Wild Man

by Kristen Ashley

  I got my panties up and watched Brock prowl, face set in stone, to the nightstand. He turned on the light, grabbed his cell off the nightstand, and I rolled off the bed.

  Then I went to the door.

  I got to it and opened it farther to see a pale-faced, scared-looking Joel standing in the hall. The bad news was, Joey looked scared. The good news was, Joey didn’t look psychologically damaged at possibly hearing his father having sex with his girlfriend.

  Immediately, I put my hand to his neck and whispered, “It’s gonna be all right, baby. Come on in,” and I guided him in as Brock spoke.

  “Yeah, this is Detective Lucas, homicide. My ex-wife just called, worried there’s an intruder at her home. Can you send a unit…?”

  He gave the address as I guided Joel to the bed and sat him on the edge of it, me sitting close to his side and wrapping an arm around his waist.

  His eyes were glued to his dad.

  “Appreciate it,” Brock stated. “Can you give me a callback? Let me know the state of play?” He nodded. “Thanks.”

  He flipped his phone shut, opened it again, hit buttons, and put it to his ear.

  Then he said, “Just called dispatch, a unit is gonna swing by. Hold tight. They should be there in around five.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer and flipped his phone closed.

  Finally, his eyes went to his son, “Everything’s gonna be all right, Joey. Unit will be there soon.”

  Joel nodded.

  “Your brother sleepin’?” Brock asked.

  Joel shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Well, if he is, don’t wake him but go down, be quiet, find his cell, and bring it up to me, yeah?”

  Joel nodded again, then jumped from the bed and took off.

  The minute he left, the room filled with the harsh sandpaper of Brock’s extremely pissed-off mood.

  “Cells?” I asked cautiously.

  “Found out durin’ our talk that Olivia bought them both cells yesterday. Said they were New Year’s sales treats. What it was was preparation for a middle of the night stealth attack.”

  I bit my lip and nodded.

  Still cautious, I queried, “Um… why didn’t she call the cops?”

  “Said if it wasn’t an intruder, she didn’t want to look like an idiot or waste their time.”

  Hmm. Seems she didn’t mind wasting Brock’s time. Or waking him up. Or Joel for that matter.

  Again cautious, I asked, “Did she honestly think you were going to get up in the middle of the night, go to her house, and check?”

  He gave me a look. That look told me exactly how Olivia had made Brock’s life miserable in the years they were divorced but she was not married to Dade.

  I decided to stop asking questions.

  Brock opened Joel’s new phone, hit some buttons, which I suspected powered it down, closed it, opened his nightstand drawer, dropped it in with a clatter then shoved the drawer closed so violently his lamp wobbled on top.

  Oh man.

  “Honey,” I whispered.

  “I got it in check, babe,” he rumbled and I shut up because he did but I could tell only barely.

  Joel came back and the instant he hit the room, the atmosphere changed, though it only became nonabrasive. The spark and flash of electricity still filled the air. Joel gave his dad his brother’s phone, Brock did a repeat of the power down, drawer thing but without the lamp wobble and Joel watched him do it.

  Then his eyes lifted to his father’s.

  “Dad—”

  “Benefit of the doubt, Joey,” Brock cut him off to say. “Yeah?”

  I didn’t get this but Joel did because he nodded. Then he shuffled his feet and his eyes moved to glue themselves to the cell in his father’s hand.

  It came to me in that moment that I should have asked my drowsy bad boy about the important talk he had with his sons rather than jumped his bones.

  Alas, I did not.

  Very long seconds ticked by in silence before I broke it with, “Joey, honey, you want me to make you some hot cocoa?”

  Joel tore his eyes from his father’s phone and looked at me.

  “No, thanks, Tess,” he mumbled.

  “You want to come over here and sit down with me?” I asked.

  “I…” He hesitated, looked to his dad then walked over to me and sat down, but not close.

  I pulled in a light breath, looked to Brock, and saw his eyes on his son and his jaw so hard, a muscle was jumping in his cheek.

  Then he started pacing.

  I got up, went to the bathroom, and belatedly took out contacts that had been in way too long. I left the bathroom and grabbed one of Brock’s flannels, pulling it on to cover my nightie, thinking I might need either to break my vow not to go to the mall or hit a computer to buy a robe to leave at Brock’s since the only one I owned at home was warm, fluffy, and I’d had it since before Damian and therefore it was ratty-assed.

  I needed a Brock’s Place Robe.

  I dashed downstairs, dug my glasses out of my purse, slid them on my nose, ran back upstairs, and sat down on the bed closer to Joel than he sat by me and I let out a silent sigh when he didn’t move away.

  Then we waited for a decade (slight exaggeration) while Brock paced, or, more aptly, prowled the room, his pissed-off energy filling the air.

  Joel and I both jumped when Brock’s cell rang.

  Instantly, he flipped it open and put it to his ear.

  “Detective Lucas,” he answered, then, “Yeah.” A pause before another “Yeah.” Then more listening and scarily a “No shit, this is my life.” Another pause, then, “Yeah, cryin’ wolf, won’t happen again.” Finally, “Yeah, thanks,” and he flipped his phone shut.

  He turned to Joel.

  “No sign of intruders, buddy. Your mother is perfectly fine and the officer reports Dade answered the door. Dade reported his alarm system is comprehensive, inside and out, and it was set. Anyone gets within two feet of the perimeter of an entry into the house, including a window, a signal sounds inside the house, goes to the security company, and if one of the windows or doors are breached, a message is sent direct to police dispatch. Did you know that?”

  Head tipped back to look at his dad, Joel shook it slowly while his lip trembled.

  God, God, God, I fucking hated Olivia McManus-soon-to-be-whatever-the-fuck.

  “The alarm did not signal,” Brock told him.

  Joel nodded, lip still trembling.

  Brock held his son’s eyes. Then he sucked in a heavy breath.

  Finally, he held out an arm and said gently, “Come on, buddy, I’ll walk you to your room.”

  Joel nodded again, got up, muttered a “ ’Night, Tess, sorry,” without looking at me and scurried out of the room.

  Brock followed him without looking at me either.

  I scooted into the bed, arranged the pillows behind my back, rested against them, legs crossed, and I pulled the covers up to my waist. I noticed that my happy-cosmopolitans-with-the-girls buzz was long gone and my other happier-having-fun-with-Brock buzz was way gone.

  Yep, totally fucking hated Olivia McManus-soon-to-be-whatever-the-fuck.

  Brock returned some time later. I straightened my back from the headboard where I was resting while contemplating vacation spots, which graduated to me contemplating getaway options when I took Brock, Joel, and Rex on the run, and I watched him close the door. Then I watched him walk in the room, stop, flip the phone he still held open, and hit some buttons.

  He put it to his ear and waited while I bit my lip and braced.

  This was a good idea.

  Olivia obviously picked up, for Brock growled low, “Even for you, that was low. FYI for future, the bullshit with the phones is done. They can have ’em during the day but the minute they enter this house, they’re turned off and confiscated. You do not enter this house. Ever. Any fuckin’ way you can do it. And warning, Olivia, you can kiss your sons good-bye, which means you can kiss any support you think you c
an drain outta me good-bye. You don’t get them and you don’t get a dime. You just declared war and mark this, woman, I’ll stop at nothin’ to win. You… are… fucked.”

  He closed his phone but stood there staring at it and I knew he did this because he was struggling with the urge to throw it.

  “Baby,” I called softly and his head came up.

  “Just got finished explainin’ to my twelve-year-old boy that it is highly unlikely that his mother has lived in that house with Dade for over two years and doesn’t realize they have top-notch security. Then I told him, should she be worried about intruders anyway, she should call nine-one-one, as everyone knows to call nine-one-one. They even got dogs trained to dial nine fuckin’ one fuckin one.”

  Oh man.

  Brock kept talking.

  “Then I told him, if she’s freaked, she should go to her husband. If they’re not gettin’ along and she’s freaked and forgets what to do, she should call me direct. What she should not do, under any circumstances, is call a twelve-year-old kid in the middle of the fuckin’ night and scare the shit outta him. And then I had to explain why she called him, which was, essentially, so she could scare the shit outta him and yank my chain. Then my kid started cryin’.”

  Yep, totally hated her.

  “Honey, come here,” I whispered.

  He held my eyes. I watched with despair as his eyes grew conflicted, then he dropped his head and looked at his feet as he lifted a hand and curled his fingers around the back of his neck.

  Okay, I was wrong.

  Before, I just disliked her intensely.

  Now, I totally fucking hated her.

  “Brock, baby, come here,” I urged.

  His hand dropped and his head came up.

  “I did not want this for them,” he whispered and I felt my throat clog.

  “Come here,” I repeated huskily.

  “Did everything I could to protect them from this shit,” he went on. “I should never have taken that cover that took me outta their lives for a whole fuckin’ year.”

  I gave up, threw the covers back, and went to him. I got close, wrapped my arms around him, and pressed deep.

  I tipped my head back when his arms curved around me and my eyes locked with his.

  “She is who she is,” I said quietly. “And because she is, even if you didn’t take that cover, they would eventually learn who she is because she is who she is. You have no responsibility for her actions. You were doing your job. Your job was important but it required sacrifices. There are a lot of important jobs men and women take that require them to make that kind of sacrifice. Soldiers for one. And undercover DEA agents for another.”

  “Yeah, Tess, but—”

  I interrupted him. “You have to be who you are. If you’re doing something important and you believe in it, you have to do it even if that means sacrifices. You have to do it because that’s how you teach them to do the same.”

  “Tess—”

  I cut him off this time by giving him a squeeze.

  “She’s doing this to herself. Do you think they live in fear of whatever reaction she’ll have, whatever tantrum she’ll throw, and they’ll not cotton on eventually?” I asked but didn’t wait for his answer. I shook my head and gave him another squeeze. “No way, Brock. Those are your boys and they are far from stupid.”

  One of his arms left me so he could curl his fingers around my neck as he whispered, “Baby.”

  “It’s your duty to teach them to be good men. You learned because you had a good mother, and despite a bad father. They’ve got the opposite. You’re obligated to do this anyway but in this situation you’re all they’ve got. There is no escaping it and it wouldn’t matter what they faced in their lives, you’d still have to do it. And part of being a good man is being a strong one, doing what you believe in, standing up for yourself and the ones you love, protecting them from harm, and you’re doing that. Think about what happened when you were growing up. I’m sure Fern wanted to protect you but she couldn’t. That was your life. You can’t protect them from this because it’s a part of their life. What you can do is help them understand what’s happening around them and teach them how to cope. It sucks that you had to explain to your son that his mother scared him on purpose just to fuck with you but you were right to do it.”

  His fingers dug hard into my neck and his eyes flared.

  Then his fingers relaxed and his head dropped so he could touch his mouth to mine.

  When he lifted his head, I told him softly, “We need to talk about your talk.”

  He nodded but said, “That was only a little less painful than this shit tonight.”

  Not good news.

  I licked my lips, then pressed them together.

  Then I gave him a gentle tug toward the bed and whispered, “All right, come to bed and tell me.”

  Brock studied me for a minute before his fingers left my neck to slide up into my hair then down through the back of it.

  Then we went to bed and he told me.

  He turned out the light, held me, and I held him back until he fell asleep in my arms but I lay awake in his.

  And only then did I let the silent tears of frustration and powerlessness fall.

  But luckily there were only a few.

  Then I burrowed into my man and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Nuggets Won

  “THOSE LOOK FREAKING fantastic!” I exclaimed and I was not lying.

  Kellie was at a stainless-steel table in the back of my bakery (where the magic happened) and she was adorning chocolate cupcakes with mountainous swirls of mocha frosting. She’d already finished a tray and they were lightly dusted with cocoa powder and showered with orange-flavored sugar and chocolate sprinkles.

  They looked awesome.

  Her eyes went from her pastry bag to me.

  Then the tip of her tongue, which had been poking out the side of her mouth disappeared, and she asked, “Do you think?”

  I looked at the cupcakes then back to her. “Uh… yeah.”

  She grinned at me.

  We’d had a busy day and stocks were low by the time she got there after school, so I set her to work alongside me, seeing as business was picking up due to the after-work crowd swinging by to get goodies for home. I’d just returned from refilling cookie jars (fat, yummy peanut butter with those crisscross fork indents in them and oatmeal with dried cranberries and white chocolate chips).

  It was the first time Kellie had been let loose unsupervised and unaided. And by the looks of it, she’d done great.

  I walked to her, gave her a sideways hug, and kissed her temple before letting her go and telling her softly, “Honey, you’re a natural.”

  “So, they’re Tessa’s Cakes Worthy?” she asked.

  “Absolutely,” I answered.

  “Cool,” she whispered, eyes shining bright.

  I smiled at her. Then I swiped a cupcake.

  I started to walk away, peeling back the brown paper as I told her, “I’m off. When you’re done with those, take them out and unleash them on the world.”

  “Okay, Tess, and tell Uncle Slim I said hello,” she called after me.

  “Tell him yourself.” I stopped at the office door, turned, and looked at her. “Now he’s blaming me that you’re never stopping around at his place.”

  “Well, then tell him he doesn’t pay me to be around and he doesn’t have huge bowls of homemade frosting at his house,” she returned.

  This was true.

  I grinned at her and disappeared into my tiny office, taking a bite of her as delicious as it looked cupcake.

  Totally Tessa’s Cakes.

  Once I got over the orgasmic taste sensation of chocolate cake and whipped mocha frosting with a hint of orange, I took in my tiny office.

  My life was a mess because of outside factions. My home was never a mess. And this now meant that Brock’s home was never a mess.

  I had to admit to one drawback. Having
Brock meant having two houses to clean.

  Brock didn’t clean. In fact, Brock didn’t like it when I cleaned.

  When I asked, Brock informed me that, in the past, he kept his pad clean mostly by not living in it and therefore it wasn’t really clean. It was just that he wasn’t around to see the dust accumulating. Things occasionally got cleaned when his mother popped by. This, I’d realized, was something she did that was essentially taking care of a forty-five-year-old man that he didn’t mind. Then again, he didn’t care if his place was clean and he also didn’t care if his mother spent her time with him cleaning.

  He did mind with me. He thought we had better things to do when we were together, like eat, watch sports on television while cuddled together, and have lots of sex.

  We’d had words, not heated, just words. Several of them.

  Unusually, I won.

  Then I wondered why I fought for the right to clean his house. This was not fun. But it had to be done because I was not able to live in unclean and not tidy and it had to be said, Brock and I were living together. It was just that we were doing it in two houses that both had to be cleaned.

  But the one thing in my life that was not tidy was my office. In the beginning, when I was busting my hump to make a go of my bakery, it got out of hand and I never got it back into hand. Now it was organized disarray. Although it looked like a cyclone hit it, I knew precisely where everything was.

  I had few rules for my employees. Those being excellent hygiene, smiling faces, not being afraid to show personality, for personality was Tessa’s Cakes, and there was never an excuse to be bored.

  And last, never touch anything in my office upon threat of death (or not getting to take any of the end-of-the-night-not-sold cakes home).

  I grabbed my purse and the minute I did I heard my phone ring in it. I dug it out of the side pocket, looked at the display, and saw it said Slim Calling.

  I touched the screen and put it to my ear. “Hey, honey.”

  “Hey, darlin’. Change of plans.”

  It was Monday after Olivia phoned in the middle of the night on Saturday (or, more precisely, way early Sunday morning). The boys were back with Olivia and Brock’s attorney and Hector had been informed first thing that morning that plans had not only changed but had been shifted into overdrive. I’d had to come into the bakery for a few hours on Sunday, which gave Brock more alone time with his boys. But I’d met him at his place yesterday evening, when we pretty much zonked out because he’d had about four hours of sleep and I’d had about two.