Page 52 of Backup Plan

We’re back just as the sun is starting to come up, and Sammy never even woke up.

I fill Liam in on the details, and then I head to my bedroom while he heads upstairs to his. I let Benji sleep in my bed beside me so he doesn’t get his brother sick, and I’m far too keyed up to fall asleep, so I email my boss that I need to take a personal day for a sick child, play some games, and try to get some work done on my phone as I wait for morning to come so I can get Sammy up and out the door for school.

When that time comes, however, I climb the ladder to Sammy’s bed only to find that he’s already awake, and he’s shivering. I set my hand on his forehead and discover he, too, is burning up.

Shit.

That’s two down for the count.

I leave a message with the pediatrician asking if I even need to come in or if they can just prescribe Tamiflu for Sammy, too, and I let him stay in bed. I call both kids out of school for the day, and then I wait. If they both got it, surely I’m next, and maybe Liam, too.

What a way to introduce him to my kids.

It’ll be twenty-four hours from when we picked them up at the earliest before we start to feel symptoms, and I’m trying to believe we’ll be fine.

The pediatrician calls me back when they open, and we schedule a virtual visit, after which Sammy is also prescribed the same medicine.

They both stay in their bedroom most of the day, and Liam drags a recliner into the corner of the room for me so I can curl up and sit in there with them. They’re both too wiped out to do much more than ask for tissues, blankets, and more meds as they quietly watch their favorite YouTubers on their iPads while I attempt to get some work done on my laptop. Liam brings me lunch at noon. He asks if I or the boys need anything. He’s attentive and sweet, and I see the concern in his eyes.

It’s a different concern than I see from Brent. If the kids are sick, Brent’s worried he’s going to get sick, too, which will interfere with his work schedule. To be fair, I worry about it, too, but my work can wait. Liam, however, seems most concerned about making sure we have whatever we need. He’s not worried he’s going to be sick, instead bringing the boys popsicles to get some liquids down them and offering the biggest assortment of Gatorade flavors he can find to keep them hydrated.

It’s a complete one-eighty from what I’m used to—and from what the kids are used to. It’s always been the three of us with Brent popping in when he wasn’t busy working or banging some other woman. Liam takes care of us. All three of us, me included.

He’s being a good friend. I realize this. He’s young, and he’s not their father. He’s not my boyfriend, either, no matter how much he feels like he is.

We’ve only actually spent one night and one weekend together. There’s no label between us except for the fact that he’s my best friend’s brother.

But it feels nice to be taken care of for a change.

I’m exhausted by the time I get the boys to sleep. I meet Liam in the kitchen for a bowl of late-night Cap’n Crunch, and he pushes the gallon of milk across the counter toward me to fill my bowl to my liking the way a bartender would push a glass of whiskey across the counter.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

“Can I get you something more than cereal? You were a rock star taking care of the boys today.”

I shake my head. “This is perfect. As good as a drink sounds, I need to be able to get out of bed if one of the boys calls me.”

He tilts his head as he studies me for a beat. “You’re a good mom.”

“You were such a big help to me today. Are you sure you’ve never taken care of kids before?”

He chuckles. “Just Ivy when she was younger, but she’s only five years younger than me.”

“Do you want kids someday?” I ask, and I’m not sure why the question comes out. I freeze as I realize it might sound like I’m asking him to step in where Brent was, but honestly, it hasn’t even been a week since the first time we slept together. It’s not what I mean at all. I scramble to backtrack. “Of your own, I mean. I’m not asking you to—”

He holds up a hand and shakes his head. “No worries, I didn’t take it that way.” He lifts a shoulder. “I guess I’m not one of those people who ever felt like I needed to have them for my life to be complete, you know? My career is unstable. I’m moving across the country. I guess if I ever wanted to, I never really thought seriously about it happening until much later. Maybe even after I retire.”

“What do you think your career would be if it weren't football?” I ask.

He twists his lips. “Probably the family business.”

“Are you interested in construction?”

He shrugs again. “Not really.”

“What are you passionate about?”

“Your cunt.”