3. A Little Liquid Courage, and One of Many Bad Decisions
3
A Little Liquid Courage, and One of Many Bad Decisions
OLIVER
“Trick or treat!” a half-dozen kids chorused on my front porch a few weeks later. “Cool costumes, guys! We've got Thor , Elsa , and do I spy a Bluey ?”
Said blue doggo rejected my fist bump and hid behind her big brother, whose face was caked in an impressive layer of black-and-white skull paint.
I deposited a king-size candy bar in each of their buckets and bags, grinning as the little one squealed with excitement.
As they ran off, I shouted, “Happy Halloween!”
Waving to their parents as they departed down the sidewalk, I was about to close the door when a smokeshow in a short red wig sauntered around the corner, clad head-to-toe in skin-tight faux leather.
Father forgive me, for I am about to sin.
Leighton dressed up as Black Widow ?
Shit, she was hotter than the original, and as she spun in a circle, the sight of that perfect ass in spandex had me thinking very not-familial things.
Grinning, she threw her arms out wide, her camera dangling from her wrist, twisting those perfect hips from side to side.
“Did I bring it? I think I brought it. ”
Did she have any clue how fucking sexy her confidence was?
I’d never realized how hot that quality was in a woman until Leighton sauntered into my life.
Shaking my head, I didn’t bother to hide my smile, gesturing down at my own Captain America costume.
She shrugged airily.
“Yeah, yeah, Bucky is better,” I bit out, rolling my eyes as that bright smile grew. “But Cap is the OG. The big dawg .”
Leighton wrinkled her nose, and I flicked it.
“I mean, technically, Iron Man came out first.”
“But Captain America is literally The First Avenger . Did you just conveniently forget that part?”
Her eyes brightened, and she dropped to her knees with a squeal.
“My Winter Soldier !”
My kid—who liked literally no one—launched himself out the front door and into her arms like a projectile.
I shook my head, grinning as she crushed his tiny body against her chest.
The kids always loved Leighton.
But after the car accident, she'd been around even more than usual—always checking in on Mattie, helping her with her hair, bridging the gaps in ways I hadn’t even realized needed bridging.
In the process, even my chunky little guy had fallen in love with her.
“Auntie Lay! Auntie Lay! Look!” Beau wrenched out of her grasp to show her how shiny his fake metal arm was.
“ Sick, dude! But where’s your hair?” Running an affectionate palm over his short dark buzz cut, she grinned as he hopped away from her.
“He’s got shor’ hair in da’ new ones. We take a picker?”
Needing no translation, she grinned back at him.
“Heck yeah, big guy!”
Without hesitation, she whisked her camera into her palm, held it out selfie-style, and snapped a photo.
And with that, Beau bolted back inside, screeching for Matilda.
Sighing dreamily, Leighton said, “ God , he's cute .”
“Yeah,” I agreed, rubbing the back of my neck as we both wandered inside after him. “But he knows it. That’s the problem.”
A body nearly slammed into her, and I lunged forward, snaking an arm around her waist to haul her back as the new nanny, Oaklyn, skidded to a halt.
Every time I touched Leighton, I had to remind myself the ensuing spark could mean nothing.
We were adults. We could master chemistry.
“Where’s the fire?” Leighton quipped.
“Fire?” the little blonde repeated, blinking dazedly.
“You know, like, where’s the rush?”
“I don’t understand. Is something on fire?”
Leighton pursed her lips, turning to look at me pointedly.
It took all my self-control not to burst out laughing.
“Never mind,” I said, shaking my head. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah, just hunting for Matilda’s boots. She’s in a bit of a panic, and?—”
“Piano room beside the bench,” I supplied quickly. With a little girl who was particular about everything, I'd gotten very good at remembering where all of it lived.
“Piano room,” Oaklyn parroted, looking no less dazed.
“Beside the dining room in the back,” I prompted again, as Leighton bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“Right. Dining room. On it.” And she practically ran away.
Not looking at Leighton as we walked toward the kitchen, I muttered, “Don’t say it.”
“What?” she balked, too-innocently. “She’s cute. She just skedaddled off like a tiny river dancer.”
When I chuckled, she rocked her shoulder into me.
“Although it does seem like she’s afraid of your daughter.”
“Who isn’t?”
She shrugged. “I’m not.”
“Yes, but you had eleven siblings to beat the fear out of you,” I pointed out.
“And I give that little sunspot two weeks max before those kids chew her up and spit her out.”
“I’m running out of options. I swear we’ve gone through half the female population of Emerald Bay.”
“Drama king.”
“You interview a handful of these nineteen-year-old, one-named bimbos and tell me I’m wrong.”
“ One - named bimbos? ” she laughed as we rounded the corner into my favorite room in the house.
The kitchen glowed with warm evening light pouring through the wall of windows overlooking the pool. Rich mahogany cabinetry, wide counters—my sanctuary, tucked away from the prying eyes of the world.
“ Stacy, Kimmi, Tasha ,” I mocked, Leighton's laughter growing with every complaint. “None of them have last fucking names.”
Every syllable dripping in her radiant smile, she muttered, “You’ve lost it.”
“I’m not denying it. Parenthood is the toughest hood.”
“Oh, I know it’s bad if you’re pulling out dad jokes,” she scoffed.
“Trust me, you’ll get it someday, when some tiny you is terrorizing your household and you have to trust them to a stranger.”
Her expression pinched—but just like always, it vanished before I could fully analyze it.
Though her smile wasn’t quite as jubilant when it returned.
What the hell did I just stick my fat mouth into?
Clearing my throat, I hoisted up her newly cast-free right hand and asked, “How’s the arm?”
“Fine. And I no longer have to jam a pencil into my skin to scratch an itch, thank God.”
“A little weak?”
“Yeah,” she shrugged. “Nothing I can’t rebuild.”
“You like that physical therapist?”
Leighton groaned. “So obnoxious. Honestly, it feels like a waste of time for an arm.”
“Leighton,” I scolded, bursting out laughing as she screwed up her face.
“ Ollie ,” she mocked in the same tone. “I’m fine, okay? I’ve got eleven siblings and two overbearing parents hovering like helicopters. I’m well acquainted with rehab protocol. I promise, I’m fine .”
My gaze fell to that thin silver scar playing peekaboo with her v-cut costume. I’d always wanted to ask her about it—but judging by Alice’s glower when I brought it up once, it was a sore subject.
Not my story to tell, she’d snapped before walking off.
With that dismissal in mind, I stuck to safer territory and chuckled, “I’m not beyond demanding reports.”
“Don’t I know it,” she muttered. Stepping into a golden wall of light, her sass vanished for a second. She tilted her face into the sunshine and sighed dreamily, her blue-gray eyes sparkling, her smile punching me directly in the ribs.
Get it together, asshole.
Luckily, a teenage grumble saved me.
“Oh thank God.” Mattie slid out of the breakfast nook, glaring at Oaklyn with the enthusiasm of a scorned sixteen-year-old.
“Leigh, this is wrong.” Mattie wasn’t opposed to physical affection, but she rarely initiated it.
A fact made even more glaring when she walked straight into Leighton’s arms.
Right. Good reminder why you can’t think about Leigh like that .
“Looking good, Wanda !” Leigh wrapped her up, careful not to squeeze too tightly.
Mattie, dressed head-to-toe as the Scarlet Witch , rolled her eyes massively.
Oaklyn had tried. But her attempt at a smoky eye was muddying the whole vibe.
“Oaklyn did her best, but this is wrong,” Mattie muttered in a poor attempt at graciousness.
Points for trying.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you, baby,” Leighton said easily.
The endearment bottomed out my stomach. I cleared my throat and turned to the fridge, fetching water bottles before we ventured out to conquer the neighborhood.
By the time I turned back, the girls were settled in at the table. Leighton was wiping away the black eyeshadow, much to Mattie’s relief.
Because the universe has a spectacularly cruel sense of humor, the front door chirped open.
“Are you guys ready?” came Alice’s voice.
I loved Alice.
I did.
But with her came the ever-present storm cloud of my brother, and I just wasn’t ready for that particular shitstorm.
The problem was?—
“Auntie Alice!! Unca’ Grey!!”
That .
That was the problem.
The rapid patter of Beau’s little feet as he bolted across the house—and inevitably into his uncle’s arms—set my heart racing.
I needed a shot of whiskey to get through tonight.
Greyson and I might not see eye to eye on his involvement in questionable after-hours activities, but he had always been a solid presence for my kids. I didn’t want them in the spotlight. But keeping them away from him these past weeks had been grueling, to say the least.
There were only so many times I could break their hearts with lame excuses for his absence before their heartbreak fractured my resolve.
“Hey bud,” my brother said, a smile creeping into his voice before they even made it back into the kitchen.
“Looking good, big guy.”
“I thought that title was exclusively yours,” Alice chirped, never missing a beat.
“I can share it with my Beau man.”
“Well, that’s just confusing.”
“Are you likening him to a dog, princess?”
“No,” she bit out—and judging by the ensuing giggles, Beau was being tickled.
My attention dragged back to Leighton as she growled , “If you don't hold still, I cannot help you.”
“But Uncle Grey!”
“Can wait,” Leighton grumbled, pinching Mattie’s chin between her fingers, angling her this way and that as she drew sharp lines away from her eyes.
With a final flourish of her brush, she leaned back to examine her handiwork, nodded in satisfaction, and waved Matilda away.
Leighton was still shaking her head in amusement as she scooted off the bench, her eyes locking on mine a beat before she canted her head curiously.
I need to get control of the subtitles on my face if we have any hope of making it through tonight without a family implosion.
Greyson was my problem.
I didn’t need to make him my kids’ concern. Or Leighton’s.
The last thing any of us needed was a pissed-off Leighton Rhodes, digging around in business she had no right to expose. Because if anybody could get to the bottom of it through sheer stubborn willpower, it would be Leigh.
Her sister had figured it out in less than a day once she started looking—and that was saying something, considering Greyson’s ‘side business’ had been hidden behind government-approved firewalls.
But the Rhodes girls were nothing if not startlingly intelligent.
I handed her a water bottle before all but ripping the cap off my own and taking a long swig—just for an excuse to keep my mouth closed.
We rounded the corner right as Grey and Alice appeared in the living room. The girls’ older brother, Paxton, was tight on their heels. Much to my amusement, America's favorite quarterback was dressed up as a Wookie, the enormous furry mask hanging from his hand.
Oh, the press would have a field day with that.
“Nice Wookie suit,” I muttered, bypassing my brother in favor of our prize acquisition of the season.
We’d traded Paxton to our Emerald Bay Bombers over the summer, and so far, he’d rallied our rag-tag team of washed-up talent into a somewhat formidable offensive line.
Another season or two, and we might actually be contenders for the first time in decades.
“Thanks. Nice spandex,” he said, smirking in a way that was pure Rhodes DNA, making me smile despite myself.
“No interest in the family theme?”
“Going for full anonymity, if you know what I mean.”
“Smart,” I muttered, pulling my own mask off the end table as the group made a beeline for the front door. “Gonna stay a fur beast for the team party after?”
“To be determined,” he said, flashing a broad smile before plunking the Wookie head onto his own. “It smells like a glue factory in here.”
I chuckled, shaking my head as we made for the front door. “Who’s ready for some trick-or-treating?!” I called out, sounding more boisterous than I felt.
The kids rallied, of course, rushing to grab their bags and following me into the crisp evening air.
But I didn’t miss it.
Greyson wasn’t the only one watching me.
Leighton was too.
Her expression was puzzled, her fingers absentmindedly brushing that curious scar, her slate eyes flicking between me and Grey before settling back on my face.
I offered what I hoped was a convincing smile, snatched Beau’s little hand in mine, and led them out into the chaos.
One big, happy fucking family.
Leighton
Paxton might not have been a stranger to the spotlight, but with seven years between us, I’d been too young to really absorb what his fame entailed before now.
That was likely amplified by the miles between us—me finishing my degree back home in Alaska, him playing for Chicago.
I might’ve come as the Wookie’s wing-woman, but he certainly didn’t need me.
If anything, the blush climbing up his neck like wisteria told me he still wasn’t a fan of the spotlight.
All I could do was snicker and shake my head from where I watched the chaos from across the rooftop bar.
The Harts were nothing if not generous with their entertainment.
Maybe that was just a league thing, but my God—no expense had been spared.
Fog rolled across the entire floor, illuminated emerald green by hidden lights.
Some celebrity DJ had the dance floor bustling, and I’d thoroughly enjoyed every moment of grinding against one player or another until my legs demanded a break.
A break I found sitting in a sleek high-top chair, waiting for my Dracula-inspired blood-red cocktail and fanning my sweaty face with a folded napkin.
The players and coaches were great, honestly. It was the socialites that made me scowl permanently. A feeling that only burrowed deeper when a pack of vapid women in slinky couture sauntered up to the bar.
Hell, the jewels hanging off the leggy blonde beside me probably cost more than I made in a good month. And that might not have bugged me... if my bank account wasn’t currently sitting in the double digits, and I hadn’t just squeezed my ass into a costume I’d had since high school.
“Oliver Hart is such a waste of a beautiful face.”
I nearly flailed at the disembodied snark before catching myself, poorly concealing the flinch by turning to face the bartenders.
Excuse me?
My ears perked as a second voice scoffed, “Honestly, babe, I don’t know why you bother. The man’s married to his calendar. No time for distractions.”
“Unless you count his kids,” a third voice said bitterly.
If hearing Ollie’s name had made me bristle, that tone— tossing aside Tillie and Beau like distractions —made my muscles bunch with rage.
Vapid idiots.
“Come on though, he’s the hottest single dad in Emerald Bay. Can you imagine the tabloids if he bothered to open his eyes to what’s right in front of him? Power couple in the making.”
I choked down my laugh as the male model of a bartender set my drink down with a smile.
Golden-skinned, golden-haired—he looked straight off a cologne ad.
Typical Hart hospitality: models tending bar.
“Pffft,” the third viper snickered.
“He doesn’t date. He just... finds other ways to relieve stress. ” There was so much innuendo packed into that last line it practically needed its own velvet rope.
And sure, I’d assumed tabloids were right about Ollie sowing his wild oats... but I’d spent enough time dropping by unannounced to know better.
I’d never seen a car in his driveway that wasn’t family.
If I’d learned anything, it was how expertly people twisted truth to fit their narrative. Hell, I’d watched Alice craft stories that were entirely fictional.
“I’d happily relieve his stress,” the first voice said, dropping sultry enough to cloud a mirror.
The three of them collapsed into titters fit for a high school gymnasium.
Staring down at the fog rolling off my drink, I threaded my fingers around the stem of the martini glass.
Slowly turned halfway toward the party.
Zeroed in on the huddle slobbering over one of my best friends.
Perfect, polished, poised.
Everything I was not.
“And maybe poke some holes in the condom box and pray for the best,” the second one snickered.
My spine straightened involuntarily.
I smiled blandly at the bar, wondering what dry ice would do to eyeballs if I poured my Dracula cocktail down her face.
“Gah, no kidding. Did you see what his ex-wife got in the divorce settlement?”
“Insane!” the redhead exclaimed.
“I’d have his babies if it meant I got to live like that.”
“Well, you better hurry,” Mermaid Barbie said, tilting her drink toward the corner where Ollie held court for the evening.
“He’s been watching her all night.”
I followed their gaze—and there he was. Shock of black hair. Polite smile aimed at a bleach-blonde bombshell leaning provocatively over his table.
I recognized her vaguely—maybe a sports reporter? Pretty, polished, professionally blonde. I was almost positive I’d seen her cover one of Paxton’s games.
My stomach churned as he chuckled, her shiny hair cascading over her shoulder.
“Can you imagine playing truth or dare with that ?” the redhead asked pointedly.
“Dare, dare, dare!” one of them squealed.
I lost track of their conversation. All I could see was the maybe-reporter's manicured hand on Ollie’s costumed arm.
Truth or dare, huh ?
Maybe it was the alcohol.
Maybe it was the California warmth.
Maybe it was the territorial monster roaring to life inside me.
Whatever the reason, I tossed back my drink—which tasted like the bartender mixed all the alcohols and dumped in a jar of maraschino cherries—coughed in protest of the vile concoction, and slid off my stool in a fit of very, very bad decision-making.
With determination, I weaved between chattering partygoers, slid between Ollie and Blondie McBimbo with a muttered, “Pardon me,” threw my arms around his neck, and crushed my lips to his like I’d come to stake my claim.
Ollie’s body went rigid for a beat before I pulled back. The moment our eyes locked, his lips twisted into a smile, and he brought his mouth to mine as his hands found my waist.
There was a high probability that sound from my periphery was a disgusted scoff of outrage from Blondie McBimbo, but I couldn’t find it in myself to care.
Because Oliver Hart was kissing me. His hands tightened, pulling me flush against him, deepening the kiss. His sweet cinnamon scent wrapped around me, heat bloomed against my skin. Gentle but demanding, warm and pliant, he took my kiss and made it better.
When we finally peeled apart, a little breathless, he tucked a strand of my wig behind my ear with maddening affection.
Arching a disbelieving brow, he drawled, “Well, hello, Trouble.”
“Hello,” I chirped dumbly, grinning so hard the world tilted sideways.
“What was that for?”
“You lookedlike you needed savin’,” I blurted, the blush burning hotter than the rooftop lights.
His brows winged up, mischief dancing in his eyes. “You’re drunk.”
“There’s a slight probability I have achieved the perfect buzz,” I admitted solemnly, “but I promise I’m nowhere near sloshed.”
“Have you eaten anything?” he asked, steering me gently into a bar stool at his table.
“Mmmm—tiny portions, weirdfood , looked like fish eggs.”
Chuckling, Ollie shook his head. “So, no .”
“Very astute.”
“Jesus, Trouble.”
His eyes flicked over my shoulder like he was checking for witnesses. I tried not to be insulted by that.
Hell, part of me hoped the hags at the bar got a good look. Over my dead body was he going home with the condom-stabber.
“You wanna get outta here?” I said brightly. “Those bitches were obj-objec- tifying you like their next meal.”
Ahh, shit . My words were starting to slur.
Nice way to leave an impression, Leighton.
But when his smile fell over me, it was better than the last kiss of summer sun.
He nodded, standing and motioning for me to lead the way.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I said, weaving slightly.
“Oh, this is gonna be good,” he muttered good-naturedly.
“I’ve always wanted to know what it would be like to kiss Oliver Hart.”