Wild Man

Chapter Ten You Baked a Cake?

One month later…

“Uh… aren’t we just gonna eat that?” Joel asked and I looked from piping a border of cream cheese frosting on the cinnamon carrot cake I was decorating to him and his brother sitting at their Dad’s bar.

Update: The last month had been busy.

Firstly, Brock had made two moves.

The first was from his job at the DEA to his job at the DPD.

The second was from his shabby, somewhat scary, definitely taking your life in your hands to ascend the outside staircase apartment to a very not shabby, not at all scary, having no outside staircase rented condo. It was in a small, well-landscaped, quiet, L-shaped layout of condos. The only drawback was he had two parking spaces and the entire complex of twelve units had only three visitor spots which were around the bend of the L from Brock’s place. So, if his family were around, which was somewhat often considering he was available, they were close-knit and still in the throes of emotional turmoil, parking could become a problem.

The rest of it was awesome. A fenced in front patio that was a sun trap and thus, if the sun was shining (as it had a tendency to do a lot in Denver) the minute you opened the wooden gate, you entered warmth even though it was November. Inside the front door was a big living room with fireplace and two story slanted ceiling. Up a short-ish flight of stairs to the right, a humungous master bedroom with bath. In that was a new king-sized bed with new sheets and comforter.

The bed Brock bought; the sheets and comforter I picked out not with Brock who flatly refused to go shopping for sheets and bought the first bed he laid eyes on which, luckily, was a nice one. But instead I went with Elvira, Gwen and Martha, the former two throwing themselves into this errand with scary abandon and the latter doing it under obvious protest for she still was waiting for Brock to expose the dickhead within.

In his condo, next to the up flight was a down flight that led to the door to another flight of stairs that took you to a full basement with laundry. The lower level above the basement had two smaller rooms separated by a full bath. Beyond the up and down staircase was another short staircase, this only five steps that led you to an elevated kitchen that had a railing facing the living room then a small dining area then a bar that separated a somewhat compact but modern and relatively luxurious (for a rental) kitchen.

As threatened, I had bought Brock new towels and dishtowels and when he moved I added more sets for the boys’ bathroom.

As I would learn considering they were more meddling, nosy and intrusive then even Elvira, one day, without his knowledge and using the key he’d given his mother, Fern, Laura and Brock’s other sister Jill commandeered his ratty-assed furniture, delivered it to places unknown that were so covert even a DEA agent couldn’t track them down (and he tried) then they filled the space with a large fantastic, masculine, comfortable sectional, new square coffee table, a handsome upright chest that held his flat-screen TV, stereo, DVD player, PS3

(for the boys) and DVDs, shelves that held CDs and books and a new dining room set.

Oh, and three new standing lamps and coasters for the living room as well as placemats and an unusual but appealing wrought iron, fat candleholder (with candles scented in

“ocean”) to sit on his dining room table.

Unfortunately, they were not finished illicitly rearranging Brock’s new décor and even more unfortunately I was with him when he walked into his new space, he took one look at it and the air in the room went abrasive as he lost his ever lovin’ mind.

Also unfortunately, all members, even the female ones of the Lucas family shared the trait of their mood invading the room, these three women had attitude, knew Brock since his life began (except Laura, who was five years younger than him), were not afraid of him and gave back as good as they got.

Thus began a shouting match which was loud, long, surprising, intriguing but also a little scary.

I could see that Brock was a man, all man, and his space was his space, his shit was his shit and he did not appreciate the intrusion and that intrusion signifying a trio of women taking care of a forty-five year old man.

And that was all I could see because even though I kept my mouth shut and hung in the kitchen while they shouted it out (though his new furniture was awesome), I agreed with Brock that they were out of line.

This went on for awhile and when I say that I mean a long while and I had the sense they did this not because of new furniture and unwelcome intrusions but more deep-seated issues all of them were dancing around. It got to the point where I feared things that could not be unsaid would be said and therefore I was going to have to step outside my status of new girlfriend and therefore person who really shouldn’t get involved and wade in when Fern pulled out the big (and arguably emotionally manipulative) guns as it was my experience that mothers on the whole had the wont to do.

“If we all haven’t learned something with what’s happening with Cob, Slim, then we’re in trouble!” she shouted and I watched with some despair as Brock’s torso jerked like he’d been struck and the stony look he had froze on his face. “Life is too darned short. Too darned short. I’m a year younger than your father and it is not lost on me that I’m next. So, I’ve decided that my kids are gonna enjoy me and what I can give them while I can watch. Jill and Laura kicked in a little but most of this is from me. This means you won’t get a big inheritance but you weren’t going to get that anyway. It also means I can see my grandsons lazing around on nice furniture in a decent place and I know you don’t think that’s important, but I do. That’s what I want and that’s what I’m going to have.”

She stopped speaking and when no one broke the silence she went on but did it quieter however the words she delivered next packed an even bigger punch.

“My girl endured a nightmare,” she said, my body got tense, Brock’s eyes sliced to his sister then to me then back to his mother when she kept speaking. “I know you pulled in every favor owed to you and I know you ended up owing more than you pulled to make sure that man paid for what he did to my girl. I saw what that did to her and I saw it eat at you, you and my other babies. But you were the only one in the position to do something about it and you did and you didn’t rest until that was done for her. I watched my son exhaust himself to make it so his sister could have some peace after that nightmare and if she wants to say thank you for that and I want to say thank you for it then, Slim, you’re damn well going to let us say thank you and keep your mouth shut about it.”

These words, regrettably, had as profound an effect on me, learning this about Brock, as they had on the familial combatants in the living room. I tried to pull myself together, promptly failed, began to lose it and found my feet rushing out of the kitchen, down the short flight of stairs with my mouth mumbling a trembling, “Excuse me,” as I raced to the other flight, up them, into and through Brock’s bedroom to his bathroom where I closed the door, pressed my back against the wall, slid down, shoved my face in my knees and burst into tears.

I would learn later that Brock had not shared my ordeal with his family. And considering my dramatic reaction, even though Brock was in that bathroom with me about a nanosecond after my ass hit the floor, his Mom and sisters were so worried, they didn’t leave until after Brock calmed me down and left me curled on his bed while he went down to explain and get them gone.

Luckily, thus ended the fight though Brock didn’t give up, he just quit shouting about it.

However, when he couldn’t find his furniture, he gave up and gave in.

Weirdly (or maybe not), this elevated my new girlfriend status seeing as they’d found out I hadn’t been with Brock for a few weeks like they thought but instead quite a bit longer, they sensed there was seriousness to our relationship, I shared a tragic circumstance the like that had been visited on their family which clearly moved them and, although I couldn’t explain how they did it or all the reasons why, I knew I’d been welcomed wholeheartedly into the family fold.

Brock, seeing as he missed little (or, possibly, nothing), couldn’t have missed this and he had no reaction to it whatsoever except for settling naturally and casually into it.

It was safe to say I really liked Brock but I’d also spent a number of years huddling in my own space as a defense mechanism and a big, loud, interfering family kind of freaked me out.

I kept this to myself thinking, if Brock and I survived the long haul, I’d get used to it mainly because I wouldn’t have a choice.

The other big thing that happened was I met Rex and Joel. In fact, the Friday after Brock and I got back together heralded his next weekend with them, he picked them up from school and three hours later I met them at Beau Jo’s for pizza.

Brock was not wrong. His genes were dominant. I didn’t know what Olivia looked like but both her boys looked like miniature Brocks. Joel had Fern’s blue eyes, Rex had someone else’s nose but other than that, features, body shape, everything was so like Brock it was uncanny. It was different, unique to them but still somehow the same.

And he was also not wrong about something else. They were good kids. Polite. Soft spoken. Attentive. Well-behaved.

Maybe too much for kids their age considering they weren’t much older than Grady and they had none of the exuberant little kid-ness of their cousins.

I saw Brock every night (and therefore every morning) but when Brock had his boys, these were the only times he and I spent blocks of time being apart. He explained this to me as being an attempt to introduce me slowly into their lives rather than shove me in their faces and force them to spend time with someone they didn’t know too well. So, after our first Friday night dinner together, I didn’t see Brock until Sunday night. And the next time Brock had them I saw them again on Friday night and then didn’t see Brock until Sunday.

But it was the next time I would get it about his boys’ good behavior. Because we didn’t meet for Beau Jo’s for pizza but I brought cupcakes and Brock cooked spaghetti at his old pad where we were going to eat dinner and watch a movie. But I was at his place when they got there in late afternoon and didn’t leave until they were in their twin beds in Brock’s second bedroom.

Spending more time with them and seeing them earlier, I noted on arrival they seemed wound up and when I say this I mean tight. Jumpy. Hyper-attentive. Anxious. And Rex once actually looked fearful and this was when he spilled his glass of pop on the coffee table. His wide, terrified eyes shot to his father, his face paled right under my gaze and his body grew visibly solid.

I also saw this make Brock’s mouth get tight. Not because of the spill but because of his son’s reaction to doing it. He quickly hid his reaction and cautiously and gently dealt with the spill while assuring his son (who, with effort, allowed himself to be assured but clearly didn’t commit to it) that it was in no way a big deal.

It didn’t take a child psychologist to see if Rex spilled pop at his Mom’s, the reaction he got from his Dad was not even close to what he’d get at his mother’s.

I had never been with a man with children and I decided to bide my time and let Brock discuss it with me when and if he wanted. This was not a game. This was me giving my man space. We were still getting to know each other and he didn’t need me nosing into his business with his boys and his ex.

So I didn’t.

But this weekend Brock decided would be different, he talked to me about it, asked me if I was comfortable with it, I wasn’t (exactly) and told him so but also told him I’d give it a shot.

So Friday night was his with his boys. So was Saturday. But Saturday night, I came over and made (at Brock’s request since he wolfed down three quarters of it when I made it for him) my Mexican tortilla casserole (though, obviously, since Brock liked it so much, I doubled it) and this was followed by hot fudge sundaes with my homemade hot fudge sauce.

And after, I spent the night.

It was a compliment when the boys dug into my food with the same relish as their father.

And it was a relief when they took my spending the night in stride.

And now it was Sunday. The kids were being picked up by their mother at five and Brock told me that Olivia had long since informed him she wanted the kids returned to her fed and watered so we were going to have a big late lunch after which I was serving homemade carrot cake.

A cake I was decorating at that present moment even though it was just for us.

This was something I had to do, it was a compulsion. Every cake deserved to be pretty, even if the decoration was simple.

And considering the thousands of baked goods I’d decorated, it took me the same amount of time to decorate a cake as it did for most people simply to frost them so it really didn’t matter.

So I smiled into Joel’s blue eyes and answered his question with, “Yeah.”

He looked at his brother, Rex looked at him then they looked back at me.

Then Rex asked, “Do you do cakes like The Cake Boss? ”

I shook my head and went back to piping while explaining, “My shop is small, I only have two girls who help me with the baking and decorating, I’m not set up for that kind of operation and my cake mission doesn’t include extravagance, just the drive to make every cake I bake pretty.”

“Cakes don’t need to be pretty, they just need to taste good,” Joel informed me as his Dad moved up the steps.

My eyes went from Brock to his son whereupon I shared, “In order to decorate a cake, you have to make more frosting which means the cake has more frosting which means the eater gets to eat more frosting so, agreed, cakes need to taste good but decorated cakes, being decorated with loads of extra frosting, taste even better.”

Brock circled Joel’s chest with an arm, tugged him playful rough back into his torso and muttered, “Can’t argue with that, Joey.”

“Nope,” Joel agreed, his eyes on the cake and looking into their hungry depths I knew my work was done as clearly his horizons had been expanded.

At that point there came a knock on the door. I looked to Brock and saw his brows draw together and his head turn in that direction then he let his son go and sauntered away. I went back to piping.

“Carrot cake’s my favorite,” Rex shared, his voice not hiding his anticipation and the sound of it made me grin.

I knew this. It was his father’s favorite too. This was why a homemade one was sitting on the counter.

“Good,” I muttered.

“What the fuck?” I heard Brock growl, my head went up and both boys’ necks twisted to look toward the door.

“Nice,” I heard a woman say then go on, “I’ve got to get the boys early. Can you get their stuff together? I’ll be waiting in the car.”

“Come again?” Brock asked.

“I have to get the boys early,” she repeated. “I’ll be waiting in the car. Tell them to hurry.”

“Olivia, you don’t get them until five,” Brock stated and, already tense at the knowledge my mind was refusing to believe, that Brock’s ex was at the door sounding like the bitch I suspected she was from what I’d learned from Brock (and Fern and Laura and Jill), I went tenser when this was irrevocably confirmed and it was then I noticed both the boys were frozen to the point of looking calcified on their stools.

“I know that, Slim, but today I need to pick them up early,” she retorted.

“You need to pick them up early, you tell me you need to pick them up early; we discuss it and make plans. You don’t show at my fuckin’ door and tell me to get them packed.”

“Oh for God’s sake!” she snapped. “It isn’t a big deal. Why do you make everything a big deal? It’s only two hours. Just get them to get their shit packed and I’ll be waiting in the car.”

“Woman, I get four days a month with my boys, two hours shaved off that is a big deal,”

Brock returned on a dangerous rumble.

“There you go, making it a big deal,” she shot back.

“They haven’t eaten,” Brock told her.

“Dade will take them out to get some burgers or something later,” she replied.

“No, Dade won’t. We got plans. You’ll come back in two hours or I’ll drop them at your house at five or whatever-the-fuck time you’ll be home to look after your sons.”

“You can do whatever you have planned next time you see them. I’m here now, I went out of my way to come and get them and I don’t have time to discuss this.”

“You went out of your way to come and get your boys?” Brock asked, his dangerous rumble getting more dangerous.

“Jesus, Slim, just tell them to get packed.”

“All right, you are not hearing me and you need to listen, we have plans. The cake’s baked and the boys are lookin’ forward to it. They’re gonna eat it and then they’ll go back when it’s time for them to go back.”

“The cake’s baked?”

Uh-oh.

Brock didn’t answer that question. Instead he ordered, “Go, I’ll bring the boys to your place at seven.”

“What cake’s baked?” she asked. “You baked a cake?” This was incredulous.

Apparently, Rex nor Joel had shared about me.

I looked back at the boys at the same time their heads, in unison, slowly turned to me.

They looked terrified.

Oh man.

“Olivia, Christ, step back,” Brock growled.

Oh man!

“What cake, Slim?” she asked, her voice rising as well as getting closer then on a shout,

“What cake? ”

Then there was a moment of silence, a muttered, “Fuck,” from Brock and my eyes went to the living room a half a second before a woman appeared at the foot of the stairs to the kitchen.

And one look at her was like a sock to the stomach.

She was beautiful. Utterly, top-to-toe, the definition of beautiful.

Shining, healthy, long blonde hair. Fabulous bone structure. Perfectly symmetrical features. Intriguingly shaped bedroom eyes. Cheekbones to die for. Tall and rake thin. Slim-fitting, stylish sweater, two hundred dollar jeans, seven hundred dollar boots and fifteen hundred dollar handbag.

And she had extraordinarily beautiful hands tipped with perfect, crimson fingernails.

She looked like she walked out of the pages of a celebrity magazine.

And she was Brock’s ex-wife.

Her striking, angry, venom-spewing eyes leveled on me and she demanded to know, “Who are you?”

I opened my mouth to answer but then Brock entered my vision and he spoke before me.

“This is Tess, Olivia, and seriously, this is not fuckin’ cool,” he snarled.

“Tess?” she asked, eyes on me then they cut to Brock, “Tess? ”

“Maybe you’ll do me a favor and go outside for your tantrum instead of havin’ it in front of my boys and my woman.”

Wrong, wrong, wrong thing to say.

I knew this when she hissed, “Your woman? ”

“Jesus, Olivia, can we fuckin’ go outside?” Brock asked.

“No we fucking can’t! ” she shrieked.

And that was it for me.

“Okay, boys,” I said softly, putting down my pastry bag, “do me a favor and get your coats. Let’s take a walk around the block.”

“Don’t you take my sons anywhere, ” Olivia lashed out, her arm coming up so she could jab a finger at me.

“Take them, Tess,” Brock growled.

“Up boys, let’s go,” I whispered as they seemed planted to their stools.

“Don’t you dare walk out of this house with my children!” Olivia shouted.

“Go, Tess,” Brock barked.

“Guys,” I called, rounding the counter, “up. Let’s go.”

“We have problems if that woman takes my sons out of this house,” Olivia threatened Brock.

“You steppin’ into my house, we already had problems, Olivia,” Brock fired back.

“What’s going on?” I heard and Olivia and Brock both looked to the door as I tried to place the voice that was vaguely familiar and couldn’t do it until Joel spoke.

“Grandpa,” he whispered.

Boy, Cob Lucas had interesting timing.

“What’s going on, Cob, is that I’m here to pick up my sons and Slim won’t release them,”

Olivia informed her ex-father-in-law at the same time she crossed her arms on her chest, hitched a hip and put out a foot.

“Well, I’ll be,” the invisible Cob replied. “I musta got somethin’ messed up. I thought you picked the boys up at five, that’s why I stopped by, to see my grandsons. Did I lose two hours somewhere?”

I watched Rex look at his brother, Joel gave him a small grin then they both finally moved to jump off their stools and race down the steps.

“Hey Grandpa!” I heard Joel shout.

“Hey Gramps!” Rex shouted after him.

“Joey, Rex, come give your Granddad a hug,” Cob ordered.

Olivia glared at proceedings I couldn’t see. Brock scowled at his boots.

“Tess baked us a cake!” I heard Rex say excitedly. “Carrot. My favorite and Dad’s!”

“And mine, boy,” Cob added. “Is it someone’s birthday?”

“Naw,” Joel answered. “She does it all the time. We had cupcakes last time we visited Dad. She bakes cakes for a living.”

“She bakes cakes for a living,” Olivia whispered disdainfully, I felt my back go straight but watched Brock’s head snap up and neck twist whereupon he aimed a look so vicious at his ex-wife that it made me, not even the recipient of the look, quake a little.

“You should see her decorate it, Gramps,” Rex said. “She goes so fast, you can’t see her hands move. It’s like those people on TV.”

That made me feel better and when I say that I mean that made me feel downright smug but I aimed my smug grin at my feet.

“This I gotta see,” Cob muttered.

“You gotta hurry, she’s almost done,” Rex told him.

“All right then, how about me and my grandsons watch Tess decorate this cake and you two go on out to the parking lot and finish your talk,” Cob suggested. “Does that sound like a plan?”

I looked from my feet to the living room to see Olivia glare at Cob then she transferred her glare to Brock then she moved her eyes to shoot daggers at me.

Then her eyes travelled the length of me and back and she asked me, “Why am I not surprised you bake cakes?”

“Maybe ‘cause she’s got a real woman’s body that a real man enjoys,” pause then a pointedly emphasized kill shot of, “a lot rather than a body full of points and ridges that, newsflash, Olivia, really doesn’t feel all that fuckin’ good?” Brock asked this as her gaze snapped to him and it was clear by his look, the mood that hadn’t shifted out of the room and the fact he didn’t shut up that he wasn’t done. “You should watch Tess decorate her cake too, probably would be fascinating, seeing as having talent of any kind is foreign to you.” He’d already delivered ouch, with that he twisted the knife deep. But he still wasn’t done. “I’ll make sure the kids wrap a couple of pieces up to take home. You taste it; you might learn life can be sweet rather than bitter. Dade tastes it, he might remember that there are women out there who know how to take care of a man rather than expend all their energy suckin’ the marrow out of his bones.”

“Slim,” Cob said softly, moving into my vision and giving his son a gentle look that, albeit gentle, clearly said to Brock that he’d made his point and it was time to move on before he moved up the stairs. When his eyes hit me, he said softly, “Heya Tess. Good to see you again.”

“Hey,” I said softly back.

“Have the children at my house by five.” I heard Olivia hiss at Brock.

“I’ll have them back at seven so Dad can have a good visit,”

I moved back behind the counter but glanced at the living room as Cob and the boys gathered at the bar and I saw her pinched face now staring daggers at Brock.

And Ellie was not wrong. She did have a pinchy face and after the initial impact of her looks, her words, attitude, anger and inappropriateness colored those looks and she was not nearly as beautiful as I’d thought.

“Fine,” she bit out then started stomping to the door.

I picked up the pastry bag and went back to decorating even as I listened hard.

Therefore I heard Brock rumble low, “You cool down, you reflect on this, Olivia. You do this shit one more time, and I mean any of it, from your start of showin’ two hours early to take my boys to finish with you throwin’ a shit fit in front of them and my woman, I warn you, I’ll take action.”

“Go fuck yourself, Slim,” was her hissed retort.

“Jesus,” was Brock’s muttered reply.

My eyes slid to Cob to see his mouth tight, his jaw hard and his eyes aimed at the counter.

He must have felt my look because his head came up, his gaze caught mine, he schooled his features into a smile that did not reach his concerned yet angry eyes then he released my gaze and reached out to wrap a big hand around Rex’s head and pull him into his side.

“That’s a big cake, boy, so big I’m thinkin’ I can talk Tess into lettin’ me stay so I can bum a piece,” Cob said to Rex.

“I don’t know, we were all gonna take quarters,” Rex said back and Cob grinned at him.

Brock showed, stalked to the end of the bar and looked between his sons.

“You guys all right?” he asked.

Joel shrugged and kept his gaze steady on the cake so I went back to decorating it even though I knew this non-answer actually meant a big, fat, hairy no to his father’s question.

“Yeah, Dad,” Rex mumbled.

“Right,” Brock whispered disbelievingly but let it go. Then, “Tess?”

“I’m good, honey,” I told the cake then asked it, “You want me to get you a beer?”

“I’ll get it,” pause then, “Dad?”

“Sounds good, Slim.”

“Boys?” Brock called.

“We can have a beer?” Joel asked.

I looked to him to see him looking beyond me to where Brock was at the fridge and I saw him grin at whatever look Brock was giving him then he said, “Okay, I’ll take a pop.”

“Me too,” Rex chimed in.

I went back to piping.

“Wow, Tess, the boys didn’t lie. You can barely see your hands move,” Cob noted.

“Practice,” I muttered.

“I can see that,” Cob muttered back then he said something that made warm gushiness flood my belly and my hands freeze mid-squirt. “Could be he’s my son but been around men as a whole a long time. Women who can pull off lookin’ beautiful bein’ barefoot in a kitchen wearin’ a t-shirt and glasses and no makeup with their hair pulled back in a ponytail while they decorate a cake that makes your mouth water just lookin’ at it, well,” my eyes had gone to him and he smiled gently at me, “don’t know a man alive or dead that I met in my sixty-eight years who wouldn’t want that woman above all others in his kitchen.”

He didn’t need to reassure me after my first acid encounter with Olivia.

But it was still a nice thing to do.

“Thanks, Cob,” I whispered.

“Don’t thank me for tellin’ the truth, sweetheart,” he whispered back.

Brock’s front hit my back and Cob’s beer hit the counter in front of him as Brock set it there while he joked, “Quit flirtin’ with my woman, Dad.”

This made Rex and Joel emit boy snickers and Cob to mutter, “I’ll try, Slim, but it’ll be hard.”

“Jesus,” Brock muttered back then I felt him take a swig of his beer.

I went back to piping but I did it smiling.

* * * * *

“Here you go, Cob,” I said softly, handing Brock’s father a fresh beer.

Dinner (and cake) consumed, visit with Gramps (and Dad) over, Brock was off taking the boys back to Olivia and her husband Dade’s house and I was hanging out with his Dad at his place.

Why Cob was still there, I wasn’t sure. I was still there because I was spending the night.

I curled in the seat across the sectional from him with my peppermint tea and tried not to be obvious as I studied him while he studied the fire Brock built.

When silence stretched as we sipped at our beverages and Cob’s look went from reflective to dark, I whispered, “Hey,” and his eyes came to me. “You okay?” I asked quietly.

Cob didn’t delay in letting me know what was on his mind.

“When he was datin’ her, I felt joy,” Cob stated and I stared at him. “We weren’t close, still aren’t close, but I was around. Looks like that and sugar sweet,” he muttered then went on to say, “Turns out saccharine.”

Oh man.

He was talking about Olivia.

His eyes got intense and he said softly, “Not my place, lost that place and I ‘spect you know it but I’m gonna say it anyway and I hope you know I got my son’s best interests at heart but, like Olivia, you are far from hard on the eyes and, like Olivia, you’re sugar sweet and I need you now, Tess, to promise me what’s under all that frosting,” he jerked his chin at me, “tastes just as sweet.”

I felt my heart melt at a question from a man who was facing sickness, pain and possible death and wanted to face it knowing his son had good things in his life and I whispered,

“What you see is what you get with me, Cob, I promise.”

He studied me, nodded then looked back at the fire.

Then he said to the fire, “Jill told me you’re a survivor.”

This unexpected blow caused me to pull in breath, close my eyes and look away. I opened them when he spoke again to see he was looking at me.

“My girls and me, always close. Always been better with females than males, ‘cept Fern but that’s because I been a jackass for forty-odd years. I don’t know where Slim stands but far’s Jill’s concerned, it’s all in the family and what I want you to know is, where I stand, that’s the God’s honest truth.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

“A man hurt you?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

He stared at me and he did it long and he did it hard then I watched with some shock and a lot of other, stronger feelings as his eyes went bright.

Then he asked in a quiet, thick voice, “What possessed him?”

“I don’t know,” I answered in a quiet, thick voice.

“He pay?”

I shook my head.

To this he murmured, “Sweetheart.”

“There are lots of different ways to survive, Cob,” I defended softly.

“Well, honey, you stick with however you’re doin’ it. No judgment here. You get me?”

I nodded.

He pulled in a soft breath.

Then he shared, “Wish my boy Levi’d find a woman like you, makes him look like Slim looks when he looks at you, makes him feel however Slim feels that makes him get close to you anytime you’re even a little near, like any moment a lion’s gonna come roarin’ into the room and he’s gotta be close enough to come between you and it so he can keep you safe.

Can die knowin’ my Laurie and Jill got men like that at home, can die knowin’ Slim feels like that about a woman, wish I was dyin’ knowin’ that was warmin’ Levi’s bed at night.”

His words warmed my heart, settled in my soul and made that tight, coiled snake of poison in my belly shrink near to oblivion.

“Maybe you’re not dying,” I suggested gently.

“A man knows, Tess,” he replied with resignation.

“Does it hurt to fight?” I asked and he smiled small.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t you worry, I’ll go down swingin’.”

“Good,” I smiled small back.

“Just hope I got it in me to fight back at the same time make peace with my family.”

“I’m getting to know your family, Cob, and I don’t want to get your hopes up but I see good things.”

His eyes grew intense on me and he asked, “Slim?”

I tipped my head to the side, surprised he asked.

“You just ate dinner with him and his sons,” I reminded him.

“There’s him lettin’ me in the door and lettin’ his boys know their Granddad while they got the chance and there’s him just lettin’ me in. I didn’t do right by Fern and in doin’ that, I didn’t do right by all my kids but Slim bore the brunt of it.”

“I know,” I whispered and pain shadowed his face.

“Right,” he muttered looking back at the fire.

“Cob,” I called and he looked back at me. Then I told him, “Life is funny. And the funny part is, sometimes out of bad comes good. I don’t like to see you conflicted and, no offense, but it’s upsetting to know things were rough for Brock and Fern and your family growing up because of the choices you made. But because of those choices, Brock is the man he is today and if he wasn’t, I honestly don’t know where I’d be. And that’s because there’s a lion in the room, Cob, and Brock’s standing between that lion and me and if he wasn’t, I don’t know how long I’d survive. You created that, not in a good way, in a bad one but that doesn’t mean it isn’t done. No one can erase mistakes. But in the end, your actions brought them together, they’re close, they love each other deeply, they’re fiercely loyal, they look out for one another and the ones who mean something to them. You had a hand in that and that doesn’t excuse what you did. But I hope that it brings you some peace to know the family you created, well, they’re survivors too even if the thing they had to survive was you.”

“That’s the loopiest thing I ever heard, sweetheart,” he replied and I shrugged then he went on, “But, I’ll be damned if it isn’t true.”

That’s when I laughed.

And after I was done, I told him, “Just FYI, where I stand is, you’re welcome at my bakery and my home anytime and if you need anything, now or if it gets rough, I want you to know, honestly and I mean it, you can call on me.”

He stared at me and while he did his eyes got bright again.

Then he whispered, “Frosting all the way through.”

I smiled and whispered back, “Nope, you eventually get moist, rich cake. Even so, that layer of frosting is more like a mountainous swirl.”

“A mountainous swirl?”

“Yeah, lavender. Or sometimes pink. Occasionally baby blue or mint green or anything else I can dream up. But always with candy confetti and edible fairy dust.”

His face cracked right before he burst out laughing.

And when he did, Brock came through the front door.

We both looked to him as he examined the occupants of the sectional, shrugged off his leather jacket and threw it on the back of the couch.

“Something funny?” he asked, moving around the couch making a bee-line to me.

And as he moved toward me, I thought of Cob’s words.

Makes him feel however Slim feels that makes him get close to you anytime you’re even a little near, like any moment a lion’s gonna come roarin’ into the room and he’s gotta be close enough to come between you and it so he can keep you safe.

This life-altering thought was interrupted by Cob speaking.

“Tess here’s a mountainous swirl of frosting with candy sprinkles and fairy dust,” Cob told his son as Brock folded his long body next to mine on the couch, curled an arm around my shoulders, tucked me close and rested his boots on the coffee table.

“Come again?” he asked and I giggled.

“Nuthin’, Slim, you had to be there,” Cob muttered and I tipped my head back to look at Brock.

“You want a beer?”

“You, or me, gettin’ me a beer requires you, or me, gettin’ up and walkin’ across the room and it’s fuckin’ cold outside, my truck’s heat went out on the way home and you’re warm so the answer to that question is… no.”

“All right,” I mumbled at the same time I leaned forward, put my tea mug on a coaster by his boot then went back and curled closer, sliding my arm around his middle and finding that he was, indeed, cold so I gave him a squeeze.

Then I looked to Cob to see he’d watched me do this, his face was thoughtful then it turned guarded.

“Slim,” Cob started hesitantly, “I know you won’t thank me to point out the obvious but you got a little lady who bakes heavenly cakes and fries a mean beef cutlet and I’m not sure payback for that is makin’ her freeze her ass off anytime she’s in your truck.”

I felt Brock’s body get tight and it was at that moment I knew why Cob was hesitant and guarded and why he asked about where his son stood. Because his body getting tight told me Brock wanted his sons to know their Granddad, he wanted peace in his family, he didn’t like the idea of his father being sick or alone but he had by no means let him in.

“Dad –” he started in a warning tone.

Cob cut him off to say softly, “Get a new truck, Slim.”

Crackling electricity started invading the room and I got tense.

Cob felt it, he had to but he thought he was dying so his next words showed he felt he had nothing to lose.

“You need to deal with that woman,” he announced.

Brock’s body went solid. “We are not –” he started.

“No,” Cob interrupted again. “That bitch is… a… bitch. I heard her shoutin’ all the way

‘round the parkin’ lot. Tellin’ my boy to go fuck himself in front of my grandsons? ” He shook his head, clipped out, “No.” Then he sucked back beer.

“I’ll deal with it,” Brock growled.

“When, in a decade?” Cob shot back.

Uh-oh.

The voltage of the room ratcheted up to the red zone and Brock took his feet off the coffee table, leaning slightly forward, taking me with him, saying low, “Careful, Dad.”

“Look at me, son, feel what you’re feelin’ right now and look at me, the man who’s makin’ you feel it,” Cob invited, leaning toward Brock. “I spent my whole life puttin’ off tomorrow what I shoulda done today and you, ” he gestured with his bottle of beer, “felt the worst of it. Learn from me, do not make your sons feel what you’re feelin’ right now. I do not know what’s happening in that bitch’s house. What I do know is that seven years ago, I had two grandsons who felt just fine in their skin and now they look like they’re about ready any second to jump out of it. It’s either her or that man she married but it’s somethin’ and that somethin’ is not you. You’re done with that other job, you’re available, your life is steady and now you got no excuses.”

“I cannot believe you got the balls to sit on my couch and coach me on raisin’ my boys,”

Brock ground out.

To that, Cob sucked back a huge swallow of beer as he stood then he bent and slammed his bottle on the table and looked down at his son.

“No, what I got is not enough time to hope you do not fuck up like your old man and instead do right by your family.”

The air turned harsh, scratching at my skin and Cob’s eyes came to me.

“Nice dinner, Tess, beautiful cake. And honored you talked to me, sweetheart, swear that to my soul.” At these words Brock’s solid body grew rock-hard and Cob looked to him. “I’m okay with you bein’ pissed at me because I deserve it but, Slim, once you stop bein’ pissed you’ll see I’m not wrong. You don’t have to tell me, you just gotta get your shit sorted.” Then he jerked up his chin, started to the door and mumbled, “I’ll see myself out.”

Then he saw himself out.

I sat immobile and silent, still curled around an infuriated Brock and I stayed this way because I didn’t want to do anything to tip the edge on that fury.

I should have moved away.

“Honored you talked to him about what?”

I pulled away, removing my arm, tipped my head back and looked at him. “Sorry?”

“Honored you talked to him about what?”

“We, uh…” I started cautiously, too cautiously.

“Spit it out, Tess. What did you and Father of the Year talk about?”

Oh man.

Seriously, the Lucas family needed to work through these issues and soon.

“He was worried that I was like Olivia and showing you what you wanted to see but was something else underneath,” I said softly and Brock fell back against the couch.

He lifted both hands and rubbed his face but under them he bit out, “Jesus Christ.”

“I wasn’t offended,” I told him, his hands dropped and his eyes cut to me.

“Well, babe, that’s good but I am.”

“Brock –”

“That it?”

“Uh…”

“Tess,” he growled.

“He knows what happened to me,” I whispered.

Brock scowled at me in a very scary way then he snarled, “Fucking, fucking, fucking, ” he stood, swiping his father’s beer bottle off the table and sidearm throwing it across the room so it exploded against the wall, beer splattering everywhere and he finished, “Hell! ”

At these actions, I crawled back into the corner of the sofa and curled my legs tight against my chest, wrapping my arms around them. I watched him standing there, shaking his head and tearing his fingers through his hair all the way to the back of his neck where he left them curved around still shaking his head.

Then he dropped his hand and turned to me. “Which one?” he demanded to know.

“Which one what?” I asked quietly.

“Which sister? Jill or Laura?”

“Brock, I don’t really mind,” I told him cautiously.

“Bullshit,” he fired back and I had to admit he was right. It was. “That man has no business knowin’ that happened to you.”

“Your family knows,” I pointed out.

“Precisely,” he clipped, “and that man isn’t family.”

“Brock,” I whispered, “he’s your Dad.”

“He is?” he asked sarcastically and I decided that was a good time to quit talking.

Even furious, Brock didn’t miss much; he saw me close down, decided to aim at a new target and thus yanked his phone out of back pocket, opened it up, hit some buttons and put it to his ear.

Then he started pacing.

Then he said, “Yeah, Jill it’s me and, head’s up, I’m fuckin’ pissed.”

Oh man.

He guessed.

He kept going. “Why? I’ll tell you why. Because Tess didn’t tell her fuckin’ best friend she’d been raped, not for six fuckin’ years. Martha found out a month ago. Her own goddamned mother and sister don’t know but you know who does? Dad. ”

He paused maybe to listen but not for long before he continued.

“Do not pretend you know by association what that shit feels like. Laura knows. That’s why Laura didn’t fuckin’ share. You had no fuckin’ business spewing that shit to Dad. I left the house to take my boys home, left her with Dad and he fuckin’ talked to her about it. She’s alone here with a man she barely fuckin’ knows and, bein’ Dad, he thinks it’s his place to have a conversation with my fuckin’ woman about her bein’ violated. ”

Another pause that didn’t last long.

Then, “Is she okay? What do you fuckin’ think? She’s curled in a ball in the corner of the goddamned sofa Mom bought because I was so fuckin’ pissed my sister is fuckin’ screwy, the instant I learned, I threw a goddamned beer bottle across the room. And the reason I’m so fuckin’ pissed, Jill, is because she is supposed to feel safe with me. And my own goddamned sister orchestrated a fuckin’ scenario where, my back’s turned for a half a goddamned hour, she was sittin’ on my own fuckin’ couch and she was not. ”

Okay, weirdly, what Brock just said made me feel less freaked out at his wild, angry, unrestrained behavior.

There was another short pause.

Then, “Jill, you had a different Dad than me. You and Laura, you had a different Dad than Levi and me. And now, for years, I’ve been takin’ your back with this shit, even before he got sick. But you gotta get your head outta your ass, woman. No man, even Dad, deserves to die alone thinking his son has abandoned him. But that’s as far as it goes and you need to get that and you need to show me while I have your back, you have mine and I’ll make this official right fuckin’ now. You have my back, you have Tess’s and you can read what you want into that and my guess is, what you read will be right. Are we clear?”

Oh my God.

Did he mean what I thought he meant?

“Jesus,” Brock clipped. “Uh… yeah. Wake up, Jill, she’s met my fuckin’ boys. In seven years has one woman I’ve been with met my boys, or, for that matter, you? ”

Oh God.

He meant what I thought he meant.

I was feeling warm and gushy again.

“No,” he declared firmly. “Tess will tell you it’s okay because Tess is sweet and she won’t want you to feel bad so, no. You aren’t talkin’ about this with her. You’re listenin’ to me tell you that shit you did wasn’t right. And you know,” his voice dropped, “you know, Jill, from watchin’ Austin, I gotta have this covered for a lifetime. That ghost shadows her, just like Laura, and I gotta have this and I gotta know my family has it too. So this is the last we’ll speak of it but before we’re done, I gotta know. Do you have this?”

A lifetime?

“Right,” he said quietly. Then, “I’m sorry too. It’s done. We’re movin’ on. Tell your daughters their uncle hasn’t dropped off the face of the earth. They both got cars; they can drive them to my place. Tess will have a cupcake waitin’ for them.” Pause then, “Right.”

Another pause then, quietly, “Jill, we’re cool, aren’t we always cool?”

A moment passed before I watched him tip his head back to look at the ceiling.

Then I knew why he did this when he dropped his head to look at his boots and said gently, “Babe, quit cryin’.”

Oh man.

I pressed my lips together.

Then Brock said, “You fucked up, I called you on it, you listened, it’s done and we’re cool, darlin’, quit fuckin’ cryin’.”

I was thinking for the first time in my life that I was glad I didn’t have a brother at the same time contradictorily sadder than normal that I didn’t.

And I was also thinking it was high time I Skyped my sister.

Then Brock said, “Right. Me too.” Pause then, “Fuck, right. I’ll tell her.” Another pause then, “Me too, darlin’. Later.”

Then he snapped his phone shut and looked at me.

Then he announced, “Seein’ as I now have a woman I have assignments for Thanksgiving dinner, something, as a guy, I avoided for seven years and something, because my mother and sisters hated my wife, they never gave her the honor. But apparently you’re in charge of dessert and when I say that I mean enough dessert that’ll feed sixteen.”

My, “Okay,” came out sounding strangled because I was trying really, really hard not to laugh.

Brock wasn’t laughing. He was dropping the phone on the coffee table. It clattered but he ignored it because while doing it, his eyes didn’t leave me.

I would know why when he told me, “I can get pissed and when I do, I’ve learned to let fly. I bury shit, it is not good. So I let fly. But you, Tess, no matter how close you are to me when I flare or what pisses me off, you are never in any danger. I may lose it but I will never lose it in a way that I’ll hurt you. That’s a promise. No man who is a decent man would ever put his hands on a woman or child in anger. And I’m not your average kind of man but I know, even so, I’m a decent man.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“If you do, why are you shoved in a corner?” he asked.

“Because you freaked me out,” I answered.

He studied me. Then he sighed.

Then, softly, he said, “In future, sweetness, I’ll do my best to check that.”

I stared at him.

In seven years has one woman I’ve been with met my boys, or, for that matter, you?

I gotta have this covered for a lifetime.

In future, sweetness, I’ll do my best to check that.

He was going to try to change… for me.

He introduced his sons… to me.

He took me on knowing, we went the distance, he’d be helping me battle ghosts for a lifetime.

On these thoughts, I found my mouth whispering, “You like me.”

His head jerked and he asked, “What?”

I didn’t repeat myself. Instead I said, “I don’t want you to change who you are for me.”

“Tess –” he started but I shook my head, sat straighter and interrupted him.

“I can layer up so I don’t get cold in your truck and I can deal when you get so pissed you throw a beer bottle. I don’t want you to change for me.”

His head dropped and he looked at his boots but not before I saw his eyes close slowly.

“You know,” I told the top of his head, it came up and he looked at me, “you walked into my kitchen a month ago and I didn’t want to have one thing to do with you. But when you told me you threw a chair in reaction to learning what happened to me, I knew somewhere I’ve never known with another man that you would never let anything harm me. And wherever that somewhere is, it’s deep and it’s real and after nearly a decade of not feeling safe, not for a day, in that moment in my kitchen I finally did. So now,” I gestured to the couch, “here I am. So if you throw a beer bottle or two or shout the house down, I’ll deal.”

His eyes held mine for long moments then his long legs brought him to me in less than a second. Then I was plucked out of the sofa but right back in it and stretched on top of a Brock

“Slim” Lucas who was kissing me harder than he ever kissed me, sweeter than he ever kissed me but unfortunately not longer.

When he released my lips, I lifted my head, fought for breath and watched his warm, quicksilver eyes roam my face.

Then I asked breathily, “So, is this Thanksgiving gig traditional as in pumpkin, apple and pecan pie or can I get creative?”

His eyes stopped roaming and locked on mine. Then he grinned.

Then he said, “Do whatever the fuck you wanna do, they’ll eat anything.”

“Both then,” I muttered musingly and I felt Brock’s body start rocking with laughter under mine.

Then I felt Brock’s body rocking with laughter over mine because he rolled me to my back while rolling on top of me.

Then my glasses were no longer on my nose but on the coffee table and I felt Brock’s laughter in my mouth because he was kissing me.

Then I felt a lot of other things given to me from Brock but none of them had one thing to do with laughter.