Squared Away

by Annabeth Albert

  “Wizard!” A knock came at the door.

  Mark recognized Bacon’s voice so he yelled back, “It’s open.”

  “Heard you were back.” Bacon was on a different SEAL team, but lived down the hall in this same barracks building. “Heard about your sister and brother-in-law. Man, that’s rough. What can I do?”

  “Thanks.” Mark accepted a pat on the back from Bacon. “I think I’ve got it under control.”

  Bacon shook his head like he could see straight through Mark’s lies. “When is the service? Got your uniform ready?” He headed for Mark’s closet, not waiting for directions. “How about I iron and polish while you pack? You’ll want the full dress blue, right?”

  “I guess, yeah.” Mark was grateful to turn that task over to Bacon, who set about laying out the uniform, piece by piece, making sure everything was clean and ready, then sitting on the floor to polish Mark’s black dress shoes until they gleamed. And he didn’t chatter, which Mark was even more thankful for, giving Mark the space to find the jeans and underwear and other civilian clothes he’d need. He tossed in a few books, not that he really expected to be able to read, but this sleeping half the day thing wasn’t likely to last. Might need some late-night distraction to keep his brain from fixating on all the unknowns he couldn’t control. To that end, he also added a couple of the card decks he was seldom that far from.

  “What time for the service? I’m off tomorrow, and I’ll spread the word,” Bacon asked as he worked on the second shoe.

  “Eleven. But you don’t have to...” It hadn’t occurred to Mark that anyone from the base would care to go. Despite being on Coronado, Danielle had lived a different life, moving in her socialite and club circles.

  “Of course I do. You shouldn’t have to do this alone.” Bacon looked personally affronted that Mark would suggest he skip.

  “Thanks.” Mark’s chest tightened right along with his throat.

  “And damn, Wizard, I think you’ve got enough medals.” Bacon’s voice was forced, like he was trying to lighten the mood but wasn’t quite sure how to do that. After wiping his hands off with a rag, he straightened the rows of citations and medals on the front of Mark’s dress uniform. “You ever think about leaving some for the rest of us?”

  “Nope.” Mark couldn’t quite manage a laugh, but he pulled his mouth into what he hoped passed for a smile.

  “Show-off.” Bacon set the uniform and shoes aside. “Should we carry this stuff down or do you need to see anyone else before you head back home?”

  Head back. Home. Only it wasn’t, hadn’t been for five years now, only he’d been able to pretend... All at once, everything waiting back there for him smacked into his brain: the kids. Isaiah. The funeral. All the logistics. He took deep gulps of air, but it wasn’t enough.

  “Hey, hey.” Bacon shoved him to sit in the desk chair, crouching in front of him. He held out an unopened water bottle. “Try drinking something. It’ll help.”

  “Only thing that might help is Jack.” Mark’s voice came out all thready.

  “I’ve got some back in my room, but you’ll have to let me drive you back if you want to do shots.”

  Drive... “Oh fuck.” It hit him for the first time, really, what had happened. “Danielle fucking drove drunk. How could she do that?”

  “I don’t know, Wiz. But you’re one hundred percent allowed to be angry about it. Scream if you need to. Cry.”

  “I’m not angry.” And he wasn’t—the ice surging through him was different from any anger he’d experienced, numbing almost. And he wasn’t close to tears or screaming. He was just...gutted. Left empty. “Just...the kids.”

  “Fucking tragic.” Bacon rubbed his knees, like he was trying to get Mark’s circulation going again. “Who’s with them now?”

  “Isaiah.” Mark groaned.

  “Isn’t he the one...” Sitting back on his heels, Bacon made a vague gesture.

  “The one who’s fucked half the base, yep.” No point in sugar-coating it. In the years since Cal and Danielle’s wedding, Isaiah had seemed to be on a mission of sorts, sleeping with several people Mark knew, including his friend Tovey, back before he got himself married to the nicest guy on earth, a former teammate. A thought hit him. “Oh God, please tell me, not you too?”

  Not many people knew that Bacon was quietly pansexual, but he and Mark were close enough that he’d met Bacon’s last few friends-with-benefits. And Bacon was exactly the sort of SEAL candy Isaiah seemed drawn to—buff, tall, and charismatic.

  “No. He’s totally cute as fuck though...” Bacon trailed off. “Sorry. Not the time. He’s always seemed like a nice guy. I’m sure he’ll be a huge help.”

  Mark didn’t want his help, didn’t want to need him, didn’t want to have to rely on Isaiah of all people. He groaned. “I can manage.”

  “You’re a control freak. And we love you for it, but man, I’ve never even seen you around kids.” Bacon scooped up Mark’s belongings, being careful with the dress uniform hanger.

  “Gonna have to figure it out,” Mark said grimly, heading for the door. And he would. This was what he was good at, solving problems. His little freak-out notwithstanding, Isaiah and the kids were just one more challenge to conquer.

  However, after loading the car, saying goodbye to Bacon, who made him promise to call if he needed anything, and driving the short distance back to the beach house, he was no closer to figuring shit out. Two unfamiliar cars were in front of the house when he pulled into the garage behind the house.

  Fuck. Mark was not in a meet and greet mood, not able to handle another set of condolences, still raw from Bacon’s sympathy. Leaving his stuff in the car, he went around back, past the stairs that led to a rooftop deck with beach views, planning to go in the back, same way he had when he was a teenager and had wanted to avoid parental conversations. The renovated house, which dated back to the First World War, was on a sleepy side street, half a block to the beach, and its cedar shake siding with green trim fit in with the neighborhood of older, stately beach homes. A low fence defined the front yard, while a higher fence gave privacy for the large backyard. Mark knew exactly where the hidden latch for the back gate was, though, and he used it to let himself into the backyard. A sprawling brick patio ran the length of the house, with sets of French doors leading to various main rooms on the first floor.

  Through an open window, he could see and hear Isaiah talking with two women in the kitchen, thanking them for the food they’d brought.

  “Psst. Uncle Mark. Whatcha doing?” A small voice beckoned him from under a bench on the patio. It looked to be the oldest kid, Daphne.

  “Hey, what are you doing out here?” he asked, crouching low.

  “Waiting for cake,” she said as if all sensible people waited for cake outside, hiding under things. The backyard was enclosed on all sides, so she was reasonably safe, but still he and Isaiah were going to have some words about supervision.

  “There’s cake?”

  “Yeah. Mandy’s mama brought it. But then she started crying and then Jose’s mama started crying too, and I sneaked out. Too much crying.” She made a sour face.

  Mark was never quite sure how to talk to kids, and this was no different. He wasn’t sure what he should be saying here. “People are sad,” he said lamely. “Are you sad?”

  She considered this, turning her head first one way then another, before vigorously nodding. “I miss Tonya.”

  “Tonya?” Mark blinked hard, trying to keep up.

  “You know.” Her tone was awfully adult. “My nanny. She was nice. She wouldn’t make us wait for cake. Uncle Ikey makes us eat the carrots first. She quit though.” She let out a mournful sigh.

  Mark added grief counseling to the list of things he’d need to talk to Isaiah about. He wasn’t sure how you even found one for kids—the military had them for guys who’d been through traum
a, but he wasn’t sure he’d send this petite princess to the same person he’d send a grizzled senior chief.

  “I don’t like carrots either,” he said, trying to think how exactly to react here. “And I’m sorry about the nanny. I had one too. Her name was Farren. She was your mom’s nanny too. Did you know that your mom was my big sister?”

  “Yeah. Duh. You’re Uncle Mark. And you like cake?” She gave him a hopeful smile.

  “Yeah, I guess I do.”

  “Are you going to be here a long time, Uncle Mark?” Her tone was more thoughtful now, almost dreamy.

  “I’m...” Mark honestly wasn’t sure. Hadn’t gotten that far in his plans yet. But he needed to and fast. Think ahead. One step. Then another. She needs you right now. A muscle twinged, some unused place deep in his chest. He never wanted to be the one to let this little girl down. “I’ll be here for you, princess.”

  “Daphne!” Isaiah called coming to the patio door. “Oh, there you are.”

  “Yes, there she is.” Mark stood, glaring down at Isaiah. “She was out here probably twenty minutes before you came looking.”

  “It’s a fenced backyard. But yeah, I’m still figuring stuff out. Daphne, how about next time you ask before going outside, okay? That’s really important.” Isaiah spoke easily to her, none of the hesitation Mark had had about this word or that one.

  And that irritated Mark for reasons he really couldn’t say.

  “Do I still get cake?” she asked, lower lip coming out.

  “Yeah. I’ll cut you a piece in a moment.” Isaiah shooed her into the kitchen. He still had the baby strapped to him, which should have made him look ridiculous, big baby riding around on his back in a gray pack, asleep now. But on Isaiah, it was strangely appealing. As were the muscles that hadn’t been there six years ago, bulging biceps under his tight gray T-shirt...

  No. No, he was not going to find anything about this new Isaiah attractive.

  “You done lecturing me?” he asked Mark when she was inside.

  “You’ve—we’ve got to do a better job keeping track of them.”

  “There were eight kids here a few moments ago. Everyone thinks they’re doing a kind thing, bringing the kids as distractions for Daphne and Zoe, but it’s chaos, man. Cut me some slack.”

  “Does she even know?” Mark was still struggling to make sense of his conversation with Daphne.

  “Yeah.” Isaiah frowned. “She does. But she’s five. It’s going to be a process. Tomorrow is going to suck. Not sure how she’s going to react.”

  Me too. Hell, Mark wasn’t sure how he was going to react. And that made him bristle, made his skin go tight and itchy. He didn’t like unknowns, didn’t like not having a plan. And really, really didn’t like relying so much on Isaiah. Isaiah with the casual attitude. Isaiah with the easy touch with the girls. Isaiah who was too darn good-looking for his own good... Yep. He was going to need an Isaiah-free plan and soon.

  Chapter Five

  “Well, that’s over.” Aunt Louise let out a sigh that made her ample chest shake. The post-funeral gathering had dwindled down to just a few people. They’d taken over the fellowship hall at the large church where Danielle and Cal had been nominal members, the same one that hosted a preschool Zoe and Daphne went to. Church members and families whose kids went to school with the girls had provided yet more food for the family and close friends who stayed post-memorial service.

  Next to Aunt Louise, Aunt Cecily was holding a sleeping Liam. Zoe too was asleep, passed out after chasing other kids for most of the afternoon, missing her usual nap. Isaiah had tucked her up on a couch in the back of the room, having thought ahead to bring her special blanket in the diaper bag.

  “I’m heading out,” Isaiah’s father walked over, suit still impeccably crisp even as everyone else was looking decidedly rumpled. “Louise, do you need help getting back?”

  “Of course not. You go on now. Get some rest before your flight.” Despite both living in La Jolla, his father and the aunts had driven separately. His father wasn’t one to often have the patience for carpooling.

  “Isaiah.” His father nodded at him. There wouldn’t be a goodbye hug between them, hadn’t been for years now. “Did you find an appropriate nanny?”

  Oh, how to unpack that question. One, the assumption that Isaiah shouldn’t be doing all the childcare work himself. Two, the implicit question as to whether Isaiah could in fact discern “appropriate.” And three, the always lingering doubt as to whether Isaiah was up for any given task. His father had expectations, and Isaiah seldom met them.

  “I’ve got it handled,” he said at last.

  “Professor Randle emailed me. Told me they’re finalizing fall research fellowships. You’ll want—”

  “Dad. I’ve been a bit busy.” Thinking about his abandoned master’s degree was hardly what he wanted to do on that day of all days.

  “Just think on it. You’ve got to think about what’s best for the whole family now.” His father stared him down, all those expectations and assumptions compacted into a laser-like glare.

  “I am.” Someday. Someday he and his dad would have a real conversation again, one where he got over Isaiah dropping out of the master’s program.

  “He’s a good boy.” Aunt Cecily smoothed things over, as usual. “Doing a good job with my grandbabies.”

  His father had a kiss on the cheek for her before he finally took his leave. Isaiah settled back into his seat when another hand landed on his shoulder.

  “You want me to take Daphne back with our girls? They can play, and you can get a break?” Isaiah’s friend Dylan came up to him and the aunts with the twins in tow. They were a little older than Daphne, but the girls had played together well.

  “Nah,” Isaiah said. “I’m expecting a giant meltdown at some point soon, and I don’t wish that on you.” Daphne had been subdued at the service, hiding on Isaiah’s lap, and he supposed that was to be expected. Mark had said last night after dinner that they should look into grief counseling for the girls, and it was probably a good idea.

  “Okay. But playdate next week, maybe? Or you could just drop them off? Anytime I can help, just let me know.”

  “Playdate sounds good.” Isaiah yawned. It had been a long day.

  “You get the lawyer meeting set?” Dylan asked in a low voice. He was in the process of adopting his stepdaughters, so Isaiah had been peppering him with questions the past week while they’d waited to get word to Mark. Now that he was back, the lawyer had set the meeting for the day after tomorrow. The lawyer would hopefully have the next steps Isaiah needed to take to apply for guardianship.

  “You’re sure about this?” Aunt Louise asked. “I told you, we could maybe take the oldest one—”

  “We’re not splitting up the kids,” Isaiah said firmly. “I’ll manage.” He’d been saying that so much the past week or so that he was actually starting to believe it. “And you’re busy. Just promise me you’ll come visit often. And bring pecan bars.”

  “We’ll be there,” she promised. After Aunt Cecily lost her sight two years ago, she’d moved in with Aunt Louise and Grandma, and Aunt Louise kept their household running like an aircraft carrier, but no way could they add small kids to the mix. And Isaiah meant it about not splitting up the kids. They needed each other. He didn’t know what he would have done growing up if not for Aunt Cecily and Cal, who had both moved in after Isaiah’s mother died.

  Cal. A fresh wave of grief hit him, both for Cal, the older brother he’d never had, the teenager he’d idolized as a kid, and for the flawed adult Cal had turned into. He’d tried to say all the right words at the service, a short few paragraphs that didn’t do any justice to all his complicated feels. His father had spoken more at length, eulogizing Cal as “the son of my heart” and acting like he’d been around for their raising, instead of the truth—which was that he’d been
off on research jaunts so often that the household had fallen to Aunt Cecily. But whatever. His father was a good public speaker, deep, preacher-style voice, a world-renowned lecturer. He’d had no problem seizing the moment.

  Mark hadn’t spoken, which Isaiah had expected, instead letting Danielle’s best friend do a weepy eulogy. God only knew what was going on inside Mark. He was the picture of stoicism in his dress uniform, accepting condolences with a stony face. A fair amount of people had come from the base—people Isaiah knew like Dylan, who was married to a lieutenant, but also friends of Mark’s, each one more impressive than the next in their dress blues.

  “Take care of him,” Dylan said, jerking his head in the direction of Mark, who was talking to Dylan’s husband and a few other SEALs Isaiah recognized vaguely. “Daphne’s not the only one about to collapse.”

  Isaiah snorted. “He won’t let me, but I’ll try.”

  Last night after a dinner of mystery casserole and cake, they’d spoken some about the arrangements for today, but Mark had resisted all of Isaiah’s attempts to make things easier for him. He’d only grudgingly agreed to let Isaiah drive to the church since the car seats were already in his car.

  “Good man.” Dylan clapped him on the shoulder, then went to fetch his husband.

  His turn to round up a reluctant SEAL, Isaiah scooped up the still-sleeping Liam and made his way to the group as well. He already knew that telling Mark that he needed to rest wouldn’t work, even if the dark circles under his eyes and grim lines bracketing his mouth said he hadn’t slept much last night. So instead Isaiah made it out like he needed a favor.