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Harper swings on the door jam. “Open and find out.” Harper points to the box on the bed and wiggles her eyebrows at me.
Adalee blows out a breath before running her finger between the box to open it. She lays the top to the green box on the side as she gently unfolds the tissue paper. She pulls out pajama pants and immediately looks perplexed. They’re pajamas. I don’t know why she’s looking at them so intently. Then I realize she’s looking at the back, and I’m looking at the front.
Her eyes pool. Harper’s eyes deadpan on me likewhat the hell? Why is she tearing up? I motion for Hap to leave. That’s when it hits me like a ninety-eight mile per hour fastball. Mom always puts The Chatham Family on the back with the number of the year we were brought into the family, so Adalee’s says 23 on it.
“Come here.” I draw her to me, and she clutches the pajamas into her chest. She sits on my lap and cries into my shoulder.
She stammers, “I… I don’t understand.”
Since I talk to my parents all the time, I’ve told them how much I care about Adalee. I didn’t think twice about asking her to come with me to my hometown—it was as if it was already written in stone. My family is full of strong women and the men who love them, so even though mine and Adalee’s relationship is only a few weeks old, I know she belongs here with me. Withus.
“Because my mom understands me. I never brought Julia to a pajama party night with the family.”
I immediately want to take back my words, fearing it would make Adalee sad that her mom isn’t here to confide in or lean on. She looks at me with those almond eyes that are wet with tears. A deep V emerges between her brows. “Pajama party night?”
I explain that we will all be wearing pajamas to dinner, then its game time and we’ll finish with a movie in the theatre room.
Her brows shoot up as I wipe away a tear. “Theatre room?”
“Yeah, now let’s get you out of those and into these.”
ChapterThirty-Three
Adalee
A non-existent family—that’swhat I’ve always had. Emotions rolled deep in my soul when I opened the pajamas, and I cried. Part of me wants to get to know his family and the other wants to retreat to a safe place—alone, where I feel safest. Or go to the gym to work out. Instead, Hagan dragged his hands up my sides, removing his jersey from my body. He kissed his way up to my lips. He’s the first person to ease my pain.
He moves to part two of how he gets “ready” for pajama party night. Inserting his thumbs between the fabric and skin, he pushes down my pants. His breath warm over my center as I step out. He kisses the scar from my knee surgery. I feel an ache that wants to be satisfied. I must push him closer because he lets out a short breathy laugh and stands.
“They’re expecting us downstairs. I wish they weren’t…” he says, as Hagan holds the pajama top in front of me. I only saw the back. “Adalee, think about what you have and not about what you didn’t have.”
I nod as I read the front of the pajama shirt. “World Champion Family” with the Chicago skyline in the shape of a heart. Underneath it says, “Win or Lose.” It’s cheesy but add in the number on the back and it’s adorable. And they gave me a set. I still don’t understand why.
We finish dressing then go into Harper’s room. They share a Jack and Jill bathroom. But Hagan says they rarely enter each other’s rooms that way anymore. He said Harper would sneak into his room a lot when they first got their own rooms.
They take me on a tour and Harper talks to me more than she was earlier. Their house is beautiful, full of photos—they’re everywhere. It doesn’t jive with boarding schools and private planes. People with this much money are supposed to be snobbish and pretentious, and they don’t seem to fit that category at all.
Reggie, his brother that’s owns his own restaurants, peeks into the living room, calling out, “Dinner’s ready!”
We call it supper in the south—unless someone asks you on a date. His nephews and nieces clap. Reggie’s children look to be about eight to ten years old. And Sarah Jane’s are toddlers.
The kitchen table is set for sixteen. They also have a dining room, but I guess it’s too formal for pajamas. The long walnut farmhouse style table has benches on both sides with two cushioned chairs one the end. The table is adorned with flower arrangements, which are also in the Chicago Kodiak colors.
Hagan says, “Adalee, tell them what your grandfather said when dinner was ready.”
My face reddens, not wanting undue attention, especially in this atmosphere. It makes me wonder if Hagan is making fun of how I grew up. Luckily I’m saved by Reggie plopping down a platter of barbeque brisket. He looks at me says, “Everything is better in the south.”
Then his wife semi-shouts from the other end of the table. “Damn right, except for all of you, of course, and the Kodiaks.”
This is the most relaxed bunch of people that I’ve ever been around. Archer and Megan ask me questions they already know the answer and make me feel at home.
The meal Reggie prepared is not on mine and Hagan’s athletic diet, but Hagan is digging in, so I guess this is one of those treats he was talking about. Corn on the cob, potato wedges, baked beans, roasted Brussel sprouts, and macaroni and cheese round out the meal. I can’t remember the last time I had homemade mac-n-cheese. I’ve never had Brussel sprouts with barbecue but it’s the first side to be demolished.
Conversation is easy. Hagan’s hand drifts up my leg while under the table. It’s a good thing I have on pajamas. Everyone takes their plates to the sink, rinses, and loads them into the dishwasher—including Hagan’s dad. I’m in the twilight zone because a billionaire is like the rest of us.
Mrs. Chatham calls us all into the living room. “Chatham’s unite for pajama party night.” She holds a tray of drinks in her hand that looks like shots of vodka or tequila. All of the adults reach for a drink, except me. I look at Hagan and he sets the shot in his hand back on the tray.
“We don’t drink,” Hagan explains. “But hold on.” He leaves and returns quickly with a flavored water spritzer.
