Next In Line: A Cake Series Novel

by J. Bengtsson

  “I don’t think I have to tell you not to touch anything, not to talk too loud, not to curse, not to climb, not to steal, not to wipe boogers on the chairs…” I paused. Had I covered every scenario? I thought back to everything my son had done over the years to embarrass me. Nope. There were more. “Not to strip naked. Not to pee on a tree. Not to…”

  “There aren’t any trees in a hospital, Mom.”

  “The point is I don’t want you peeing on anything or anyone.”

  “I only peed on Reid that one time and that was only because he got in my way.”

  “Noah! Zip it. I’m serious. Any funny business and you can’t play with Quinn for a week.”

  “Nice, Jess,” Quinn interjected. “Use me as a punishment.”

  “I’ll stoop to any level I have to in order to keep his finger out of his nose in front of your family.”

  “You’re worrying too much. Once he meets my dad, all these rules are meaningless anyway.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, you’ll see,” Quinn said as he opened the waiting room door for the three of us to pass through. My legs wobbled, and I had a sudden urge to hide behind him. But of course, Quinn wouldn’t allow it, thinking his family was just ‘going to love’ me. Yeah. Right. My step faltered. He grabbed my hand, dragging me along like a cartoon cat that didn’t want to go.

  His mother was the first to her feet as she crossed the waiting room to greet us. Her eyes, studying me, were the first thing I saw. So blue. So expressive. Those eyes had lived, and it was immediately clear, they did not trust easily. But like a trooper, she fixed a smile on her face and welcomed me. I took this woman in, nothing about her style vibing with the uppity image of her in the press. Michelle was not your average The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills woman. There was no Botox. No plumped lips. No trendy hairstyle. She was fit but not overly so, and dressed as she was now, in a baggy sweatshirt and leggings, Michelle could be any middle-aged mom in the world, even though she just so happened to have given birth to a superstar as well as the guy to my left, an icon in the making and my newly minted boyfriend.

  “Jess. Hello. I’m Michelle. So happy to finally meet you,” she said, shaking my hand before her eyes dropped down to the cute shaggy-haired creature beside me. “And you must be Noah. I’m Quinn’s mom.”

  Noah glanced up at Quinn, then at me, pointing up with his thumb. “That’s my mom.”

  “I know,” she said, acknowledging me with a smile.

  Whew! That wasn’t so bad. Thank god for proactive thinking. Reporting the news of my motherhood to the clan before I arrived gave them time to prepare, as well as for me and Noah to avoid any awkward reactions.

  Quinn hugged his mother. “Any baby news yet?”

  “Nothing yet, but I don’t think it will be too long because apparently Sam has been in labor all day. She woke up with contractions, and Keith was noting the time between them.”

  Quinn flinched.

  Michelle instantly picked up on his reaction. “Exactly.”

  “How off were his numbers?”

  “Off enough that the doctor, using Keith’s calculations, told them Sam wasn’t in labor and not to come to the hospital. So instead, they both went to work at the surf shop, where her water broke right in the middle of the bikini section. By the time they got to the hospital, Sam was fully dilated.”

  “There she is,” said a man who could only be Quinn’s father, Scott. “Good lord, you’re a gorgeous woman.”

  I was totally taken aback by his compliment. With his salt-and-pepper hair, gregarious smile, and t-shirt that read, ‘That’s cute. Now bring Grandpa a beer,’ Scott instantly put me at ease.

  “Oh, well, thank you. And might I say you’re an equally gorgeous man?”

  “You might.” He chuckled. “And I’m sure Michelle would wholeheartedly agree. Right, honey?”

  “Yes. Wholeheartedly.” Her monotone reply indicated it was a question she answered regularly.

  “She’s never been able to keep her hands off me,” Scott continued, unfazed. “Hence all these damn kids.”

  Her eye roll didn’t escape me. These two had a seasoned relationship worth dying for. I glanced up at Quinn. His look said, ‘See, I told you there was nothing to worry about.’ But I wasn’t willing to hand him a victory just yet. There was still a long afternoon of childbirth to go.

  A gaggle of kids ran up to their grandparents’ sides. “And the welcoming committee has arrived. Noah, this is Max, Madison, Miles, Indiana. They’ve been excited to meet you.”

  Michelle continued rattling off the names of the youngest kids with a mixture of both joy and pride. She appeared so attentive and patient, which didn’t square with Quinn’s recollections of neglect so wrenchingly described last night. What horrors must have this devoted grandmother gone through to leave her six-year-old son to fend for himself? And perhaps even more telling of the complex dynamics at work in this family was that despite the resentment Quinn held on to, he clearly had a loving relationship with both his parents.

  Noah said his quick hello before disengaging from my hold. Typically, he had no interest in my coddling when there were other kids in the picture, and today was no exception.

  “Can I go?” he asked.

  “Sure, but stay with the others.”

  And then my security blanket was gone.

  “Jess!” Grace skipped up to me with open arms, hugging me like we were the oldest of friends. “I’m so glad you came. It was sort of iffy on the bus if Quinn was going to win you over with that lackluster charm of his, but look at him—the persistent stud.”

  I laughed at her enthusiastic dig. “He brought me a cake pop. I was sold.”

  Her face melted in admiration of her big brother’s romantic gesture before turning to the man beside her and tugging on his sleeve. “Why don’t you ever bring me a cake pop, Elliott?”

  “I didn’t know that was a thing in the States.”

  “Oh yeah,” Quinn said. “It’s a surefire way to pull the chicks in America.”

  “You don’t say?” He stared down at Grace, smiling. “Cake pop it is. I’m Elliott, by the way,” he said, introducing himself to me.

  “Oops. Forgot you didn’t already know each other. Jess and I go way back.”

  “So far back,” I agreed, realizing I was already forming an attachment to this bright and welcoming woman.

  “Come,” Michelle said. “We’ve sort of taken over the entire right side of the waiting room.”

  All eyes were on me as Michelle made the introductions. Because I stalked this family for a living, I knew who each member of Quinn’s large brood was by name alone, but knowing their names and where they fit into the family did not tell me who these people were. Like Michelle and Scott, Quinn’s siblings and their significant others were welcoming and friendly, but I sensed I was amongst a group of battle-weary survivors who kept their shields forever at the ready.

  And that was even before I’d had a chance to meet the family’s shining star. Once that happened—and I’d been told Jake was on his way—I assumed that was when the swords would come out as the McKallisters mobilized to protect their own. But as I waited for Jake and baby to arrive, all my preconceived notions about this embattled family went out the door.

  These people were nice.

  And surprisingly approachable. I’d only been there thirty minutes when Kyle and Kenzie had me enthusiastically agreeing to appear on their YouTube channel to discuss my experiences as Jesserella. And I had only been there forty-five minutes when I watched Scott teach my eight-year-old how to gamble during a rousing game of elementary school poker. And I was only there an hour when Jake’s wife Casey suggested a playdate with her boys and Noah. A playdate. With Jake McKallister’s kids. Pinch me, please. Only yesterday, it seemed, I was scrubbing toilets, and today I was at the glittery ball.

  None of it seemed real. This was the family I’d always dreamed of having. I couldn’t imagine what it would be l
ike to love and be loved in return by people who’d always have my back. For all his suffering as a child, I wondered if Quinn even understood the gift he’d been given. His parents had made mistakes, no doubt, but clearly they’d atoned for them and had gone on to build this tight-knit empire. It was all I’d ever wanted my parents to do… but they’d failed miserably. Was it so inconceivable to think the McKallisters could be my saving grace, and that they might find it in their hearts to make room for two more… if it ever came to that?

  “Mom.” Noah pulled me out of my daydream by tugging on my shirt.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Can you wait?”

  “No. I’m hungry now.”

  Of course he was. “Okay. Let’s go find the hospital cafeteria.”

  “I’m not that kind of hungry.”

  I blinked, confused. “What kind of hungry are you?”

  “Max said there is a vending machine down the hall with candy and chips and soda. I’m that kind of hungry.”

  “Ah, I see. You’re junk food hungry?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I can take him to get something,” Quinn offered.

  “No, stay here, in case Keith comes in with word on the baby. I’ll take him. We’ll be right back.”

  I walked Noah out of the room… or, more accurately, I walked. He bounced. Clearly the kid was having the time of his life. Not only was he now best friends with the McKallister grandkids, but he and Scott had just had a lively discussion about throw-up that was as funny as it was stomach-turning.

  I put a hand on his shoulder to slow him down. The last thing I needed was to add sugar to Tigger the Tiger.

  “Mom.”

  “Yes.”

  “I wish Quinn’s family was our family.”

  There. He’d said it. We were on the same page, both desiring the same thing. Those photographs on the side table in our living room, the ones of just Noah and me, weren’t enough for him either.

  “I wish they were ours too, bud.”

  “Maybe you can marry Quinn.”

  Ooh. That was definitely not where I wanted his mind to go. I could dream, but not Noah. Quinn and I were a long way off from a happily ever after.

  “Maybe,” I replied, knowing I shouldn’t be giving him hope but not wanting to squash my own. After all, every so often, a girl got that dream. Why couldn’t it be me?

  We arrived at the vending machine, and Noah picked his soda first.

  “Be careful with this, okay?” I said, popping the top and handing him the drink. Noah was the type of kid that, when it came to spilling, he was more likely to than not. “What snack do you want?”

  “Cheetos.”

  Wonderful. His fingerprints would be all over the hospital.

  I was crouched down waiting for Noah’s chip order to fall when I heard the collision. I cringed, hoping beyond hope my maximum-destruction son had simply walked into a wall.

  No luck.

  “Whoa, dude. Gotta watch where you’re going.”

  “Sorry,” I heard Noah say.

  More cringing as I rotated in my crouched position only to see a pair of worn-out boots covered in grape soda. The owner shook the soda off his boots, then proceeded to rub the purple liquid around on the floor. If he thought he was being helpful, he wasn’t. I don’t know how I knew who owned those boots. I just did. My eyes slowly made their way up the long body of arguably the most popular rock star alive today before they finally came to rest on Jake McKallister’s very famous face.

  “I’m so sorry. My son is…” I shook my head. I had nothing. No way to defend his actions, given that I’d warned him to be careful no less than a minute before the collision. “Noah, go get some paper towels from the bathroom over there.”

  He took off, spilling more grape soda along the way.

  “My god.” My face overheated from embarrassment. “He’s actually making it worse. How is that even possible? It’s like a full-on crime scene now.”

  “He’s leaving a trail of blood,” Jake agreed. “You might want to consider hiring a lawyer now. The kid’s going down.”

  I laughed. “Thank you for being so cool about it. It’s like he’s pocked with holes—pour something in and it squirts right back out.”

  “No problem. I have a little sprinkler myself named Slater. You’re Jess, right?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Casey said you were here with your son, Noah. I put two and two together. I’m clever that way,” he said, offering me his hand.

  I took it and he lifted me to a standing position.

  Noah came back out with the towels and handed them to me. I handed them back and told him to do it himself. He appeared perplexed, and I didn’t blame him. Cleanups had always been my job, and I desperately wanted to do it now, but Jake had just lifted me from the floor and I couldn’t drop back down to it now.

  Noah began.

  Wordlessly, Jake and I watched as he missed large swaths of soda and smeared the purple mess around. My heart pumped a little faster as I tried micromanaging him from a standing position, but it was no use. I grabbed the paper towels from him and dropped back down to my hands and knees to complete the job.

  While I was down there, I offered to clean Jake’s shoes too, but he mercifully declined with an amused grin on his face before offering his hand to me… again.

  From my subservient spot on the floor, I blew the hair from my face and said, “You must be very impressed right now.”

  “I’m entertained, that’s for sure. You and Noah really need your own show.”

  Jake’s personality, the way he phrased his words, the way he injected wit and humor into the conversation, it felt so familiar—like bantering with Quinn. He pulled me to my feet again just as a tousle-haired man in a hospital gown and board shorts called out his name as he hop-skipped down the hall.

  “Jake!”

  “Keith!” Jake mimicked.

  “Jake,” Keith repeated again, his face alight with joy. Keith looked to me, confused. “And random girl I don’t know! And kid covered in purple. I just became a father!”

  The brothers hugged. Noah got a fist bump. Then Keith turned to me—the random girl in the hall—and unexpectedly hugged me too. I laughed, genuinely overjoyed for him.

  “Boy or girl?” Jake asked.

  “Like I’m going to tell you first.”

  He took off down the hall to the room where his eager family was awaiting the news.

  Jake and I exchanged an amused glance before we followed after him, arriving back just in time for the big reveal.

  “It’s a boy!”

  26

  Jess: A New Bottom

  Decorations—check. Goody bags—check. Store-bought cupcakes (no judging)—check. I wasn’t sure who was more excited about this birthday party, me or Noah… or Quinn. Who would have thought Quinn would have lasted long enough to make it to Noah’s ninth go-kart birthday party? But he did. And he showed no signs of stalling.

  In the three months that we’d been together, Quinn had wound himself around us so tightly that I could scarcely remember life without him—nor did I want to. He hadn’t officially moved in with me, still slipping out the front door in the morning before Noah woke up, but he was there every night—eating dinner, helping Noah with homework, teaching him guitar, and lulling him to sleep at night with a song. It was enough to nearly explode my heart.

  But once Noah was tucked in for the night, that was when romantic, hot-as-sin Quinn came out to play. We really couldn’t get enough of each other, which kept our sex-to-cake-pop ratio quite high. Because I’d never had everything wrapped up into a nice shiny bow, I wasn’t sure exactly how to process it all. I had a boyfriend who loved my son. I had financial security. I had a father freshly released from rehab and getting stronger by the day. And I had a whole new family that was gradually becoming my own. And while most days I embraced the unknown with characteristic optimism, there were days my
heart clenched in panic, waiting for the bottom to fall out from below me. When I’d related those fears to Quinn, he’d responded the way a true hero did—If it happens, babe, I’ll build you a new bottom.

  Our first real test was coming. Sketch Monsters was moving ever closer to the release date of their first album, scheduled to coincide within weeks of their upcoming tour. A tour that would take him and the band on the road for five months, maybe longer if the album performed as expected. And that seemed likely, given the buzz already surrounding them. I’d heard the songs. There was no way the album wouldn’t smash all expectations.

  As for myself, I’d actually cut back on my hours at work, bolstered by a second income that was much higher than my own. After years of struggling to make ends meet, Quinn’s generosity was as surprising as it was welcome. In the beginning, unaccustomed to such pampering and privilege, I’d fought him, albeit somewhat feebly. But I had to say, the more he whipped that credit card out and paid for us, the easier it got to accept. The truth was, once Quinn’s royalties really started kicking in, so went a lot of my financial worries.

  The knock at the door drew me out of my thoughts. Had Quinn forgotten his key again? Or maybe his hands were just too full to dig it out of his pocket. Quinn had taken Noah to the store not only to pick up some last-minute items for the party but also to surprise Noah with his birthday gift before the afternoon party.

  I swung the door open with a bright smile only to have it wiped clean away when I saw who greeted me on the other side—the man who’d stolen my foolish teenage heart.

  “Nick?”

  “Jess.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Nice to see you too,” he replied.

  “You should’ve called. This isn’t part of our custody agreement.”

  “The custody agreement you brokered.”

  “The custody agreement I brokered because you refused to support your son.”