaiah reached over, squeezed his arm. His grip was solid, sure, and Mark wanted him to never let go. “Everything else can wait.”
No. Mark wanted to protest. The mission didn’t wait for him to rest up. And it wasn’t like sleep was going to change his reality. He’d dozed on the flights here and there, fitful sleep, and when he’d awoken, it was to the awful realization that this was real. So he’d focused on just getting here. But now, he wasn’t sure what came next, and that had him almost ready to hurl the food he’d just finished.
And so Mark found himself at the back of the house, in the small room that had housed a series of housekeepers growing up, then been a workout room for his mother before Danielle had claimed it for her childcare help. He stumbled to the attached bath, stripped. One step. Then another. Then the one after that.
“Clothes on the bed,” Isaiah called from the room as Mark started the shower. “I’m getting the girls to bed now, but holler if you need something.”
Fuck. Mark needed this nightmare to end. Needed to wake up back with his men. Needed to not be here in this house that was at once both familiar and foreign to him. Needed—
Sleep. His body finally won the battle as he stepped out of the shower. He stumbled to the bed, barely aware of his head hitting the pillow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d figure out what the new mission was. Tomorrow he’d take charge of this mess.
Chapter Four
Isaiah checked in on Mark after getting the kids to bed—a circus and a half—and found him naked on the bed, no covers even, so he’d grabbed a blanket from the closet, put it over him, and hoped that when he finally woke up, Mark would look less like death.
Wait. Maybe not death. There was enough of that going around. But still, he’d never seen another person as done in as Mark had appeared. And strangely, it had given Isaiah something to ground himself to, made him forget temporarily about the break he’d so sorely needed. No, he’d had Mark to take care of, and that had kept him going, given him enough energy to deal with bath time and dinner and bedtime. And now, finally, he could collapse. But not here, even if the temptation was strong to stretch out next to Mark.
Not out of any lingering puppy-dog crush—that had died six years ago, thank you very much, and it wasn’t getting resurrected, not now—but because not being alone sounded so damn good, just having another body close to him. But for all Isaiah was the most forward guy on the planet and a major cuddler, he wasn’t going to snuggle in with a guy who wasn’t conscious enough to say okay to the idea.
So he trudged up to the guest room. Taking the kids to the apartment he shared with two roommates had been out of the question. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t crashed here before, helping Cal and Danielle out when they were between nannies. He knew the drill, checking to make sure he had the baby monitor on for Liam before he rolled into bed. He could manage. He’d fall apart later, after Mark was himself again.
But in the morning, there was no Mark. Isaiah checked—he was still passed out in the back room. He did the breakfast thing for the kids, put on coffee because all the military guys drank it, and started on the list of phone calls that needed to be made before tomorrow. The girls were only happy with the PBS Kids morning lineup in ten-minute increments, so he had to deal with endless interruptions while on the phone. Typing one handed with Liam on his lap, he posted the arrangements on social media from his phone when he realized that he couldn’t possibly call everyone himself. Three more casseroles arrived midmorning, brought by women he’d never met before, who thank God didn’t linger. They all asked the same thing—was he sure he could manage?
And to each of them, he gave the same lie. Yes, he was sure he could handle things. No, there was no one else to call. Aunt Louise, his father’s older sister, was busy with Grandma and Aunt Cecily—they’d be down for the funeral tomorrow, but they weren’t going to help him chase the kids. His father had flown in from Chile, almost as hard to track down as Mark, and would be turning around shortly after the service. Other than Mark, Danielle had had precious little living family, but an uncle and his family were coming in from Ohio.
And each of the well-dressed women suggested he call the agency, get another nanny sent over. They all had nannies and housekeepers and couldn’t see functioning without one, not in this neighborhood. But Isaiah wasn’t about to turn the kids over to a stranger. Not right now.
So he answered the door and read stories and tried to keep Liam from eating anything he wasn’t supposed to and finally when he’d reached peak adulting, making the kids lunch while they colored in the family room and wearing Liam in the backpack carrier, around noon, Mark emerged in the sweatpants and tee that Isaiah had laid out for him.
“Sh—crap. Did I really sleep fifteen hours?” Mark blinked at the clock on the microwave. He had the most adorable bedhead, bushy hair sticking up at all angles, beard looking just as rumpled as the clothes.
“You needed it. I think you should probably nap again later, actually. You’re going to need it for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” Mark sucked in a breath, seeming to gird himself, muscle by muscle. “What do I need to do?”
“Show up.” Isaiah wasn’t being flip. He needed Mark there. Needed him if he was going to get through this thing. It was why he’d delayed everything waiting for Mark. He couldn’t do this alone, and somehow having Mark to do this for, to know that Mark would need the closure as much as he did, had somehow made each task a little easier.
Mark shook his head as he poured himself some of the now-lukewarm coffee. “Need something to do.”
“Food.” Isaiah slid him the tray of pastries one of the women had dropped off. “Then do you need to run to base? Get clean clothes for tomorrow? I can hold down the fort here.”
“Yeah.” Mark rubbed his scraggly face. “I should go to base. Get some stuff. When do you need to leave by?”
“Leave?” Isaiah blinked at him. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got food for days now, and hauling these guys on an outing is probably more than I want to take on today.”
“No, I mean, you’ve got to go back to your place, right? Now that I’m here, I’ll handle things.” Mark took a long sip of the coffee, not seeming to care that it was both cold and black.
“Dude. I’m not leaving you alone with three kids.” Isaiah forced himself to keep his voice level, but really, he was kind of pissed that Mark even thought he’d bail. “Have you ever even changed a diaper?”
Mark’s mouth moved like he was tempted to lie before he finally sighed. “No.”
“Look. No offense, man, but I’ve been around these kids a lot. Danielle and Cal relied on me all the time.” Probably more than they should have, but he wasn’t getting into that now. “I’m not abandoning them.”
And he didn’t like Mark’s assumption that he’d be in charge going forward one iota either. Dude needed to take a huge step back. These were Isaiah’s kids now.
“Don’t you need to be at a job or something?”
“Just graduated with the winter term class. As it happens, I’m somewhat...between gigs.”
“Congrats. What’s this one in?” Mark’s voice was dry enough to tell Isaiah that Cal had been complaining again about how Isaiah couldn’t pick a major and stick with it. Like it wasn’t bad enough that he heard that lecture from his father every time they spoke, which wasn’t often. Not everyone could be like Cal, who’d always known he wanted to make money, and who had gone into investment banking because that’s what all Danielle’s rich friends did.
“Horticulture. Took some time off, nothing really grabbed at me. Did some work outdoors with a landscaping company. Started taking classes at City College. Liked it enough to get the certificate.”
“What’s your dad think of that?” Mark considered him over the rim of his coffee cup.
Liam let out a squawk from his perch on Isaiah’s back. “No!”
“Pretty much that.” Isaiah laughed, which felt weird, like flexing a muscle he hadn’t used lately. “Like I’m a waste of a biology degree, an art history minor, a gender studies certificate, and a fast ticket to grad school for abnormal psych. We don’t talk much
these days.” He bounced from side to side, trying to keep Liam happy. Sometimes the kid conked out and took a nap in the backpack, which was nice. “Anyway, right now, I can just focus on the kids. And helping you.”
Mark raised his eyebrows like he had a lot more to say on the topic, probably all macho bullshit about how he didn’t need help, but the girls both came running in. “We’re hungry!”
And tough. Mark might be a SEAL out there, but here, this was Isaiah’s house now, his family, and like it or not, Mark was going to have to deal with him, play by his rules.
* * *
The keys to Mark’s father’s BMW hung on the same rack in the garage where they’d been since Mark could remember. Danielle had never gotten around to selling the car, which was the same one Mark had learned to drive on. And it saved him from having to borrow Isaiah’s little sedan, which was parked in the driveway. He’d had a clean uniform with him, so he’d ditched Isaiah’s clothes in favor of that for the trek to the base. He’d need to grab some more civvies for hanging out with the kids.
The kids. Fuck. For the hundredth time since he’d heard the news, the thought of them made his insides quake. What happens now? Mark hated not knowing, hated not having a plan, and really hated that Isaiah seemed to already have one, installing himself for the duration, not rushing back to his partying and friends like Mark had expected.
Not that Mark was really that eager to be alone with the kids. But he didn’t like how damn comfortable and competent Isaiah had seemed that morning. Mark wasn’t exactly sure why Isaiah was pissing him off so much, just that he was. So it was good to get out of the house before he said something he’d regret.
He showed his ID at the security checkpoint, then headed to the barracks. Felt weird being back after several months away. A lot of their deployments were shorter, but this last one had been a slog. He hadn’t had much notice before they’d shipped out, so the room was exactly as he’d left it, even down to the half-drunk water bottle on his desk. He pitched that right away and made his bed next, some bizarre impulse to set the space to rights driving him. Tore off the old sheets of calendar pages for the weeks he’d missed, straightened his books, and finally when the tiny space felt familiar again, he hauled out a bag from the closet to start packing.