Chapter 19
“I swear, if the three of you don’t stop staring at me,” I warned. My finger squeezed the trigger of the nail gun, a quick pop pop pop of nails going through the piece of framing I was putting up.
“Who’s staring?” Cameron asked.
I paused, focusing my breathing as I studied the next piece. After wedging it into place, I hit that piece with the nail gun too, then set the tool down on the subfloor. When I stood and turned, Cameron, my sister Greer, and our longtime foreman Wade were at the table holding the plans … staring.
Slicking my tongue over my teeth, I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrows. “You were saying?”
Greer raised her hand. “I’ll admit it. I’m staring.”
Wade scratched the side of his grizzled face with dirt-stained fingers and cleared his throat. “I wasn’t.”
“Yeah, fucking right,” I muttered, striding past them to go cut another couple of pieces. “Don’t you have something else to do? Like work on this house?”
Greer snorted. “We get it. You’re in one of your grumpy-cat moods.”
I stopped. “My what?”
Cameron smothered a grin, and I imagined punching him in the balls.
Greer started cleaning up papers and tucking them into her manila folder. “You know those grumpy cats you see in the memes and stuff? Every once in a while, you walk around looking like one of them, and it’s usually because you’re all up in your feelings, and you don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m in a great mood. What are you talking about?”
What bullshit. I’d been snapping at people all day, but I didn’t particularly feel like admitting that to any of them, not with the staring and the conjecture. It was only a matter of time before Greer started in on me.
Wade’s eyebrows popped up. “So you were in a great mood this morning when you got out of the truck, and I asked you if you felt okay?”
Instead of answering, I gave him a level look.
Wade leaned into Greer, his unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “He told me to fuck off.”
Greer nodded. “That does sound like him.”
“When someone asks you if you feel okay, it means you look like shit, and they don’t want to say that part out loud. I didn’t sleep well. That’s all.”
They all ignored me.
Cameron lifted a finger in the air. “He also scared the shit out of one of the new guys when he yelled at them for doing something the wrong way.”
“He was doing it wrong,” I said incredulously. “If I hadn’t stopped him, we would’ve wasted a couple of hours redoing it.”
Greer sighed, patting me on the shoulder in a condescending way I didn’t really appreciate. “You know, I have learned a lot about dealing with children and their emotions since I’ve become stepmother to the most perfect child on the planet.”
I pushed my tongue against the inside of my cheek and wondered how they’d react if I just walked off the site and didn’t come back for a week. Maybe a month.
Greer continued talking, oblivious to my internal musings. “We tell Olive that it’s okay to have big feelings—to be frustrated or angry or worried, whatever it might be—but we have to let those feelings out in a way where you don’t lash out at the people around you.” She batted her eyelashes. “Should I set up a feelings corner at the jobsite, Ian?”
“Fuck. Off.”
She patted my arm condescendingly. “Mmm-kay. Let me know if you change your mind.”
Greer and Wade walked off to another room to discuss something about closet placement before we began framing the interior of the bedrooms. The new guy skirted past us—the one I’d barked at earlier—and he gave me a quick, nervous look.
Cameron’s eyes were boring into the side of my face, and I nodded at the newbie, offering a curt, “Sorry about earlier, kid.”
“Uh, sure. Thanks. N-no problem.” And he hurried off.
I cut my gaze to Cameron. “Where do you keep finding these children? That kid can’t be older than sixteen.”
Cameron smiled. “He’s eighteen. His dad’s one of the painters we work with, and he wanted a trade that wasn’t working with his old man. Not everyone wants to do what we did with Dad.”
My hands slowed as I marked up the piece of wood. I blinked, double-checking the measurement again before I cut. Dad was a firm jobsite manager, but he never embarrassed anyone. I blew out a slow breath. “No, I suppose not. He was a good fucking teacher, wasn’t he?”
My brother and I shared a look. Eventually, he nodded, and his eyes were slightly red when he did. “The best.”
“Don’t you fucking cry,” I warned him. “Then Greer really will make a feelings corner.”
Cameron snorted. “No shit.” He started to walk away but then paused. “You are okay, though, right? Everything was good at dinner at Mom’s the other night. But you’ve seemed a little on edge since then.”
I clenched my jaw tight and slid my safety glasses down. “Fine. It’s like I said, I didn’t sleep well last night. That’s all.”
Cameron didn’t believe me, and if I were him, I wouldn’t have believed me either.
I found myself existing in this odd little space the past few days. Things Harlow said to me kept looping around and around in my head, things I felt that whole week kept looping around and around too. It wasn’t like me to overthink things. I was generally a filter-free kinda guy. Said what was on my mind before I had a chance to realize it might not be a good idea. Let my gut instinct about any given situation be the guideposts of who I trusted and who I shared things with, what decisions I made.
But lately, that gut instinct seemed to be at odds with the things I’d always thought to be true.
With instinct at the wheel, I caught myself noticing more and more. A tap had been opened, and there seemed to be no closing it.
The evening we hugged on my mom’s porch, I noticed the way Harlow smelled and how it felt to hold her for a bit longer than a friendly hug. It was affection without strings or expectations, and that was new.
Noticing the short shorts she’d probably always slept in, but they just seemed … shorter than before. Her legs had always been long for her height, and when she shuffled through the kitchen to make Sage’s breakfast in the mornings, they were just there. Long and bare and golden and not covered at all by the sleep shorts.
I noticed her when she worked. The way her brow furrowed when she typed particularly fast, oblivious to the world with her big headphones over her ears.
I noticed the way she watched me when I was reading her book, and the almost tangible way I could feel her holding herself back from asking me about it. I was almost finished with my second of her books, and she wrote a chapter toward the end that was so chilling, I went to bed with a slight pit in my stomach. I couldn’t tell her that she gave me restless sleep because I was thinking about fucking murderers in graveyards, but the entire night, I felt eyes on me, simply because she was so damn good at her job.
I noticed how drawn she looked when she returned from her parents’ house, but she never complained. And I didn’t ask because I knew her well enough that she’d talk about it when she was good and ready. Like me, Harlow hated feeling like someone was trying to yank the thoughts out of her head.
Telling my brother and sister and Wade any of this was pointless because there was a simple solution. I needed to stop noticing and get back to the truth.
Harlow was my best friend.
None of my guy friends in high school believed she and I didn’t fool around. They didn’t believe I could watch movies with her or go on long drives and not end up touching or kissing or sleeping with her. The reality, back then, was that it was more likely she’d tell me that my ass stunk after football practice. Or that my music sucked. Once, we fought over movie choices so badly that she stormed out of my house, calling me names over her shoulder.
That brought a smile to my face. We could get back there.
Icould get back there. Because that was all this was. Me confusing things that didn’t need to be confused, and noticing things that didn’t need to be noticed.
I finished the workday without snapping at anyone else and only flipped off Greer once when she told me I was acting like a man-child. Bright lights were coming from the downstairs windows of the house when I pulled up, which meant she was working at the kitchen table. All week, she’d been scribbling in notebooks, on sticky notes, and nibbling on the edge of her pen while she typed something out on her computer. Not chapters, she told me, but chapter ideas. Some big-ass outline that she was really excited about but wouldn’t tell me what it was.
I approached the front door and stopped with a tilt of my head at the sound of bass thumping through the walls. It was the day of the week when Sage went to her grandparents’ after school so Harlow could write until five, and apparently, she was taking advantage of that by listening to filthy music.
The grin on my face spread easily, and I stifled a laugh as I pushed the door open as quietly as possible. The pulsing beat of the song practically dripped with sex, and the man rapping sounded French maybe. His accent was thick, and the filthy lyrics had my eyebrows rising slowly.
With her back to me, Harlow had her legs tucked up on the chair, typing furiously. I caught a brief glimpse of a few words that had my eyes widening.
Things like wet, soakednipples and tongues. When I squinted, I caught a glimpse of rock-hard penis and knew she’d probably murder me for even taking a single look.
Gently, I reached forward and tapped the pause button on the screen of her phone. The music cut off immediately.
“Whatcha writing, sparky?” I asked.
Harlow screamed, slamming her laptop shut and pushing back from the table too quickly. The chair wobbled dangerously on two legs, and if I hadn’t been right behind her, she would’ve fallen straight back.
I caught the chair and grinned down at her. “You got some filthy stuff coming out of those hands, Harlow. Does your mother know what you’re writing?”
Her hand was slapped on her heaving chest, and her eyes were wide, cheeks pink and mouth hanging open as we stared at each other. “Holy shit, Ian, you scared the absolute hell out of me.”
I righted the chair slowly, and at first, she didn’t move, just stared at the laptop as her shoulders rose and fell on a massive breath.
“Sorry,” I said as I sat on the bench by the door and started pulling off my work boots.
When she turned in the chair, she aimed a lethal glare in my direction. “Yeah right, you look really sorry.”
I smiled. “Quite the mood music you had going.” Honestly, the color of her cheeks was a little shocking.
“Inspiration. I’ve had that song on repeat for the past hour.”
“Interesting.”
She huffed. “You’re home early.”
“I am.” I kept my eyes on hers. The secondhand embarrassment was almost enough to make me feel bad. But this was the kind of thing I’d give her shit about before, so if I wanted to get us back to normal, I wasn’t going to pretend. “This what you’re working on for your editor, right?” I waved my hand in the air. “The romance thing Poppy mentioned.”
She swallowed. “Maybe. Haven’t been in a very murdery frame of mind.” Then she tilted her head. “Except for when you do what you just did. All sorts of creative things just sprang to mind for that.”
I laughed. “Does this mean Hollis King will be writing some sexy romance?”
“If my editor likes this pitch, yeah.” Her chin rose an inch, challenge lighting her dark eyes into something irresistible. She practically dared me to give her crap about it.
“Good for you. Nothing wrong with wanting something new,” I said.
But the words felt a little uncomfortable coming out. I didn’t want anything new, did I? I wanted things the way they used to be.
“I’m excited about the story,” she said. “And that’s half the battle.”
“That’s great.” I stood with a groan, stretching my arms over my head. “Leftovers tonight?”
“I sure as hell didn’t make anything.”
I smiled. “You know what I was thinking about earlier?”
“I honestly couldn’t guess.”
“That time in high school when we argued about which movie to watch, and you got so pissed at me, you stormed out of the house and called me?—”
She held up a hand. “I remember. But in fairness, you never, ever let me pick my favorite movies without a giant battle. A girl can only take so much.”
“Remind me, though. What did you call me again?”
“A giant horse’s ass with shit taste in movies.”
“Yup.” I sighed. “Good times.”
Harlow shook her head, studying my face with a slight furrow in her brow. “What made you think about that?”
“I don’t know,” I lied. “Just how we used to be, I guess. How it’s always been easy between us.”
Her facial expression stayed the same as she nodded. “Yeah, it has.” Then she leaned forward, and that thoughtful furrow in her brow turned into a grimace. “Good Lord, your feet stink.”
“It’s the boots. They probably need replacing,” I conceded. “They’re not that bad, though.”
She gave me a look. “Trust me, they are.”
I rolled my eyes but leaned down to tug off my socks. “Fine, I’ll put on fresh socks and go buy new boots tomorrow so I don’t offend your delicate sensibilities.”
“Everyone within twenty feet of you will owe me a tremendous debt of gratitude.”
I gave her a look before disappearing into my bedroom to change. When I came out, she had her headphones back in, her focus lasered in on her computer screen. Occasionally, she’d stop and scrawl a few notes on the notebook next to her.
The air was crisp outside, and I busied myself with yard work, clearing out sticks and branches that had fallen in the windstorm over the weekend. After working for about thirty minutes, I pulled my jacket off and tossed it into the grass, lifting the pile of sticks and walking them back farther into the dense trees that lined the back of the yard.
I used the back of my arm to wipe my forehead and stared at the back of the house. There was a concrete patio where I’d set a couple of Adirondack chairs, but that was it. It could use a deck. A nice big one for a grill and maybe a hot tub, big planters flanking the corners. A long table for meals in the spring and summer. Plans unfolded in the next heartbeat. Something with long benches on either side and chairs on the ends. Big enough to seat eight or more if it came to that.
Not that that would happen often. Most nights, it would just be the three of us.
The three of us.
The thought snagged, stumbling at the unconscious way I pictured us sharing a summer meal. My eyes slammed shut, and I forced it out. There’d been no discussion of what would come next, and I was fine with that. But it made it impossible to look into the future and not factor them into whatever choices I seemed to be making.
Some day they’d be gone.
They’d have their own place. They’d want their own place.
Why did that cause a tremor at the base of all those pointless walls I’d been erecting? Shake the foundations until I could hardly catch my breath.
I blew out a sharp exhale and got back to work. By the time I went back into the house, Sage was home. Harlow was cross-legged on the floor, her dark hair down around her shoulders, and Sage was sitting behind her, her eyes wide and her hands holding chunks of her mom’s hair.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Sage said.
Harlow patted the top of her head. “I think you’re holding them too loose, and you need to pull this top part over first. You’re starting with the wrong chunk of hair.” Her hands felt around Sage’s. “I think. It’s all backward for me.”
Sage looked over at me hopefully. “Do you know how to do this?”
My brows flattened. “Braid hair? Not a chance, kid.”
Harlow laughed. Then her facial expression sharpened.
“What?” I asked.
“You could help, though,” she said slyly.
“How?”
As she eyed me, Harlow wiggled her fingers through her hair to undo whatever Sage had been attempting. The sweet, sweet smile she sent in my direction made me want to get the hell out of the house. Then she patted the floor. “You can put all those gorgeous locks to good use.”
Sage’s face brightened. “Oh yes.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Absolutely not.”
Harlow met my stubborn glare unflinchingly. “Ten minutes. That’s all we need.”
“Please,” Sage begged. “Mom can’t teach me on herself. I just need to practice a little.”
Weak. I was so fucking weak for these two.
Slicking my tongue over my teeth, I regarded them icily. “I swear, if either of you takes a picture of this and sends it to my brother…”
“We won’t!” Sage promised, her eyes wide and earnest.
“Fucking hell,” I whispered under my breath and unfolded my legs out in front of me when I braced my back against the couch. Ruthlessly, I yanked at the tie holding my hair back.
Harlow made a tsking sound with her tongue. “Easy. You’ll give yourself damage.”
She hadn’t moved off the ground yet, her shoulder brushing against mine, and slowly, I turned my head and glared at her. She dissolved into laughter, leaning her weight against mine briefly. Then she popped off the floor and took a seat next to her daughter, nudging her to the side so she could start first.
“I’ll do one first, and you can watch.”
The second her fingers sifted through my hair, the slight scratch of her fingernails along my scalp, I had to focus on keeping my breathing even.
Shit.
Shit.
“First, you’ll part it here like this,” she said to Sage. Her fingers slid through my hair, and my muscles became lax as she separated them into three pieces. “Then you kind of hold it like this.”
It had been years since anyone had touched me like this, and I had to swallow down the immediate yank of goose bumps along my arms and violently ignore the way I was starting to get hard. My hands stayed firmly over my lap, and I started doing algebra equations in my head. Recited the Declaration of Independence. Thought about those depressing commercials where starving dogs looked up at the camera with their big fucking eyes and made you feel like a shit human being for not adopting all of them.
“Good grief,” Harlow murmured. “Do you do hair masks or something? Deep conditioner?”
“I have no idea what either of those things are,” I said evenly, keeping my eyes firmly shut.
She snorted. “Figures. So unfair.”
Her hands kept moving, and she patiently showed Sage what to do, occasionally letting my hair fall so she could start over when Sage got confused.
I kept my eyes closed and my mouth shut, blocking out the feel of her hands. Instead, I focused on that great, shining, black wall in my mind, where I could keep everything safely where it was meant to be.