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…And I thought his mother was the only one familiar with wrecking things.
It’s way past Aiden’s bedtime and he doesn’t seem the least bit exhausted. If anything, he’s gottenmoreenergy. I thought having a kid was supposed to be fun? So far, I haven’t enjoyed myself once.
Both my friends basically ditched me after a while. Cole stormed upstairs to the room he shares with Rory before I saw him come back in fresh clothes and head to our home gym.
Eli threatened to call the girls back over and swore off kids forever after Aiden had an accident that misfired all over Eli’s arms and stomach. The diaper blowout my son had was a green one of epic proportions. Hence the need for a bath.
I chucked his device across the room after I saw him pulling up Hailey’s name to text her.
“We can handle this ourselves,” I threatened him with the same blackmail tone I used on Hailey before she was kicked out to enjoy her pasta night.
Not long after, Eli joined Cole in the gym. His clothes had been washed and dried in the time it took Cole to attempt to bathe my son.
One on one, it’s only me versus him once more. In a silent standoff, we stand—well, I’m standing, he’s sitting—waiting for the other to make the first move.
I lift a challenging brow and I swear he gives me one right back, sayingbring it.
If we were in a western, we’d be dead center in the town with our hands drawn and ready, hovering near our pistols. In this case, though, it’s figuring out how to restrain the beast instead of shooting it down.
My mouth hooks to a curve after another beat, spotting the couch he’s sitting in front of. If Aiden can be creative in his tactics for warfare, then so can I.
Game on, son.
eighteen
Hailey
“Whoa,whathappenedhere?”Rory voices to no one in particular. Speaking aloud exactly what I am wondering as we step back inside.
Whatdidhappen?
To say the main floor of the Caspers’ mansion is a disaster would be putting it mildly. It’s a straight-up catastrophe. A tornado could’ve blown through, and you’d have seen less of a mess.
For starters, as we pulled up the driveway, it seemed as if every single light in the house was on. For a brief moment, I pondered the idea that Finn was throwing another house party like he was famously known for doing back in high school.
My grief, thankfully, is short-lived. The only people in the room are three hellhounds lumped together like a stack of potatoes, passed out on a cushionless couch.
Shifting from them, my eyes find a sippy cup tipped over and a puddle of what I hope is water around it. Crackers are everywhere. Smooshed and tossed, they were left on the rug like they were confetti and not a snack.
A pile of opened diapers lay abandoned on the top part of the couch opposite them. A suspicious leaking stain below appears as forgotten as the semi-used items around it.
Shifting back, my stare lands on the three huddled on the couch.
Eli is on the end, his arm tucked under his chin as he snoozes. Cole is in the middle, with his head resting directly behind him. The angle is so sharp it’s almost as if he’d been annoyed he got the middle, but then exhaustion won out.
Finally, there’s Finn, with his legs sprawled out over the other armrest. His cheek lies on Cole’s shoulder with a half-parted mouth. A gentle wave of snores wafts out every few moments.
“Guess they had a busy night,” Rory goads, covering her lips with the back of her hand. Why she’s attempting to conceal her amusement I don’t understand. The bozos aren’t awake—
That’s when the smell hits. She wasn’t trying to conceal her snark; she was attempting to shield her face from the smell.
I find myself doing the same action. Something rancid lingers the longer it terrorizes my airwaves. The smell is like the combination of sweat, a hint of dead plankton, and a batch of poop sprinkled in.
Speaking of poop, I’d recognize that smell anywhere. My nose twists further at the familiar pungency.
My mouth works. Glad all the hellhounds are accounted for, but where is my son?
“It looks like a typhoon came through,” I remark, disgusted.
