Squared Away

by Annabeth Albert

  “Maybe.” Isaiah’s arch look said he knew perfectly well that Mark was trying to change the subject. He pushed the cart closer to Mark. “And actually, we need to talk about the house.”

  Oh fuck. Maybe Mark wanted to go back to talking about Swenson after all. “What about it?”

  “Are you close to putting it on the market? They say summer’s the best time to sell, but you’ll probably sell fast regardless. And if it’s about to go on the market, we probably don’t want to overload the beds. You want a clean look for buyers.” Isaiah’s tone was guarded, eyes distant.

  “I don’t know.” Mark did not want to think ahead right then. Finances were complicated shit, and he was pulling such long hours on duty he hadn’t had much time to check in on how the law firm was coming on probate, see what else he needed to do. “Why?”

  “I need to come up with a plan. See if I’m going to have to move soon...”

  Oh hell no. Isaiah wasn’t moving anywhere. Mark simply couldn’t handle that right now. “Not any time soon,” he growled.

  “I might need—” Isaiah started but they were both interrupted by a voice calling Mark’s name down the long aisle.

  “Wizard!” Rogers’s gravelly voice called a second time. He was driving one of the motorized carts, crutches in the basket his wife was pushing behind him. He had a full beard now, and his hair was longer. Last Mark had heard he was involved in a grueling rehab program for the leg. “Whatcha up to? I heard you’ve got an instructor gig right now. Shame about your sister.”

  Yes, even the crankiest guy on Mark’s team could express sympathy. Chest suddenly too full, Mark nodded tightly. “BUD/S is going okay. Lots of guys ringing out.”

  “You’ll get ’em in shape.”

  “Darn right.” Mark nodded at him. He wasn’t about to air his doubts with Rogers.

  Rogers motioned his wife forward. “Honey, this is Wizard. Think you guys met once or twice before. But this is the one I was telling you about. The medic who saved my life.”

  “Oh wow. Thank you.” Deanna’s pale eyes filled with tears as she reached for Mark’s hand. She was short, maybe five foot, but carried herself like a master chief. “Derek told me how you saved the leg—and his life. He’s had a long recovery—”

  “I’m fine,” Rogers interjected, typical stubborn SEAL. “Another month and I’ll be back out there.”

  “We’ll see about that.” She turned a stern eye on her husband, and seeing the usually brash Rogers meekly nod was awesome. “Anyway. Thank you. Derek says you’re the best there is.”

  “Not hardly.” Mark snorted. Not after the week he’d had. He was just an ordinary man, not the wizard everyone else seemed to think, just trying to do a job.

  “Too modest.” She smiled at him, then bent forward to grin at Liam. “And who is this big boy? Derek never told me you had a baby. And a...boyfriend? Husband?” She stuck a hand out for Isaiah.

  “Derek had no idea,” Rogers drawled. Fuck. He was going to get shit later. Meanwhile, Mark’s insides were frozen again, big chunks of ice where his words should be. This is Isaiah. He’s my... He swallowed hard, trying to ready the words.

  Next to him, Isaiah let out a mighty sigh before returning Deanna’s handshake. “We’re not a couple. This is Mark’s nephew. I’m the other uncle. Isaiah.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Rogers nodded at him before returning his attention to Mark. “You had me going for a moment there. Thought maybe you’d been spending too much time with Tovey and Horvat.”

  “He’s one of my best friends,” Mark said in a warning tone.

  “And super nice. They sent food to the house when Derek was recovering. The best muffins.” Deanna jostled her husband’s arm. “And Tovey helped Wizard save your sorry hide.” To Mark, she said, “Ignore him.”

  But Mark couldn’t. Would the guys on the team treat him differently if he came out as being in a relationship with Isaiah? Would it matter?

  “We should probably let you get back to shopping,” Deanna said, obviously trying to move on from the awkward moment. “We’re doing a rock garden. Derek needs more Zen in his life, don’t you think?”

  “Totally.” Isaiah gave her a tight smile, not much of his usual charm. Fuck. Mark had messed up. Again.

  “If Rogers isn’t up to your heavy lifting, Isaiah’s got his own landscaping business. He might be able to work you in.” Maybe selling Isaiah’s new business would get Mark back on his good side.

  “Sure.” Isaiah didn’t sound too enthusiastic, but he dug out a business card. “I’m doing ten percent off the rates for military families.”

  “That’s smart.” Man, Mark really was so proud of him, going for his dream like this. He’d figured out what he wanted and gone for it, balls to the wall.

  “You guys have fun.” Deanna gave a little wave as she followed Rogers back down the aisle.

  “Let’s get the wood I need for the Katz project,” Isaiah said as soon as they were gone. “We don’t have time for more browsing.”

  “I’m so—”

  “Save it. I just want to get my stuff.” Isaiah marched off at a fast clip, taking Liam with him.

  His bad mood kept up the rest of the process of getting the supplies he needed. Lumber for raised beds. Pavers. Bags of soil. The back end of the SUV was stacked to the roof. Mark wondered whether Isaiah would let him help him get a truck, an investment in the new business. But now probably was not the time to bring up that idea.

  “I’ll probably be at the job most of the afternoon,” Isaiah said on the drive back to the island. “You sure you’re okay with the kids?”

  “Totally. I’m happy to help you for a change.” Mark tried for a conciliatory tone, but Isaiah just snorted.

  He resisted Mark’s other attempts at conversation, and then gave all his attention to the girls when they picked them up at preschool. He dropped Mark back at the house with the kids, and then took off, no sneaking kisses or hugs like they usually did when parting. Fuck. Mark missed those simple touches, missed the chance to soothe Isaiah’s wounds with an apology and some kisses. Kisses aren’t going solve this.

  Staying gone until after dinner, with a few terse text messages updating Mark on his ETA, Isaiah came in dirty and sweaty and headed right for the shower. He then took over bedtime for Liam while Mark read to the girls. It was a familiar routine, but it felt all off, like all the comfort had been replaced by prickly thorns of Mark’s own making.

  “Do you want to watch a movie?” he asked when the kids were asleep. “Or talk? We should talk.”

  Isaiah shook his head. “I just want to go to sleep. It was a long day.”

  “Do you want a massage to help you relax? Or...” Mark tried to figure out how to offer sex as stress relief for him. Orgasm might push the reset button for Isaiah’s funk, let them talk afterward.

  “No. Just want sleep.” He headed for his room, turning at the last second. “Good night. Maybe we can talk tomorrow. I just...can’t right now. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Fuck. Mark hated this. He’d screwed up. Again. And the only person he had to blame was himself. It was up to him to find a way out of this mess, find a way to get Isaiah happy again. He needed a happy Isaiah. His happiness was worth everything. Even confronting your own stupid fears? That really was the question wasn’t it? How much was he willing to risk?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Isaiah hated this morning already, hated this day. All his usual optimism was replaced by a black cloud of ick hanging over his head.

  “Can we talk after I drop the girls off?” Mark kept his voice low as he got a cup of coffee. That. That right there was the source of Isaiah’s dark mood.

  “We’ll see.” Isaiah continued with waffle distribution. Liam banged his fists on the high chair table. The baby was fussy and teething again, which had meant an interrupted night of sleep for Isaiah
. Like he needed worse sleep—not having Mark next to him had been punishment enough.

  Mark was on his second day off, which ordinarily would have Isaiah running in happy circles like one of the kids, but instead they had to talk. And Isaiah didn’t want to talk. He sucked at talking. He’d told Mark he’d be patient, but fuck. It was hard.

  The buddy from his team and his wife had pretty much lobbed a softball right at Mark, and he’d cowered like a first grader stuck in the outfield for the first time, wide eyes, shaking hands, slack mouth. So Isaiah had saved him. A-fucking-gain. But he couldn’t keep doing that. He had his own self-respect to consider. How hard would it be to just say, “Yeah, this is my guy.”

  Very. Apparently.

  Fuck. Isaiah just wasn’t sure he had it in him to promise to keep waiting for Mark to decide what the hell he wanted.

  “Okay, who’s ready for school?” he asked once the kids finished eating.

  “I don’t know where my shoes are,” Daphne wailed. “The pink ones. With sparkles. It’s pink day. I have to have them.”

  “Okay. Where did you see them last?” Mark was quick to spring into action, before Isaiah could even finish wiping the baby’s face.

  “I don’t know.” Daphne eyes were liquid, tears threatening.

  “Don’t we have a cubby for shoes?” Typical military guy, Mark asked like things just always ended up in their rightful place because he decreed it. Never mind how hard it had been holding down the fort while Mark worked long hours. So a few shoes escaped the cubby. Life happened.

  “It’s not there!” Daphne ran back from the hall shoe cubby. “They’re gone.”

  “Okay. You look down here,” Mark nodded at Isaiah. “I’ll take her room, the upstairs hall, and the kids’ bathroom.”

  Isaiah just blinked at him. He got that Mark was good at orders—it was just part of his personality and training. And sometimes Isaiah liked that part, very much. But today? Not so much.

  “Please,” Mark tacked on at the last second when Isaiah didn’t get moving. “Unless you want to take upstairs?”

  “Nah. I’ll start in the family room.” Isaiah headed to the family room and checked under all the pieces of furniture, but no shoes. None in the lesser-used living room or formal dining room either. Not surprising as they hadn’t eaten there once since the accident. Maybe now we never will. Now was not the time to harbor fantasies about big family holidays in this space. Ridiculous sentimentality had no place in the multiple conversations he and Mark needed to have.

  No shoes on the back patio or in the kitchen. He was just about to check the laundry room when the doorbell rang. All this day needed was an unexpected visitor. He raced to the front door, almost taking a header as he approached the door, tripping over...two small pink shoes.

  Fuck my life. “Yeah?” he swung the door open to reveal a young pimply-faced guy with overly large teeth and bored eyes. He looked Isaiah up and down.

  “You Isaiah James?”

  “Yeah,” Isaiah said, tempted to lie because this couldn’t be good. And sure enough the guy thrust two packets of papers at him. Isaiah grabbed them out of reflex to keep them from tumbling to the porch floor.

  “Congrats. You’ve been served.”

  The weasel of a kid hurried back to a little car double-parked on the street, leaving Isaiah standing there slack jawed. Hands trembling, he opened the top one. And immediately saw red.

  “Mark,” he bellowed.

  “Yeah?” Mark came running, kids chasing behind him. “Oh hey, you found the shoes!”

  “F—screw the shoes. What the hell is this?” He thrust the papers at Mark before opening the second packet. “And there’s more. Mark, what the F—heck?”

  “I... I’m not sure. I wasn’t aware...”

  “You weren’t aware that a lawyer, apparently acting for you, filed a motion to intervene in my guardianship case? You’ve never heard of this guy? And there’s another one for your uncle. Never heard of that either?”

  “No. I saw a lawyer,” Mark said, killing any hope Isaiah had harbored that this was all a mistake. “But he was supposed to tell me before the papers were filed. Let me think—”

  “Let you think?” Isaiah stared him down. “You didn’t think you might want to do that thinking with me? Might want to tell me that you were getting your own lawyer? At any point in the last six weeks or so?”

  “I was going to tell you—”

  “Are we going to be late for school?” Daphne’s voice was higher than usual. “It’s pink day, remember?”

  “Can you let me run the kids to school?” Mark asked. “We shouldn’t fight right now—”

  “Yeah? When would you like to schedule that?” Isaiah got his point that they couldn’t fight in front of the kids, but damn, he was furious. And waiting wasn’t going to help that.

  “The second I get back from drop-off. Promise.” Mark gave him a pleading look, but Isaiah was no longer putting any stock in Mark’s promises. “Will you be here? Please?”

  Isaiah made him sweat for several seconds before finally grinding out, “Yeah. Okay.”

  “We’ll work this out. I promise. I know it looks bad—”

  “Go.” Isaiah wasn’t having his excuses, not when he’d effectively curtailed the argument. Then because the girls were still there, looking at the two of them wide-eyed, he added, “It’ll be okay. Nothing for you guys to worry about, I promise.” Unlike Mark, he meant his promises. He wasn’t going to let his anger at Mark bleed over onto the kids.

  To that end, he even helped Mark load up, came back in, got Liam out of the high chair, got him cleaned up, put him in the pack-n-play with some toys. And then he returned to the papers, really reading them this time. The papers asserted that Mark should be considered for financial guardian because of his “intimate familiarity with the family’s finances” and as an option for physical placement as well. The filing from the uncle said that he was an “interested party” and asked that he be considered as financial guardian if Mark could not do the task. Like Mark’s papers, it alleged that he or Mark was better suited to manage the “considerable sum of money and property” for the children. And it explicitly stated support for Mark’s case as physical guardian.

  Fuck. Fuck. He’d been so sure that Mark believed in him, thought he was the best option for the kids. He’d thought Mark trusted him. How wrong he’d been. And now it was up to him to fight for what was right and fair for the kids. For him. And screw whatever he’d had going with Mark. This was personal now and he was going down swinging.

  * * *

  Mark managed to keep it cool on the drive to the school and while signing the girls in. He’d half expected Isaiah to insist on coming along so that they could resume their argument that much sooner. Man, Isaiah was pissed. Far more than he’d already been, thanks to Mark’s behavior the day before. Now Mark had given him more ammunition for his anger, not that Mark could really blame him. He’d been totally blindsided and that was all Mark’s fault.

  He dialed Clancy Bolton’s office from the parking lot of the school.

  “Mr. Bolton is in a meeting with his associate, but he can call you back,” the woman who answered the phone reported.

  “This is Mark Whitley. He filed court papers without my permission. You get him on the phone now or I’m coming down there.” Mark used the same “accept no excuses” voice he used with his recruits. And wonder of wonders, it worked, with Clancy on the line in under two minutes.

  “Mark. What seems to be the problem?”

  “Isaiah—Isaiah James—was just served with court filings from your office. I thought we were going to talk before you actually filed papers?”

  “No, that wasn’t my understanding.” Clancy blustered. “You signed the necessary documents when you were in the office. And I called three times last week, told you we needed to get moving on
filing because the court investigator meeting’s been set. In the last two messages, I told you I’d go ahead and file if I didn’t hear back because your uncle said we were good to go.”

  “Oh, I’m calling him next,” Mark said darkly. “I was trying to save the lives of my recruits. Working long shifts. I might have missed some messages, and that’s on me, but this is not cool. Isaiah’s furious—”

  “You didn’t talk to him? Tell him that you were filing? I know it was Tom Yates’s idea that y’all cohabitate with the kids awaiting the court’s decision. I had my doubts on that being a good course of action. But what’s done is done. It’d be easier for everyone if he was amenable to a mediation—that’s probably what the court investigator is going to propose, that this goes to mediation before it goes to the court. I thought y’all had a good working relationship.”

  “So did I.” Mark beat his fist against the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding setting off the horn. He should have told Isaiah. Weeks ago. Worked it out with him. Made Isaiah see reason that this was the best thing for all of them. But he’d been so overworked...

  Don’t make excuses, Chief. You were having fun and didn’t want to end it. That’s the root of it.

  “Y’all will work this out,” Clancy soothed, like he knew the half of what Mark was going through right now. “And if you don’t, well then you’ll know that you did the right thing, filing. The court will sort it out for you. You’ve got the much stronger case here.”

  “I still would have liked some notice this was coming,” Mark grumbled.

  “Tell you what, I’m going to put you back on with Rhonda, make sure we’ve got an email for you. Any further notices or action, we’ll send you an email along with a text and voice mail. Cover all our bases.”