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“Losers,” Leo muttered, then focused back on the conversation. “What’s wrong? Why do you need Sean?”
“Is he around? Can you find out if he’s available?”
“Jeez, look, I happen to know Sean’s off duty right now, we’re supposed to be working on a project for Ash later today, and?—”
“So, stop talking and get yourself and Sean here. But don’t tell the rest of the family for now?”
Leo was quiet. “Did you catch an STD? Shit, don’t you remember Dad’s lecture about condoms? I know I do because he did that thing with?—”
“Promise me, no one else.”
Leo paused. “Jax? You’re freaking me out. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He glanced at me, then at Charlie. “Everything.”
“Okay, I’ll call Sean. We’ll get there as soon as we can.”
“Can you get him to bring his medical bag?”
“The fuck?—”
Jax dropped the call and caught me on my next circuit of the island, taking Charlie from my arms, then staring at me with a lost expression.
“It’s okay if you want to go,” he said. Was it wishful thinking I could hear reluctance for me to leave in his voice? I wanted to stay, so whatever I picked up on, I went with the flow, and thought, I’d do the one thing I could help with. Cook.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll do us some breakfast, yeah?”
I couldn’t miss how relieved he looked, and I got the sense that he did need me here, and maybe the familiar was what would calm the whole situation down. My presence in his kitchen over the last few Saturdays—flipping pancakes, cooking bacon—had become a routine, and I secretly loved every moment of being in Jax’s house, as if this cozy space he’d created with his girls in mind was more of a home than my empty place. Being here and cooking breakfast had become as much a part of my Saturday routine as the scent of coffee in the morning.
Since Sutton had headed off to college, the ties to my parents’ home had loosened, and the big old house was a sad, quiet place, but I never told Jax that was the reason I stayed over at his. In fact, I justified using his spare room by spouting nonsense about the inconvenience of me living so far away from the jobs we worked. By now, I didn’t even need to use a Friday excuse, and one day, after a few beers, maybe I’d blurt out that I’d never intended to go on that stupid karaoke date. I’d explain that I was lonely at home and wasn’t it freaking weird that thinking about Jax kept the loneliness at bay, and that I might have fallen for him, and that I wanted to be with Jax in every way possible.
One day, I’d be honest about how I felt.
Yeah, and, one day, pigs might fly.
The more I stayed over, on the weekends he didn’t have his girls staying, the more Jax had changed things to make things easier—a bigger bed in the spare room down the hall from the twins’ room, with a fancy lamp next to the bed. It was the little things. Of course, there were the extra groceries as well—piled higher than necessary in the pantry and refrigerator in case I stayed, and the fact he’d done that wasn’t missed. He had my favorite snacks, and he always made sure his refrigerator had all the makings of breakfast. I’d once tried to give him money for the groceries, but he’d pointed out that I was the one cooking, and we called it a win/win. I never asked again because he threatened me with bodily harm if I did—which was funny, given I was taller, wider, and five years younger.
We didn’t acknowledge how often I stayed over after our Friday night chilling. Never talked about it.
It justwas.
We were friends.
I doubt either of us got more than a couple of hours sleep, and that was being generous. Jax closed his eyes as he rocked Charlie, humming “Oops!…I Did It Again,” and I knew how to make him smile.
“Do you really want your nephew to grow up scarred?” I teased, and he opened one eye. “Britney?”
He smirked then, even though he was bleary-eyed, and covered Charlie’s ears.
“Don’t listen, Charlie, your Uncle Arlo thinks the Beatles is good music.”
“Me and millions of others.”
“Is now the time I point out the many platinum records given to Britney, Gaga, and Kylie?”
It was a long-running and heated debate. I preferred music from the sixties, plus a smattering of country; he was all about the Pop Divas. Of course, I never told him I loved hearing him hum the diva songs. That would’ve been crossing a line and admitting I enjoyed them in the first place.
I waved a spatula under his nose when he smiled. “Pancakes done for us. Smashed up banana for baby C. You want me to sit down with him for a bit?”
