Wild Man

Chapter Nine Dinner at Brock’s

I was sitting in my car looking up at the apartment building, scanning the numbers on the doors, looking for number sixteen.

Brock’s apartment.

I was trying really hard not to make a judgment about the state of his apartment complex, if one could call it that.

It was off the one-way section of Lincoln just up from Speer and perpendicular to the road.

There was a small spread of tarmac in front of a very deep, long two-story building, eight apartments on bottom, eight on top. The doors faced an exposed walkway. The stairs leading up to the top level on the ends of either side were iron, rusting and looked more than a little scary. And the two padlocked sheds off the parking lot, one smaller one with the stenciled word, “Laundry” and the other one bigger and maybe not too intelligently having the stenciled word, “Storage” on it did nothing for the feel of the place.

Sometime in the summer, someone clearly made an effort however they also just as clearly got sidetracked. In Denver, if you planted flowers, in the arid climate you needed to tend them and this tending mostly had to do with adding copious amounts of water but it also didn’t hurt to pull weeds. Now it was a still warm mid-October and in the two half barrels that flanked the short entry from Lincoln to the building and the four that “decorated” the top and foot of both stairwells had a riot of a green, healthy weeds, an equal riot of brown dead bits and some straggly, weak petunia blossoms which had obviously struggled valiantly against the odds but clearly should be put out of their misery and not only because autumn had settled on the Rocky Mountains.

Oh well, whatever. He was a man. A single man. A single man with a Harley Fat Boy and a beat up pickup truck that Martha was right about, it needed to be traded up and that trade up should have happened around a decade ago. This wasn’t a big surprise and, truthfully, I might be concerned if he had a picture perfect house in a suburb that looked like Ada haunted the place.

That would be bad.

I was turning to gather my overnight case, purse and the white bag with the robin’s egg blue ink stamp of hummingbirds and hibiscus blossoms around the words, “Tessa’s Cakes”

when my phone rang.

It was probably Brock though why I thought this, I didn’t know. He said be there at six and although I took time out for my kick-boxing class and extended that with a side trip to the mall, I still left the bakery early to go home and get ready. The kids that worked for me were good and the shelves, displays and cake stands were stocked with plenty of goodies to see them through so I didn’t have a problem doing this and did it often. So it was now two to six.

I wasn’t late. I was actually, if you got down to it, early.

Maybe there was a change of plans. In the four months we were seeing each other, this happened. Not regularly, Brock didn’t usually miss seeing me and if he had to change plans, it usually meant he had to see me later or leave early but it was rare he’d cancel.

In fact, thinking about it, I didn’t recall that ever happening.

Therefore, curious, I pulled out my phone and saw it said “Unknown Caller”.

I touched the screen as I felt my brows draw together, put it to my ear and greeted,

“Hello.”

“Yo, bitch. You got Elvira.”

I blinked at my dashboard.

Then I said, “Uh… hey.”

“Uh… hey right back at ‘cha. Listen, your homegirl gave me your number ‘cause I called her ‘cause Gwen and me were doin’ a little lookin’ around in Cherry Creek durin’ my extended lunch break and we saw you in the lingerie section of Nordstrom’s.”

“Oh,” I replied. “Okay.”

“So?” she asked and I felt my brows draw together again when she said no more.

“So?” I asked back.

“So, what gives?”

“What gives?”

“Yeah, what gives? You were drinkin’ cosmos with us in Stepford country when we were talkin’ ‘bout your bad news boy and I do not think it bodes well two days later that you’re in the lingerie section of Nordstrom’s,” she stated then announced, “This here’s a phone intervention.”

“A phone intervention?”

“A phone intervention. See, I work for Hawk Delgado and Hawk’s Gwen’s man which, incidentally, is why I’m allowed to take extended lunch breaks in the lingerie section of Nordstrom’s with the company credit card. But, anyway, Gwen pumped Hawk for intel about your bad news boy and so did I and we put our heads together. Hawk… well, he says your boy is bad news, not that we didn’t know that already. But Hawk agreeing, considering he’s Hawk, confirms it.”

Damn it all to hell.

It was only me who could run into a well-intentioned but nosy, inappropriately meddling and slightly frightening black woman at a really bad baby shower and it was only Martha who would give her her number and then, in turn, give her mine.

“Elvira, I… well, thank you for… I mean, I don’t really know you but thanks for looking out for me but it’s unnecessary. It’s all good.”

“Just you sayin’ that means it’s all bad. We’ve decided its cosmos at Gwen’s. Trace and Cam are in and so is Martha. Tonight. Eight o’clock. Don’t worry about eatin’ ‘cause I’m doin’ boards.”

“I can’t make it because I’m having dinner with Brock.”

This was met with a moment of silence then a muttered, “Oh boy.”

I looked through the windshield and up to the top floor and saw it. Apartment sixteen, on the end next to some tall, bushy pine trees that meant if he had side windows, those trees would block out the light.

Then I pulled in a light breath.

Then I looked at my dashboard and whispered, “I left my husband the day after he raped me.” I heard her suck in breath and hers wasn’t light. “This was after eight years of a not great marriage then two years of him hitting me, not regular, but when he did it, he did it hard. This came out during the questioning at the Station and Brock was observing. When he heard me say I’d been raped, he threw a chair. I heard it. I heard the crash. He threw a chair and they had to drag him out so he wouldn’t interrupt the questioning to get to me.”

Elvira, for once, was silent.

I, for once, was not.

“His sister was raped as was an old girlfriend. His father jacked his mother around and he assumed the role of man of the house at seven years old. When a woman means something to him, he takes care of her. He told me this and I believe him. I mean something to him. I don’t know what you’ve heard or who this Hawk guy is but I know who Brock is to me. Now I’d love to have cosmos with you and the girls. But I won’t listen to anyone trash talking Brock because he also means something to me and only he and I know what’s going on between us and all that other shit, well, Elvira, it just doesn’t matter.”

She, again, was silent.

I, again, was not.

“Honey, you’re the third person in six years I told that to. Martha just found out last night.

Brock heard me say it and he’s unfortunately got experience with this kind of thing and he knew I’d buried it and he’s helping me to move on from it. This is not a man you don’t trust.

He has my back, he has my front and he’s handling me with care. Trust me.”

“All right, girl,” she whispered.

“And thank you again for being cool. Any other time with any other guy when all this other stuff isn’t happening, I’d appreciate it. But this isn’t what it seems, it’s something a whole lot different.”

“Okay,” she said quietly.

“Okay,” I whispered.

“We didn’t mean –” she started but I quickly cut her off.

“I know you didn’t, honey.”

“I won’t say anything to them about, you know,” she assured me and I closed my eyes.

Then I opened them and told her, “You don’t have to keep this secret. I did for too long. I didn’t do anything to be ashamed of so there’s no reason it shouldn’t be in the open.”

“Still, girl, I’ll let you do the talkin’.”

Okay, maybe she was nosy, meddling and a little scary. But she was also very sweet.

“All right,” I replied.

“Over cosmos at Gwen’s.”

“Sounds good.”

“Another night.”

“Yeah.”

Silence then, softly, “He threw a chair?”

I smiled at the dash but my smile was for me. Then, softly back, I replied, “Yeah, he threw a chair.”

“I’m thinkin’ Hawk don’t know that,” she remarked.

“Well, maybe you should tell him.”

“Bet yo’ boots I will. I got one on Hawk. I never got one on Hawk.”

I laughed softly.

Through this, Elvira said, “Have fun with your hot guy.”

I smiled again, that one was for her even though she couldn’t see. Then I said, “I will.”

“Later, girlfriend.”

“Later, Elvira.”

I took the phone from my ear and hit end call. Then I dropped it in my purse, gathered up my stuff, was sure to bleep the locks on my car and I braved the rickety steps.

Then I stood in front of door number sixteen and knocked.

Two seconds later it was thrown open by a tall, gorgeous, rounded, dark-haired, silver-eyed woman with a flushed face and a visible desire to kill.

I took a step back.

Then she whirled to face the apartment and shrieked, “Dylan! You do that to your brother one more time and it won’t be the naughty step when we get home! I don’t know what it’ll be I just know you… won’t… LIKE IT! ”

I checked the impulse to grab my phone and inspect the text Brock sent me to make certain I got the apartment number right (and, while I was at it, the address) when she turned back to me, smiled sweetly and said, “Hey, you must be Tess.”

I blinked.

She went on. “I’m Laura, Slim’s sister.”

My entire body seized and I feared an acute onset of epilepsy when I heard Brock’s rumble coming from deep in the apartment, “Jesus, Laura, what the fuck?”

To which Laura (apparently Brock’s sister!) turned back to face the apartment and snapped, “Slim, we try not to drop the f-bomb in front of the kids.”

“Great, you’re in your house or at little league or wherever-the-fuck, try not to do it, your hooligans are systematically tearing up my place, anything goes.”

Then he appeared in the door by his sister, grinned at me, leaned out, extending a long arm, his fingers closed on my wrist and he pulled me into the apartment whereupon his arms locked around me and he shuffled me in deeper and, before I knew it, his mouth was on mine and he laid a hot, sweet, deep, but short wet one on me.

“Gross Uncle Slim!” a child’s voice shouted.

“Yeah! Gross!” another one chimed in.

“I like her shoes,” another one, this one clearly female and clearly having good taste, observed.

Brock’s head lifted and I had three thoughts. One, even with an audience of family members, some of them being children, he could really kiss. Two, I was obviously meeting members of Brock’s family and I was in no way prepared. And three, I was glad I gave the flip-flops a rest and was wearing a pair of sexy, strappy sandals, really good jeans and a complicated designer blouse.

Then, before I could utter a noise or, perhaps, gather my thoughts, Brock divested me of the purse and overnight bag on my shoulder (both he dumped on the floor), the white bag filled with my famous, bakery fresh snickerdoodles (this he tossed on the coffee table), turned me to the apartment, one arm sliding around my shoulders and holding my front close to his side, he made introductions.

“Babe, this is my sister, Laura, her hooligans Grady and Dylan, my princess, Ellie, and my Mom, Fern. Everyone, this is Tess.”

His Mom, Fern?

He kissed me with tongues in front of his Mom, Fern?

I scanned the room and a lot forced itself into my brain, too much to process, so much, my mind started to shut down and it took every bit of effort I had not to lapse into catatonia.

Firstly, the door had been closed and Laura, Brock’s gorgeous sister, was standing by it grinning like a madwoman.

Secondly, there were two dark-haired boys on the floor, both of them in little boy football uniforms ( sans shoulder pads), both of them appearing at some point in the not too distant past to have rolled around in the dirt for a good length of time and my guess was that was at least five hours, both of them appeared to be arrested in mid-wrestling match and both of them had green Kool-Aid mustaches.

Third, there was an adorable, little, dark-haired girl wearing a princess dress costume, complete with fake satin top and masses of tulle skirt, this ensemble complimented by clickety-clack, little girl, plastic, high-heeled shoes, sitting on the couch with her legs straight in front of her, feet bouncing while she gamely licked a melting popsicle but was struggling in this endeavor as evidenced by it dripping purple on the fake satin of the top of her dress.

Fourth, an older woman with thick, silver hair and blue eyes and an overall look that screamed, “Grandma!” was standing in a doorway grinning at me like a madwoman.

And last, Brock’s furnishings were, at a glance, approximately two point seven five steps up from the overall feel of his apartment complex. But at least the place appeared clean if not tidy and when I say “not tidy” I say this in the sense that it also reflected that Brock was a single man with a Harley Fat Boy and a beat up pickup truck that Martha was right about, it needed to be traded up and that trade up should have happened around a decade ago.

“Uh… hey,” I greeted.

“We’re a surprise, we know. We were on our way back from junior football league practice and we thought we’d stop by,” Fern said, coming further into the room and I saw she was holding a dishtowel. “We brought KFC because the kids had to eat. We didn’t know Slim was expecting company.”

“Um… okay,” I told her then added stupidly. “Cool.”

She made it to me and held out her hand. I took it and her fingers closed around mine then her other hand came up and closed around our clasped hands. As she did this, she looked into my eyes and did a Mom Scan which left me feeling mildly ill-at-ease considering the fact that I was pretty sure her blue eyes read all the words written on my soul and she knew I’d lied to my mother when I was ten and told her I didn’t try to shave my legs (when the nicks on them proved this to be false) and that I let Jimmy Moriarty get to second base at the homecoming dance my sophomore year in high school.

Then she released me from The Scan, let go of my hand, stepped back and luckily didn’t announce to the room I was a floozy who lied to her mother.

“They’re about to leave,” Brock stated to which Princess Ellie shouted, “No we’re not!

We’re watching Tangled! ”

And to this, Dylan (or Grady, it had not been pointed out which was which), shouted in return, “We’re not watching Tangled! We watched Tangled this weekend five times.” He swung his head to Laura and whined, “Mooooooom! I’m sick of Tangled! ”

“I’m not sick of Tangled, that movie is awesome,” I found my mouth (again) stupidly muttering.

“See! ” Ellie shrieked, gesturing to me with her popsicle off which flew a massive chunk of purple ice that plopped on the shag (yes, shag) carpet a foot away from Brock’s motorcycle boots. “Uncle Slim’s girlfriend wants to watch Tangled! ”

I didn’t exactly say that but then again, she was probably five and five year old girls heard what they wanted to hear. In fact, lots of fifty-five year old girls heard what they wanted to hear.

Fern rushed to the ice on the floor with her dishtowel while Laura scolded, “Ellie! Careful with that popsicle.”

“Do we have to watch Tangled? Do we? Do we? ” Dylan (or Grady) whined.

“Dylan, pipe down. We’re not watching anything. We’re going home and getting cleaned up for bed.”

“I don’t wanna go to bed!” Dylan and Ellie shouted in unison.

At this point, the front door opened and a tall, beer-gutted older man with dark hair shot with not a small amount of silver and silvery-gray eyes strolled in shouting, “Jesus H. Christ!

What’s the commotion?”

“Grandpa!” Ellie and Dylan screamed, Ellie tossing the popsicle aside only for it to land with a plop on Brock’s couch in her haste to scramble off said couch and race Dylan to hug the older gentleman’s legs. But when they did this, with the velocity and force they hit him, he went back two paces before they successfully latched on. Luckily, disaster was averted and he kept his feet.

I was rooted to the spot looking at a man whose somewhat withered good looks stated firmly he was Brock’s father as I felt the slap of attitude hit the room and heard Brock mutter under his breath, “Fuck.”

For once, the mood in the room didn’t come from Brock. When my head woodenly turned in the direction from whence it emanated I saw it was coming from Fern.

“Tell me he is not here,” she hissed.

Uh-oh.

“Mom –” Brock started.

“Slim, tell me… he… is not… here, ” she somewhat repeated with scary mini-pauses and equally scary emphasis.

Brock’s arm gave me a squeeze, my head tipped dazedly back to look up to him and when I caught his eyes, he immediately informed me, “This is why I’m never fuckin’ home.”

Well, that answered one question. If Brock was never home he didn’t need a fabulous pad.

“Heya, Laurie, honey, heya, Slim, heya Grady,” Brock’s father greeted with smiles.

“Hey Grandpa,” Grady returned.

“Hey there, Dad,” Laura said hesitantly, her manner watchful.

Brock’s father’s look became cautious when he muttered, “Hey Fern.”

“Cob,” she bit off, clearly deciding not to go with the option of leaping forward and scratching out his eyes as this would scar her grandchildren for life but I could tell she was hanging onto that control by a thread.

Then Brock’s father’s gaze hit me, his head tipped to the side and his eyes flashed back and forth between his son and me about seven times before said, “Uh… hey there, little lady.”

“Dad, this is Tess,” Brock introduced.

“She’s Uncle Slim’s girlfriend!” Ellie shouted, her fingers curled into Cob Lucas’s pants, her back arched at an impossible angle, her grape popsicle-stained mouth smiling huge up at her grandfather.

He looked down at her, put a big hand gentle on her head and asked softly, “Is she, my Ellie?”

“Yeah!” Ellie cried. “And she wears pretty shoes and she’s gonna watch Tangled with me right now! ”

Cob’s eyes came to me, they were curious, searching even but, like he looked at Fern, hesitant as he muttered, “That’s fantastic, sweetheart.”

Into this conversation, Fern asked acidly, “There a reason you’re here, Cob?”

“Well, actually,” his eyes moved from Fern to Brock to me and back again, “yeah.”

“I’ll bet there is,” she mumbled bitingly.

I caught sight of Laura bugging her eyes out at Brock and with that I decided to take action.

I slid out from under Brock’s arm then leaned and carefully took the dishtowel out of Fern’s hand. Then I walked to the couch and grabbed the bag of snickerdoodles at the same time I swiped up the popsicle and announced, “All right kids, in this bag are bakery fresh snickerdoodles I made at my shop for your uncle. Whoever gets to the kitchen and gets their hands and mouths clean gets a cookie. Who’s with me?”

Dylan and Ellie instantly abandoned their grandfather and raced to the kitchen, Ellie hindered by here clickety-clack, plastic, little girl high heels nearly taking a header twice.

Grady got to his feet eyeing the bag and his mother, clearly weighing cookies versus hanging with the adults in a tense situation and, not surprisingly, cookies won out so he sauntered after his brother and sister. I followed them and didn’t look back as I was confronted with a kitchen Fern obviously just cleaned and shut the swinging door behind me.

Then I set about hiding nine of the dozen snickerdoodles (Brock’s favorite) and setting out the other three at the same time supervising cleaning up three tired, wound up kids.

When they were clean and sitting at Brock’s scarred, wooden kitchen table eating cookies and sucking back milk from glasses I’d poured, Grady, the oldest (my guess, Ellie around four or five, Dylan around six or seven and Grady around eight or nine) informed me,

“Grandma isn’t Grandpa’s biggest fan.”

Hmm. How did I respond to that?

“Well, sometimes things get complicated with adults,” I told him lamely.

Grady kept the information flowing. “Dad isn’t his biggest fan either. Dad says he’s a douchebag.”

I pressed my lips together to stop the giggle escaping then I said, “Douchebag isn’t a really nice word but, that said, your father is entitled to his opinion.”

Grady kept speaking. “Uncle Slim puts up with him but I think he does it for Mom and Aunt Jill ‘cause they like ‘im but Uncle Levi thinks he’s a douchebag too. I heard him and Uncle Slim talkin’ when Uncle Slim told Uncle Levi to cool it about Grandpa because it was bothering Aunt Jill but Uncle Levi said that Grandpa never paid child report and he had a bunch of girlfriends other than Grandma so he didn’t owe him anything and neither did Aunt Jill.”

Apparently, Grady had a mind like a sponge though he got one thing wrong. Child report I was guessing was child support and I was also guessing having a father that didn’t pay it and played around on your Mom was not good.

“I like Grandpa!” Ellie piped up.

“Of course you do, honey,” I said, smiling at her from my place leaning against the counter.

“I put up with him like Uncle Slim,” Grady announced.

“Grady’s gonna be Uncle Slim when he grows up,” Dylan, sporting a milk mustache, shared.

Grady did not challenge this information. Instead, he declared proudly, “He played first base and I play first base. He played linebacker and I play linebacker. His job is scary, Mom says, but he does it to keep kids like me safe so that’s what I’m gonna do too. When I get old, I’m gonna keep kids safe.”

I was feeling warm and gushy again.

“That’s a fantastic goal, Grady,” I said quietly.

“Do you got kids?” Dylan asked.

“No, honey, I don’t have any kids.”

“That’s good. When you marry Uncle Slim, you can be Mom to Rex and Joel,” Grady offered and I blinked.

“Sorry, honey, who?”

“Rex and Joel, Uncle Slim’s kids, our cousins,” Grady told me, my body went completely still including my heart and lungs, the warm gushiness evaporated and Grady kept talking.

“Aunt Olivia used to be married to Uncle Slim and Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Jill, Uncle Fritz and Uncle Levi aren’t her biggest fans. I’m really not allowed to say the word Mom calls her. Dad too. And Uncle Levi said if he saw her again, he’d break her neck.”

I stared at him.

“She has a pinchy face,” Ellie added to the conversation, making her own scrunchy face that stated clearly she felt the same about Aunt Olivia as everyone else did.

“She never brings snickerdoodles to the family reunions,” Dylan put in then sucked back more milk before he musingly went on, “Or anything.”

“She wouldn’t think about snickerdoodles. She doesn’t care about snickerdoodles. Mom says she only cares about looking good and that’s why she’s always gettin’ her nails done,”

Grady authoritatively told Dylan.

“She has pretty nails,” Ellie told me. “I like her nail polish even though it’s almost always red. She should try pink.”

Although I was nowhere near processing the information they’d provided me, Grady kept spouting it. “She brings Rex and Joel to the family reunion every year and she stays and Mom says she stays even though she’s not family anymore just to show off her fancy outfits and be a wet blanket. I can’t say why Uncle Levi said she does it because most of the words are bad.”

Uncle Levi clearly had a mouth much like his brother.

And Brock Lucas had an ex-wife and two sons. A pinchy-faced ex-wife who had a perma-manicure and two sons.

This, I did not know. This, a thing you shared. This, I did not know what to do with.

To be fair, I had known Brock as Brock for three days.

Still.

“Can I be your flower girl when you marry Uncle Slim?” Ellie asked.

Again, my body, lungs and heart went completely still then the latter two started pumping and when they did this, they did it hard.

Damn! Now how did I answer that?

I decided on honesty.

“Right now we’re just seeing each other, Ellie, but I’ll keep a line open to you if it looks like it’s getting serious,” I promised and she giggled.

Then she placed her order. “Okay, but I want my dress to be pink.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I told her and she grinned at me.

She had a milk mustache too.

I grinned back.

The door swung open and people flooded through starting with Laura and ending with Fern, Brock sandwiched in the middle. He came direct to me, eyes on my face and my eyes slid away. Fern went direct to the table to gather glasses. Laura started herding kids.

“All right, kiddos,” Laura started, snatching a towel from a rack, “wipe off those milk mustaches and inspect Uncle Slim’s living room for your stuff. We’re packed up and in the car in five minutes. March!”

Grady grabbed the towel, swiped his face, tossed it vaguely in his mother’s direction and raced out. Dylan followed suit. Ellie skipped to her mother like she had all the time in the world to tiptoe through the tulips, rubbed the towel across her face once mostly smearing milk and not lapping it up then she skipped out.

“So sorry about crashing your date, Tess,” Laura said, pushing the towel back on the rack.

“We were just driving by, saw Slim’s truck and bike and that’s unusual so we took our shot.

We’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”

“Not a problem,” I told her on a smile, feeling Brock leaning into the counter with a hip, the front of his body facing my side but I kept my eyes glued to his sister at the table.

Laura smiled back and stated, “I’ll have to bring the kids to your bakery. They’ll love it.

I’ve been in a couple times but never with the kids, just to pick things up. Ellie talks about your pink cupcakes all the time.”

“Give me a warning call and I’ll batten down the hatches,” I quipped and her smile got bigger as Brock’s body got closer and when I say this, I mean his arm circled my ribcage, he turned me so that now I was leaning one hip against the counter and the rest of me was pressed back against him.

Laura’s eyes dropped to his arm, they warmed then she looked back at my face and was grinning like a madwoman again.

At this point, Fern dampened the mood by proclaiming, “Slim, I hope that doesn’t happen often.”

I turned my head to see her at the sink. She had rinsed the glasses and loaded a rickety dishwasher which might, though I wasn’t certain, have been the first of its kind, and she was currently shutting its door.

“Mom, we’ll talk about it later,” Brock said in a warning tone.

She turned and tipped her head back to look at her son. “Does it happen often?”

“Did I say we’ll talk about it later?” Brock asked.

“Simple question, Slim,” she returned and he sighed.

“If you mean does he stop by? Not often. But he does it. If you mean does he ask for money? No. Not anymore,” he answered.

“Not anymore?” Fern prompted and Brock sighed again.

“He saw my truck and bike just like you, Mom,” he said quietly. “He’s an old guy with not a lot of friends left that he hasn’t fucked over. He comes by. We sit around, drink beer and watch a game. This does not happen often but it happens.”

She stared at him. Then quietly back, she stated, “I remember a time when you wouldn’t even look at him.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve grown up. He’s my father. I don’t like that he’s lonely. What can I say?”

Brock replied softly.

Fern studied her son. Then her eyes shifted to me. Then she seemed to realize this was not the time or place and that was when she sighed.

Then she said, “I’m sorry, Tess. You must think we’re all nuts.”

“My parents are divorced, Fern, and my Mom hated my Dad from when I was nine to the day he died and even then she announced she wanted to go to his funeral so she could spit on his grave. Luckily, the next day, she got the flu and was bedridden for a week or she might have done it,” I told her, she stared at me, Brock’s arm got tight around my ribs then I finished, “I guess what I’m saying is, I get it.”

Her eyes warmed and her mouth got soft. Then she nodded.

Then she whispered, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“Mom! Dylan’s pulling my jersey!” Grady shouted from the living room.

“Cue exit,” Laura muttered and I looked at her. “See you later, Tess?”

“Yeah, Laura, nice to meet you.”

“You too,” she replied then rushed out.

Brock pushed me gently in front of him, slid out from behind me and went to his mother, bending low for her to kiss his cheek.

“Have fun, honey.” I heard her whisper.

“Right,” he murmured and she moved away from him and her eyes came to me.

“Have a nice night, Tess. Lovely to meet you.”

“You too, Fern,” I replied.

She made to move out; Brock caught my hand and followed her, pulling me behind him.

We hit the living room and got separated as the kids shouted good-byes to me, went into attack mode in order to give Brock’s legs hugs (this, he allowed from his nephews but he swung his niece up in his arms, gave her a fierce hug while he kissed then blew into her neck through which she giggled with childish abandon and while observing this I fought a tidal wave of warm gushiness), a brief period of pandemonium ensued for what appeared to be no reason at all then I stood in the middle of Brock’s shabby living room as he closed the door.

Then he locked the three locks (knob, deadbolt, chain) and turned to me.

“Your Mom wanted to spit on your Dad’s grave?” he asked, eyebrows up.

“In the bitter divorce department, although your folks clearly have a frontrunner, my folks beat anyone by a mile.”

He grinned at me.

I tipped my head to the side and asked, “So, Rex and Joel?”

His grin spread to a smile then he moved and before I knew it, in fact, even after it happened I wasn’t sure how I got flat on my back on the couch with Brock on top of me. All I knew was that I was there.

“Rex and Joel,” he stated, his eyes holding mine, his holding mirth, his hands moving on me in ways not conducive to relaxing or having a life sharing chat. “My boys. I was married to their mother for five of the most miserable years of my life. Then I was divorced from her for five of the second most miserable years of my life. Then, two years ago, she got remarried and now she’s making her new husband’s life miserable and, lucky for me, she’s not able to multitask. Rex is ten, Joel is twelve. They’re good kids, I get them every other weekend, two weeks in the summer and whenever Olivia’s at the spa, which, considering her new victim is loaded, is often and this works for me because I think the world of my boys and clearly my genes are dominant because they aren’t pains in the ass like their mother is.”

“I’m reading from that you two did not have an amicable divorce and remain friends,” I noted and the mirth in his eyes hit the room and also hit his body which shook over mine with suppressed laughter.

“Yeah, babe, sorry I didn’t make that more clear.”

“So being with her was the five most miserable years of your life?”

“Yeah, and she made being without her miserable too but being without her was not the miserable part.”

“So why did you marry her?”

His head tipped slightly to the side and his face got slightly more serious.

Then he answered, “Because there was the Olivia I met, dated, fell in love with and asked to marry me. Then there was the Olivia who I went on my honeymoon with. Night and day.

Dark and light. Kid you not, sweetness, it was like she wasn’t even the same woman. It was whacked.”

I stared at him, shocked and intrigued by this story.

“Really?” I asked.

“Really,” he answered.

“That’s kind of…” I hesitated, “scary.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” he stated with feeling and I thought about Ada and Vic and how Ada showed Vic everything he wanted to see then the minute she got his ring on her finger, Ada showed him Ada and set about making him the Vic she wanted him to be.

“Why do women do that?” I asked.

“Seein’ as I have a dick, I was hopin’ you’d answer that question,” he replied.

“I’ve no idea,” I told him and his mirth came back through his smile and his body shaking on mine.

Then he asked, “Are you gettin’ it yet?”

“Getting what?” I asked back.

His roaming hands stopped and one came to frame the side of my face as he dipped his close.

Then, he whispered, “With Tessa O’Hara, what you see is what you get. No bullshit. No games. No masks. No lies. No nothin’. Just her, all her. I’m forty-five years old and, baby, I gotta tell you, I’m so sick of that shit you wouldn’t believe it. Meeting a woman who doesn’t have a clue how to even initiate a play was fucking refreshing.”

Oh my.

At that point, for some totally unhinged reason, my mouth blurted, “Ellie has ordered a pink flower girl dress.”

Brock stared at me. Then he burst out laughing and shoved his face in my neck to do it.

Then, while still doing it, he rolled to his back so I was on top and I lifted my head to watch as the laughter died to chuckles and his hands came up to gather my hair at the back of my head.

And when he controlled his hilarity, his warm, quicksilver eyes locked on mine and he said quietly, “There it is. My sweet Tess doesn’t have a clue how to initiate a play. No bullshit. No games. No masks. No lies.”

“Brock,” I whispered.

“Thanks for dealin’ with the kids so I could deal with Mom and Dad.”

“You’re welcome,” I said softly and he pulled my face to his for a lip touch then moved it back an inch whereupon I informed him, “Just a head’s up. Grady hears stuff, so much of it, he might go out of his way to listen and he doesn’t forget much.”

He pulled in a breath. Then he shared openly, “We got dissension. Laura and my older sister Jill want my Dad back in the fold. My younger brother Levi, Laura’s husband Austin, Jill’s partner Fritz and obviously my Mom disagree. Austin because he’s overprotective of Laura. He met her two years after she was raped, she was still raw but he liked what he saw, put on the kid gloves and hasn’t taken them off. He’s a good man, a family man and he loves her. He doesn’t like the history and he didn’t like it when my Dad came around and asked for money. Fritz because Fritz likes his money and that’s because he works his ass off for it and anyone comin’ around and askin’ him to give it away isn’t real popular. Levi because my brother hasn’t worked shit through, he’s got a short fuse, carries a mean grudge and takes loyalty to extremes. Shit’s comin’ to a head. There’s a lot of talk. Grady’s a smart kid, he feels deep, he loves his Mom and he’s gonna hear and be confused.” He paused then said,

“I’ll have a word with Laura.”

“Why is this happening?” I asked. “I mean, you’re all adults. Can’t those who want your Dad in their fold do it and those who don’t –?”

Brock cut me off with, “Dad’s got cancer, Tess.”

My body stilled on top of his and I whispered, “Ohmigod.”

“Yeah,” he whispered back. “This is the second time. It’s come back. First time, he beat it easy. This time, they say it’s more aggressive. He wants to make amends, wants his family back, wants peace in case he passes. There are those in our ranks who question his motives and timing. There are those who see our Dad is gettin’ old, he’s sick, he’s not only fucked us over but also a lot of other people so he’s lonely and he’s a social guy but even if he wasn’t, lonely isn’t good when you’re sick. So we got dissension, it’s bringin’ up shit that’s been buried awhile and emotions are high.”

I slid my hand up to curl my fingers around his neck as I whispered, “I’m so sorry, honey.”

“I am too. This shit sucks.”

“Yeah it does,” I agreed, still whispering and I saw his eyes intense on me.

Then he asked quietly, “How’d your Dad pass?”

“Hepatitis C,” I answered. “No one knows how he got it but he was an EMT when he was younger so maybe something happened on a call. He had it for ages before they caught it. He was close to dying when he got a donor liver but it attacked the new one and still, he lived twelve years after that before it beat him.”

“And your Mom hated him because…?”

“Mom hated him because he fell in love with his partner in his ambulance and they got married two weeks after the divorce was final. She was humiliated and I get that. But he also genuinely loved Donna. I mean truly, he adored her and it just sucked that he found her after he found Mom. Mom isn’t a bitch or a crazy person, she just wasn’t his other half and Donna was. He felt guilty all his life and made that clear but she never let it go. She isn’t like that with anyone else but unfortunately, for her, Dad was her other half and she genuinely loved him, truly adored him so her heart just broke and never mended.”

“Makes you wonder why we do this shit,” he muttered and I had to admit, there were a lot of times I agreed.

Though, the four months with him and the last three days, I didn’t.

“Why does your brother want to break your ex-wife’s neck?” I asked and he shook his head but smiled.

“Because he loves me and she made me miserable for ten years. The four of us kids were close growin’ up and sometimes, honest to God, Tess, sometimes I could swear the only things Levi wants in life are to see Jill, Laura and me happy. He’s not married, never has been, has dedicated his life to his career, his summer softball league, his season tickets to the Broncos, gettin’ laid as often as he can and his family. He’s the one we all call to babysit, he’s the emergency contact at all the kids’ schools, he never fails to prop his latest piece in a chair at the dining room table at Mom’s house for Thanksgiving dinner and he runs his ass ragged to get to every house on Christmas.”

“I don’t know if that sounds nice or a little crazy,” I shared cautiously.

“You and me both, babe. I get his struggle. There were times I wondered if I’d grow up to be Dad and let a good woman down and fuck over my family because none of us know why the fuck he did all the shit he did and, as a man, you watch the man whose seed made you and you think that shit’s in you. Then again, you also gotta live your life and if that beast lives within, you gotta have the balls at least to try and tame it. But the beast doesn’t live within.

This is not to say that I didn’t think of steppin’ out on Olivia who was a pain in my ass but I didn’t have it in me. And when it got so miserable I couldn’t take it anymore and I had the choice of eatin’ shit my whole life and teachin’ my sons eatin’ shit was the right thing to do, which it isn’t, or getting out from under that mess and showing them it was important to be a man and find my own happiness, I made that choice for me and for them. Levi doesn’t get that life will always be fucked one way or another and you can’t run away from it. He’s living a life that’s been over for years. We aren’t livin’ with Mom and doin’ our homework at the kitchen table. That family’s changed and that life is gone and he needs to make his own life and his own family.”

“Have you told him this?”

“Getting my brother to listen is like convincing him to let it go about Olivia or Dad. It is just not gonna happen.”

“My sister lives in Australia and my mother lives in Florida,” I told him, he grinned and let my hair go as his arms wrapped around me.

“Finally, two things that show my Tess can be lucky.”

My body relaxed into his and I shared, “I miss them every day.”

His eyes moved over my face as he murmured, “Yeah.”

“Thanksgivings suck. I either go to Florida, where it’s just Mom and me and that’s okay but that isn’t like having a full table with kids being loud and wondering what girl your philandering brother is going to bring to dinner. Or she’s in Australia and I have to find a friend close to mooch dinner from. Those are worse.”

The skin around his eyes went soft and he muttered, “My poor Tess.”

I moved my face a half an inch closer and my fingers tensed into his neck for a second before I said quietly, “I guess what I’m saying is, all this seems like it sucks but it doesn’t.

It’s all based in love and history and loyalty so really it’s kind of beautiful because the alternative would be not having any of that and then where would you be?”

Brock didn’t answer. No, instead, his eyes looked into mine for long moments before his hand slid up in my hair, his body rolled me so I was again on my back, he was again on me and his mouth had captured mine and he was delivering a hard, deep, wet kiss that took my breath away.

When he lifted his head, I fought for my breath as well as control of several areas of my body and he asked, “You hungry, babe?”

“Yes,” I breathed because that was the truth, I was, but I was happy to eat later, as in, lunch the next day.

Brock grinned and the sight of it with his handsome face close, his hard body pressed the length of mine and my lips (and other places besides) still tingling from his kiss, I again lost control of those several areas of my body.

Therefore, to move my mind from him and what he was doing to those places, I blurted, “I think I’ve got popsicle juice on my back.”

“I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

“That’s okay. I kick ass with hand wash.”

He grinned again.

Then he asked, “Snickerdoodles?”

From the look in his eyes I knew that he knew I’d marked they were his favorites.

Therefore I shrugged and said, “The first time I made them, you ate, like, seven and you gravitate to cinnamon. It doesn’t take a mind reader to figure out you like them.”

He shook his head, still grinning but now muttering, “No games, no lies, no bullshit.”

What could I say? This was true.

So I didn’t say anything.

He did and this was a murmured, “Let’s get you fed.”

Then he knifed off me, grabbed my hand and pulled me off the couch then into the kitchen.

Then he fed me.

Then he ate three snickerdoodles.

Then he took me to bed.

* * * * *

Oh God. Oh my

God.

“Fuck, Tess,” Brock growled and, not able to hold myself up anymore, I fell forward into a hand in the bed beside him as I kept riding him hard, grinding down to take him deep, his fingers on one hand clamped encouragingly around my hip as his thumb on the other continued to press and roll against my clit.

My dazed eyes focused on him as the sensations between my legs trembled down the tops of my thighs, warmed my belly, glided up to swell my breasts making the silk covering them beautiful torture at my nipples and up further so even my scalp tingled.

I ground down on his cock, rolling my hips as my free hand went to his face, sliding down his throat then down further to explore the sleek, solid wall of his chest as I held his heated, mercury eyes and whispered, “God, honey, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

At my words, he bucked his hips so forcefully, I nearly went flying then his torso knifed up, his arm clamped around me and he whipped me to my back. His hips driving into mine, his thumb still at my clit, he captured my mouth in a searing hot kiss and didn’t let go even as I whimpered the warning of my fast approaching orgasm into his mouth. And he still didn’t let go as one of my arms convulsed around his back, the other hand drove into his hair and fisted, my feet planted themselves in his bed, my hips surged up and I exploded with a sharp cry against his tongue.

Still coming, Brock’s thumb disappeared and both his hands yanked my legs up and around his hips, he gave me his weight then both hands went to my ass and he jerked my hips up, deepening his pounding thrusts. His mouth finally released mine in order for his to grunt, each noise he made throbbed into the walls of my sex and the subsiding wave built and, to my shock, started crashing in again.

“Brock.” His name came from somewhere deep, breathy with surprise and low with pleasure as the second orgasm rolled over me. My nails dragged his back and my neck started to arch but one of his hands left my hip and slid into my hair, fingers fisting and holding my head steady so he could watch.

The wave receded again just as his thrusts lost their rhythm but increased their violence then, still driving deep, I watched his head tilt back and listened to his release.

When it stopped being vocal and his thrusts regained a rhythm, this one slower and starting to gentle, I lifted my head and pressed my lips against his throat.

He let me do this but when my head dropped back to the bed, his face moved to my neck and, still gliding slowly in and out, his hands started to roam over the silk at my sides.

I held him tight in three limbs, my hand in his thick hair sliding through repeatedly as both our heart rates slowed, our breath evened and finally he stopped stroking and stayed planted inside me.

Then, against my skin, with a gentle tug on the material at one side, he asked, “To sleep, you gotta change outta this into a normal nightie?”

I laughed softly and stopped stroking his hair to wind my arm around his shoulders.

After dinner and snickerdoodles, he took me to his bedroom where we fooled around on his bed until we were fooling around partially unclothed then we were seriously fooling around because we were totally naked. He took his time, I took mine and only at the end when it was skin against skin and breathing was so labored there were no whispered words that it got wild and energetic.

This, of course, totally blew out of the water the plan I came up with while kick-boxing but, undeterred, after we were done, when I hit his bathroom to take out my contacts and prepare for bed, I slid on the short, deep lavender nightie with slits up the sides, thick edges of delicate black lace and a pair of black lace panties all of which cost a fortune because it was pure silk and the lace was extraordinary.

In glasses and wearing what I thought was an in-joke; I walked into Brock’s bedroom only to find Brock didn’t think my nightie was funny. I knew this when his eyes hit me, his whole face got dark, the air in the room became so sweltering it felt like it was pressing against my skin and the minute I got close to the bed, he moved. Lunging toward me, his arm hooked me at the waist and he yanked me into the bed, pulled off my glasses, tossed them unheeded on the nightstand and we started up again. This time, from start to finish, it was wild and energetic, no pleasant exploration, no lazy caresses; it was hot, heavy and completely abandoned.

I answered his question with, “Actually, it’s kinda comfy.”

His head came up and he looked down at me. “Good, ‘cause I like it.”

I grinned at him and whispered, “I kinda got that.”

He grinned back then his head descended so his mouth could touch mine then it slid down my cheek to work at my neck, slow, lazy and sweet.

His hips moved slightly as he pulled out gently and I drew in a soft breath at the feel of it and the fact I didn’t like the loss of him then my arms gave him a squeeze as my head turned.

In his ear, I whispered, “I have to go get cleaned up.”

His head came up, his sated eyes caught mine and he whispered back, “All right, baby.”

Then his face dipped to my throat, his lips touched me there and he rolled off.

I rolled the other way, got off the bed, snatched up my panties and headed to his bathroom.

The good news was, his bathroom was clean though he could use new towels since he clearly bought his in the same year he bought his pickup and his furniture. Not to mention, the bathroom had been installed before The Brady Bunch was in reruns.

Still, it wasn’t icky which was what I decided to focus on.

I did my thing, slid on my panties and bent over the basin to look at myself in the mirror.

Hair wild, face flushed, lips swollen, nipples still hard against the silk, I stared and for the first time in my entire life, taking in my reflection, I thought I might be a little bit of all right.

Then I grinned, turned out the light and walked back into the bedroom.

Brock was leaned across the bed and turning off the light at my side. As I joined him in it, he was turned the other way and turning off the light at his.

When he was done, he reached out to me, gathered me in his arms, pulled my front close to his, tangled his long legs with mine and his arm, slanted up my back so his hand was in my hair, pulled me deeper as he pushed my face against his chest.

I turned it so I was resting my cheek there and slid an arm around his waist.

“Thanks for dinner,” I whispered against his chest.

“Best part about it was desert,” he whispered back and I smiled.

Then I sighed.

Then I told him, “I like your family.”

His fingers tensed against my scalp before he murmured, “Good.”

It was then, keeping it real, which was the only way I knew how to do it, I shared, “Um…

just FYI, and I’ll preface this by saying this is not an act of a psycho woman invading your life but a rescue effort, I’m buying you new towels and, uh… new dishtowels as a priority one mission.”

His voice held a smile when he asked, “A rescue effort?”

“Someone needs to put yours out of their misery.”

There was a short, deep chuckle I not only heard but also felt before, “Sweetness, I got an ex who cleaned me out seven years ago, a job which means I’m rarely home and this includes me bein’ under deep cover on an assignment that lasted a year and a half, a year of that where I had zero contact with family, even my kids, and I got two boys who are at an age they don’t give a shit about anything but the fact the TV works and food is in the fridge and, considering they’re boys, they’ll probably never be at an age where they give a shit about anything but TV and food. Towels are not a priority and dishtowels are definitely not a priority.”

My head tipped back to look at his shadowed jaw in the dark room. “You didn’t see your kids or family for a year?”

His head tipped down and I felt his eyes on my face. “I didn’t see it taking that long but it did so another, bigger reason for my statue of liberty play with Darla.”

“Oh,” I whispered thinking that now definitely made sense and it made sense before it was just that now it made more sense then I asked, “Does that happen often?”

“I’d had to take undercover work before, not often but it happened and it was another reason Olivia made my life a misery.”

This, I had to admit, made sense too.

“She didn’t like your job?”

“Olivia likes attention and if she doesn’t get it, she wants other shit to make up for it and that other shit costs money, lots of it, far more than I made. She also isn’t real big on bein’ a Mom so bearin’ the brunt of raising two sons was not her favorite pastime and she regards it as a pastime, no joke. So she wasn’t doin’ cartwheels that she didn’t have a man dancing attendance on her and she didn’t have what she felt was restitution for being denied that.”

Oh man. This didn’t sound good. Any of it but especially the part about Olivia not big on being a Mom.

“But what you do is important,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“And dangerous,” I added and his arm gave me a squeeze.

“Yeah,” he repeated.

I tipped my head down and pressed my cheek against his chest processing the fact that he had a job which meant he might disappear and wondering if I’d be like Olivia, not too happy about that, acting out when it happened and thinking, uncomfortably, since I knew from experience I’d miss him if was gone, I might.

“Lease is up on this place next month and I’m already lookin’,” he announced into my thoughts and my head tipped back again.

“Sorry?”

“Things are hot for me here, last job before the Heller gig exposed me to some folks I don’t wanna know where I work but now they know where I work. This cripples what I do for the DEA which means deskwork which means, since I’m a field man and deskwork would be like certain death, I put in for a job with the DPD, interviewed, got it and resigned from the DEA three weeks ago. I start at the DPD in the homicide unit in a week. This means more stability, total exposure and if some slimeball follows me home and home happens to be a decent place, they won’t ask questions. So, I’m lookin’ for a new place.”

I was blinking and processing this new information but having difficulty with it.

Therefore, the only word I could force out was, “Really?”

His voice again held a smile when he replied, “Really. Which means, after years of livin’

with one foot in the underbelly of Denver, I step outta that into a stable day-to-day with that underbelly leaking in in a controlled way not being what I breathe twenty-four, seven, my woman hightailing her ass to Kentucky would not be good.”

“I’m currently reconsidering my plans to hightail my ass to Kentucky,” I informed him and received an arm squeeze and a chuckle then he capped it with his lips touching my forehead before he settled back into the pillows.

Then he said, “Tomorrow, before putting my towels outta their misery, job one for you is callin’ your real estate agent and gettin’ that fuckin’ sign outta your front yard.”

“Okay,” I agreed instantly, got another arm squeeze and chuckle but, alas, no kiss on the forehead.

I pressed my cheek to his chest again thinking stupidly but hopefully and oh so pleasantly that Ellie would look cute in a pink flower girl dress.

“Sweetness?” he called into my replete gathering drowsiness.

“Mm?”

His hand slid from my head down my neck and then down the silk at my spine. “You got anymore nighties like this?”

“Uh, no and I have to sell a hundred and fifty cupcakes to afford another one.”

“Jesus,” he muttered.

“It was worth it,” I muttered back.

“Damn straight,” he agreed, still muttering.

I let out a soft giggle.

His hand kept sliding down, rounded my waist and settled curled around my hip against the bed so he was holding me tucked super close to his warm, hard body.

Then he murmured, “Sleep, baby.”

“All right, honey. ‘Night.”

“’Night, Tess.”

I drew in breath then let it go. Then I pressed my cheek deep and held tight to Brock.

Then my body relaxed and I fell asleep.