by Kent, Julia
Laura’s interruption jarred both men, Frank practically jumping an inch off the ground as her soft, feathery voice inserted itself between them. Dylan couldn’t help but take in her appearance: hair wavy from being wet, skin flushed with the excitement and anxiety of this situation, body wrapped in a gorgeous maxi dress that covered her, neck to ankle, in curvaceous rapture. If Frank weren’t here, he’d ogle and admire.
Protect and defend was more his approach in this instance.
“Because you ignored my emails,” Frank said in a fake hurt voice. Oh, please, Dylan wanted to hiss, trying to catch Laura’s eye. The guy was a walking phony.
She was looking at Frank so solemnly, chin down and eyes upturned, that he caught a glimpse of what she must have looked like as a chastened child.
Oh, hell no. No way she was falling for Frank’s crap.
“You wrote her an email for the first time in years and waited two days before barging into her life!” Protectiveness rose up in him like the swell of a tsunami, taking over half a mile of inland beach as it destroyed everything in its path. Laura had done nothing wrong. Not one fucking thing. And yet this guy was dismantling her, emotional brick by emotional brick, right before Dylan’s eyes.
“I should have replied,” Laura said in a shaky voice.
Frank’s eyes gleamed with victory, his mouth stretching into a facsimile of gentle caring. “You’ve been busy. I understand.”
Dylan’s head exploded. “Get out.”
“These two really are a pair,” Frank mumbled. Dylan had no idea what the hell that meant until Mike walked in the room, wet hair matching Laura’s, angry face matching what Dylan imagined he himself looked like.
“I said the same words to him a short time ago,” Mike said quietly. Too quietly. Dylan’s alert level rose to flashing red. Mike was trying to say something without words, but all Dylan could sense was danger.
Laura’s eyes jumped from Frank to Dylan to Mike, her emotions changing as she looked at each man. Then she said:
“Frank, you really need to see this from our perspective. You emailed me, waited less than two days, appeared at my place of business and questioned my work associate, then you went to Mike’s workplace. Now you appear here, out of the blue, and you act as if you’re the injured party.” Laura took a slow, deep breath, eyes unwavering, staying on her uncle. Her voice shook. Her hands shook.
But damn if her essence wasn’t ramrod straight. She was feeling the fear of saying what she needed to say and doing it anyway. Attagirl.
Dylan caught Mike stand a little taller, dip his chin a little lower, and fixate on Frank, as Laura finished her words. He wanted to cheer for her.
Frank’s next words, though, made everyone shake.
“I do not see anything from your perspective, my dear, because your perspective is untenable.” He took two steps closer toward the door, then paused to make eye contact with each of them. “I learned about your…arrangement from a business associate who remembered hearing about your dating company on talk radio. When I put two and two together and realized that the Laura Michaels they discussed on the radio was my little Laura, I was appalled.”
So that’s where this was going. Dylan didn’t hold back rolling his eyes. Mike joined him. Frank had stainless-steel balls to come in here with a morality play. It wasn’t just about the money.
It was all about shaming them.
Not gonna work, bud, Dylan thought. Never in a million years.
“You think I came here for money,” Frank said with a jerk of his head toward Mike. “And you think I came here to scare you or creep you out,” he said to Laura with such an even tone that Dylan felt like this was quickly turning into the monologue in a bad B-movie.
“But I came here because I am deeply concerned about the welfare of a poor, innocent child—” His eyes cut over to Jillian. “Who is the victim in this mess of a relationship you claim to have.”
Of all the statements Frank could have made, this was the most incendiary he could possibly have spat out. The words whipped through the room like a wildfire on a windy day, igniting Mike, Dylan, and Laura.
She sprinted across the room and swooped down on Jillian, scooping the baby into her arms. “Leave now,” she ordered. The look she gave Mike and Dylan made both move, instantly. Poke the Mama Bear and watch out.
Mike and Dylan were at Frank’s sides in seconds, bookending him but not touching him. Yet.
“Are you threatening me?” he asked, clearly amused. Any normal man would have backed down, but this guy was a piece of work.
A piece of disordered, entitled work.
“We’re not anythinging you,” Laura snapped. “But if you think you have the right to waltz back into my life and judge me in my own home, critiquing how I choose to live my life, then you are wrong, Frank. Dead wrong.”
He pulled his arms away from Mike and Dylan as if they’d touched him. Hands burning, wanting so much to grab the guy and shove his foot up the man’s ass, Dylan held back.
And then Frank said: “Sharon would be so disappointed. And so would my mom and dad.”
Tears pooled in Laura’s eyes and Dylan’s heart cracked in half. If he could have, he’d have yanked it out of his chest and beaten Frank to death with it, but instead he swelled with pride as Laura said in a cold, deadly voice:
“On the contrary. Grandma and Grandpa were disappointed in you. Did you know that Grandpa called you ‘Shiftless Frank’? It was only when you came for family gatherings that they put on the whole fawning bit. When you were gone, Grandma cried into her pillow. When you wired Grandpa for money, he took it from their own funds and boasted to Grandma how your ‘new investment’ would pay off ‘this time.’” Her fingers made air quotes, face twisted with mocking sarcasm.
Frank didn’t respond. At all. His face was as blank and polished as a granite counter.
“And then when it didn’t?” A shrill laugh filled the room. “They’d eat rice and beans for the next month. Grandma would take half her heart medication instead of the full dose, making it stretch.” She handed Jillian off to Dylan and marched right up to Frank, finger in his face.
“You have a lot of nerve coming in here and judging me. Trying to shame me. It worked, though, didn’t it? After Mom died?”
Frank’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t look away.
“You shamed me and bullied me into giving you half of her estate, and I did. I really felt like you ‘deserved’ it. And now you think because I’m with two guys who have more money than you ever imagined, I’m some kind of mark you can pressure.”
“I’m here because your daughter is being raised in depravity,” Frank finally responded, chin jutting out. “And I’m certain child services would be very interested in…this.”
Dylan broke out into a laugh he didn’t know he had in him. “You’re threatening to call child services because we…what? Have a clean, loving home for our daughter? Because Laura lives with two men? Good luck, buddy. Not only will you be laughed off the phone for making a call like that, we’ll countersue you so fast that judgmental chip on your shoulder will boomerang through the air and slice your head off before you can say ‘boo.’”
Frank just snorted and ignored him, eyes on Laura. His face shifted to concern. “I know it was hard after your mom died, honey. But this? This isn’t the kind of life you were raised to have. Not you, and certainly not my great-niece.”
“I asked you back at the office how much you want to go away,” Mike said. “You get one check, Frank. One. Make it a good number.”
The room grew still, the only sounds Laura’s ragged breath and Jillian’s little baby noises.
A stillness filled the room, making baby Jillian pause and gawk, first at her mother, then at Frank. Her great-uncle’s eyes narrowed, then flared, as if the muscle in his body were expanding and contracting on instinct, uncertain which way to move.
Dylan felt the same way.
Mike’s challenge hung in the air, and as Frank
’s eyes moved to Laura, Dylan wanted to see genuine emotion in them. Something that tied her own flesh and blood to her, a deep-seated need inside Dylan to believe that family actually meant something to the man, and they’d all misjudged him.
“I’ll be in touch,” Frank said, cutting the entire conversation short by turning on his heel and heading toward the front door. Dylan looked at Laura, whose face was a mask of alarmed fury, and Mike—who was nothing but stone.
And then a parting shot from Frank. Of course.
“Remember, Laura—I tried.” Frank’s voice cracked as he stood with his hand on the doorknob, face consumed by an expression of grief. “I tried to see you. Tried to reconnect. Wanted to know Jillian. Wanted to…” As his voice trailed off he looked down, shaking his head, making a tsking sound that triggered a violent impulse in Dylan.
The man was playing her like a fucking violin.
“You’re a grown woman now and can make your own choices. But Jillian—” He made a dismissive sound, not quite a sigh, not quite a gasp. “I cannot abide by watching my own flesh and blood, so innocent—”
Mike stormed across the room with a speed Dylan never imagined he possessed and ripped the door open. Although he didn’t technically touch Frank, the force of the air moving around him seemed to push Laura’s uncle out the door like a gust of wind.
The snap of the closed door make Dylan and Laura jump, and then Dylan’s own swiftness kicked in and he was by her side, his hand on her elbow. Tears pooled in her eyes and she was shaking. He felt gut-punched, so impotent and filled with a murderous impulse that he shifted his gaze to the door, grateful it was closed.
The grinding sound of spurting gravel and rubber on stone told him Frank was leaving. The air lightened, and Jillian began shoving her little dimpled hand down the front of Laura’s shirt, oblivious to the drama that had just unfolded second by painful second.
Dylan felt like he’d just been through a witchcraft trial that had ended with acquittal.
Mike’s shoulders were flexed, arms arced in a pose of a fighter, his eyes twitching. He looked at Laura, then Dylan, then Jillian, and back to Laura, whose body still trembled as Dylan’s flesh connected.
And then he realized she was shaking from laughter.
“Oh. My. God,” she whooped, the sound making Jillie’s face twist with confused fright, Dylan instinctively reaching for the little girl, who clung to him like a monkey, her little curls bouncing against his cheek as she turned her head to look at her mama from the safety of a non-hysterical parent’s grasp.
“He—oh, God—he thought he could—Mike!” she gasped, bending in half to laugh, the cackling like nothing Dylan had ever heard before. Over her prone figure his eyes locked with Mike’s and they shrugged simultaneously, eyes wide with curious befuddlement.
“He actually,” she wheezed, “thought he could prey on me and scare me into coughing up money…or something…because he disapproved of my lifestyle choices!” Laura’s face was a dangerous shade of red, and as she continued to shake, Dylan feared she was about to truly hyperventilate and pass out.
Mike caught it, too, and walked to her, placing one hand on her hip, the other under her elbow, gently guiding her to sit on the couch. He treated her like a wounded animal, careful to lead but not to push. If Dylan weren’t holding Jillie, he’d do the same.
Frank’s departure left more questions than answers, but as Laura’s eyes squeezed out tears of mirth and relief, and as her breathing became steady again, punctuated by aftershocks of uncontrollable giggles, he let a wry smile stretch his own mouth.
It was funny.
In a very, very weird sort of way.
Mike walked in the kitchen, the sound of running water the only other noise beyond Laura’s chokes and laughter. Jillian watched her mother like an anthropological specimen, with a mature detachment that made Dylan quirk an eyebrow and puzzle over the scene.
Re-entering the room with three glasses of water, Mike handed one to Dylan and pressed another on Laura, who looked up, startled, as if she’d forgotten he was there. She gulped the water down in one go, let out a small burp, then laughed again.
“I’m ridiculous,” she declared.
Both men nodded.
“Mama dick!” Jillian shouted, clapping. That was one way to say “ridiculous.”
The room erupted with giggles in baritones and basses, altos and sopranos, and by the time they all recovered it was done.
Done.
Frank had exorcised himself from their internal boxes of fear, his moralistic judgment like a scouring pad.
And yet the scratches remained.
Chapter Five
Alex
Dinner with his mom was never an emotional land mine for Josie, thankfully. They’d enjoyed numerous meals in restaurants ranging from a great Turkish place in Arlington to a so-so Indian joint in South Boston, but dinner with his stepfather included could be…interesting.
At least John wore pants this time.
“Hey!” Josie said in a voice filled with friendliness, reaching up for a hug from John. “Where are the bagpipes?” The long-running joke about John’s Scottish roots had become a new feature again as the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon became a crazy hit on television, leading to multiple requests for his stepdad to play bagpipes at various events.
Including fan parties for something called “The Wedding Episode,” which Josie had insisted Alex watch, and which turned him into a Jamie fan, in more ways than one.
John’s obsessive need to practice—wearing a kilt in the most traditional way possible—meant that coming home for a visit could involve a glimpse of a wee couple stones more than he or Josie wanted to see. Especially when his mom and John had a high bar that bisected the open-concept kitchen and dining area, and John would climb up to sit and…
Chat.
Appetite gone.
Noi, the purebred Husky John and his mother had rescued from a shelter a few years ago, incessantly pushed at Josie’s crotch, even as they dined at the table. A huge farmer’s table, it easily seated twelve, though the four of them were clustered at one end, John at the head, Meribeth across from Josie and Alex.
A muffled movement under the table told Alex his mom had gently nudged Noi, who came out with his head down and tail in a position that indicated assent. He knew who the top dog in the house was.
And she smiled pleasantly across the table at Josie.
“You and Alex seem to be meshing well,” his mom said as she spun the stem of her wine glass slowly in front of her, almost hypnotic in her motion, as if she were treating a client. Alex suppressed a groan.
“He’s a lousy roommate, but a great partner,” Josie said, putting her hand on his thigh and squeezing a little too hard, her eyes on his mom.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He looked at her with mock surprise. He knew exactly what she meant. He was a slob. And she was right. Dr. Perfect couldn’t be on 24/7 in his personal life, right?
“It means you need to stop leaving your dirty socks on the counter next to the coffee machine,” Josie said with a shudder, laughing. Her hand dove between his legs, making a slow trek toward his growing erection.
We’re playing that game? He moved his foot close to hers and pushed lightly. She pushed back, cheeks rounding with a smile, eyes lowering from his mom’s.
Then I’ll join. He reached over and imitated her. Those cheeks reddened.
“Alex!” Meribeth said, making him retract his hand out of some instinct long buried in him, like he was a chastened boy reaching for an illicit chocolate chip cookie.
Hmmm, Josie was a treat, after all. And, as he put his palm against the soft, worn fabric of her snug jeans, he remembered that she was his. All his. And he could taste her at will.
And without recrimination.
“I didn’t raise you to throw your nasty socks on the kitchen counter!” Meribeth said in joking horror. She drained her glass and John filled it silently, pouring the Chardonna
y in her wine glass with a silent grin. Josie liked John more than she thought she would. He was quirky and sharp, non-judgmental in a way that made it a bit hard to understand his boundaries, but once she’d gotten over the fact that her categorization-happy brain couldn’t fit him neatly into a box, she had relaxed.
“The socks are the least of it,” Josie said with a mutter, biting her lips as the laugh tried to escape. “He pulls the shower curtain in the wrong direction and insists on using a hand towel as a bath mat.”
“What’s wrong with that?” John and Meribeth said in unison, making Alex’s deep laugh shake the room. Something nudged at his crotch and he leaned back, enjoying the sheepish look on Josie’s face as her hand suggested that while he might be a terrible roommate, maybe he wasn’t too bad as a lover…
And then he saw both her hands fly up in the air as she covered her mouth.
If her hand was there, then what was touching his—
“NOI!” he thundered, jumping up, making Josie’s wine glass topple. She caught it before it went over, and the dog scampered across the room, meekly settling into its dog bed next to the fireplace, looking up with a guilty eye.
“I’ve heard of blow jobs and hand jobs, but you may have invented the best nose job ever,” John said drolly. Meribeth smacked him. Alex simmered in place, embarrassed and a bit disgruntled, his blood rushing. Damn dog.
Josie’s face was bright red, and not from the flush of histamine that always pinked her cheeks from white wine. “Oh, Alex,” she gasped, descending into giggles.
“Let’s go back to talking about my socks on the counter,” he grumbled, giving Noi one last glare. The dog’s eyes were closed, and he panted, pink tongue hanging out a bit, stark against the white fluff of his fur.
“He needs to go for a walk,” Meribeth said absently. “In a few minutes.” She turned to Josie. “What about work? How’s the career change going?”
Josie recovered from her little giggle fit and sat up, drinking a bit of water. Alex loved to watch her move, and especially enjoyed seeing her interact with his mom.
