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The clamor of giant puppy paws on hardwood, and the blessed quiet as dog and boy headed to the back door, suggested the answer had been yes.
The bedroom door swung open as Eight was pulling on his jeans. He sighed and looked over his shoulder, wondering which privacy-challenged relation was getting an eyeful of his ass.
It was Marcella. Okay, she was invited.
She’d let her hair go natural again, and she had the dense curls pulled back in a tie, with a red bandana over her head. She wore tiny shorts and a tank top, all of it paint-spattered. No makeup, no jewelry but the rose-gold wedding band he’d slipped on her finger a few months back. Damn, she was gorgeous.
She crossed the room and slipped her hands up his bare back. “Yvonne told me she got a load of the full monty. You traumatized?”
He chuckled and turned, pulling her into his arms and ducking down to press his lips to the crowned flaming heart tattoo on her chest. She was the Bulls’ queen now.
“I’m putting locks on all the doors when I replace them. But I was more traumatized by the arctic blast of water. Why the fuck did Chase turn off the hot right then?”
Her look turned wry. “On purpose, of course.”
“Fucker. I’m pissing in his next beer.”
“I won’t tell.” She looped her arms around his neck. “Vonny congratulated me, you know.”
“For what?”
One hand brushed its way down his chest and slipped into his jeans. As it wrapped around his hardening dick, she murmured, “This.”
“Mmm. I guess Chase is in the peewee league, huh?”
“Apparently. Make you feel better?”
“Infinitely.” He put his hand over his fly, gripping her through his jeans. “Don’t get me started, Marce. Ajax will hurt us both if he’s late for the first day of school.”
Changing the subject to their kid was an arctic blast of its own. Marcella pulled her hand out of his jeans. “He’s so excited.”
“Sixth grade. Moving up to middle school. I guess it’s a big deal.”
“He’s excited for other reasons, too. You’re gonna be a hero today.”
“I’m a hero every day, baby.” He gave her ass a slap with just the right amount of pop to make her eyes go dark and hot. “Go paint something. I need to get dressed.”
She kissed him quickly and headed to the door. Before she went through, she said, “You taking him to the clubhouse tonight?”
The Lowdowners were headlining at Cain’s tonight. That video Eight still despised had gone viral, the album was selling well, and the band’s profile had elevated considerably. They weren’t headlining-Cain’s-on-Saturday famous, but they were getting there. They’d even gotten a gig in a national blues festival tour, and Marcella had been on the road most of the summer.
Which was why there was still painting and hammering and hot-water-turning-off going on here in August.
No matter how long he lived, no matter if he went senile at the end, Eight would always remember the night of the day the band had gotten that offer. He and Marcella had sat together in the in-progress disaster that had been the back yard at the time and talked out how her being away so long would work. And for not a single second of that talk had she indicated in any way that she worried about Ajax being in Eight’s sole care.
She’d simply known that care would be good. Would be fatherly.
Eight and Ajax had missed the fuck out of her for those seven weeks. But they’d also been some of the best weeks of Eight’s life. Just him and his kid, figuring shit out. Ajax was a full-fledged club kid now.
Sure, Yvonne and Chase and Marguerite and Pete, singly or in some combination, had been over on the regular to help out in some way, but that had always been the case. Raising Ajax was a full-family affair. Now that family included the Bulls—and the old ladies had also hovered around Eight while Marcella was away, to make sure he did it right.
But no one had had to undo anything he’d done. He’d done it right. He understood how to be a father. Helovedbeing a father. And a husband. A family man.
“Nah. He wants to see the superhero movie again, and I can always watch shit blow up, so we’re going for pizza and a movie, then we’ll hang out at home missing you.”
Marcella grinned. “You’re a good dad, you know?”
“I’m tryin’.”
