Chapter 62
Chapter Sixty-Two
Noah
Honorary Older Brothers
“Iz?” I ask when I get in the house, not too loud in case she’s sleeping, but I’ve been stressing ever since coach decided to extend practice for a few of us.
I thought it was as payback for my behavior at the game yesterday – and my current hangover – but he cut off my apology to introduce us to his favorite recruit for next year, Jason Hargraves.
A goalie who literally stopped everything we threw at him.
Probably why we stayed so late, refusing to leave until one of us scored.
I had Owen check my phone before he left, but there was nothing from Iz, or my mom, so I didn’t make a big deal of it to Coach.
“She went down about ten minutes ago. Tried to stay up for you, but it sounds like she had an eventful weekend, so sleep won out.”
Doug is on the couch with Tatum asleep on his chest and the tv on mute.
“And my mom?”
“She’s also sleeping,” he shares. “I made Kraft Dinner so she’d eat something, but she looked exhausted, so I let her go to bed while I handled Izzie.”
My jaw tenses at the way he says ‘handled’, and I must be too tired to tone it down, because he notices.
“That wasn’t what I meant. I enjoyed reading her stories. I’m not good at different voices, but I tried Australian for the Bluey one and that smile melted my heart, even though I think she was laughing at me more than anything.”
“Yeah, I put a lot of effort into a different voice for every character, before I realized that being reactive gets as many laughs.”
“She’s a lot easier than I made her out to be. She still looks at me like she doesn’t trust me in the least, like she’s just waiting for me to fail, but at least I don’t think she wants me to anymore.”
“Of course she doesn’t. All she wants are people who love her and show up for her and…” He’s nodding along like that’s what he wants more than anything. “I think it would go a long way if you stopped making it so obvious you think of her as someone else’s child.”
“I don’t.” He looks horrified. “I would never want to replace your father or diminish what he means to her, but it would be an honor to parent her. For her to see me as someone she can trust, or reach out to when she’s scared. Or excited. Or anything.”
“It’s hard to believe that when you’re always making it clear that Tatum is yours and we’re not.
I had my dad, and I don’t need to be parented by anyone, especially not someone barely a decade older than me, but Iz is young enough that I don’t think she remembers having a dad, she just knows what it’s like to watch her baby brother have one. ”
He pales and looks like I’ve slapped him. Tatum fusses so he pulls him closer, making shush noises to settle him back down.
“I love her, Noah. And I want to help her, to take care of her. I’m all in, but every time I push, she pulls back, and I have to start all over again at a fucking disadvantage.”
I’m about to tell him he’s dead wrong, that Iz would be ecstatic if he actually tried, but then it hits me that he’s talking about my mom.
“Mom’s the one who’s calling them Tatum’s aunt or Tatum’s grandparents and insisting Izzie calls you Doug,” I realize.
“Our biggest fight was when Isabelle was sick at school and I took a personal day to take care of her instead of making your mom, or calling you. She reminded me Isabelle wasn’t my daughter, and made it clear that if I tried, I would lose her.”
“Why do you…”
“Let her?” Doug asks with a sad smile. “She lost the love of her life, and while she doesn’t want to be miserable, I don’t think she wants to move on and be happy without him either.
I know she loves me, and that it terrifies her, because she doesn’t want to lean on anyone else, to let someone in and risk feeling that all over again.
I’ll keep proving to her that I’m not going anywhere, but I’ll work harder to make sure Isabelle knows it too. ”
I nod, looking at this man in a totally different light.
Savannah was right when she said there might be more to it.
And I want to reach out and tell her that, but while I regret hurting her, this just confirms that I did the right thing in letting her walk away.
Because while this sucks and my heart hurts, it’s best for her.
Better than stringing her along like my mom is doing to Doug.
I check in on Izzie before going back to the hockey house, since she’s asleep anyway, but she stirs when I open the door.
“Noah?” she asks, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.
“Sorry I’m late,” I tell her.
“It’s okay, there wasn’t any football tonight anyway.” She yawns. “Did Savannah come?”
“With me?” I turn around as if she might be standing there behind me.
“No, but the bake sale is tomorrow.”
Fuck.
“The one I volunteered for.”
“Not that I didn’t trust you, but I told Savannah about it. She said she’d bring something, but…”
“How many cupcakes was I supposed to make?”
“You forgot?” She doesn’t look upset, but she also isn’t surprised. And I hate more than anything when she expects to be let down.
“Of course not. The first batch is in the oven,” I lie.
“Maybe…thirty-six?” she guesses. “But can we do the big ones? We’re only allowed to have one treat with lunch on bake sale days.”
“No problemo. You get some sleep, and the cupcakes will be on the counter when you wake up.”
“You’re the best.” She hugs me, then goes back to sleep, clearly relieved, while I figure out how long it will take me to make thirty-six cupcakes.
The answer is forever.
Doug is gone when I get back from the grocery store with all the ingredients, so I put a podcast on and get baking.
I have a whole production chain going, prepping more mix while the first batch cooks, cooling it and making more batter while the second batch is in…
I am halfway through very badly decorating my first dozen cupcakes – of which only eight survived, because they were before I remembered those paper cup things – when I check the oven and see my current batch isn’t rising.
I take them out and find mostly batter, without the telltale whoosh of heat that usually accompanies opening the oven.
Fuuuck.
I take a deep, calming breath that doesn’t fucking help, then look inside the oven as if I know anything about fixing it. Maybe if it was a car, but I’ve never opened things up and wondered how they work, I just do whatever standard services Eddie teaches me.
It’s past midnight, and as much of an emergency this is to me, I can’t expect a technician to come out in the middle of the night to fix the oven when I could easily pick something up at a bakery tomorrow. But Izzie deserves the effort of something homemade.
I google where I can use an oven at one in the morning, and am halfway to booking an Airbnb, when I get a notification and see a series of texts I ignored while working on the cupcakes
.
IVY GANG
Colt
Anyone know if Noah is coming home tonight?
Owen
I think he’s spending time with Izzie.
David
Why are you asking?
Colt
Concern over my roommate.
Mike
The lady from next door left him a batch of sugar cookies with a thank you card. I’m guessing Colt’s hungry.
Colt
You assholes know we have an alarm that I set once everyone is home, right?
David
Since when?
Colt
Since forever.
Mike
Do I even know the code?
Colt
I’ll shout it to you.
Owen
Because our texts are being monitored?
David
What’s up with Izzie?
Owen and Colt’s dots appear for the longest time before they both disappear.
Me
She’s fine.
Owen
All good?
No, not at all.
Me
All good.
Colt
Shouldn’t your sister be in bed by now?
Me
She’s sleeping. I’m making cupcakes for her bake sale.
Colt
Can I have the rejects?
I take another deep breath to control my emotions, because no, he can’t fucking have the rejects, because I’m going to have to Frankenstein the fuck out of them to have twenty-four cupcakes, which is only two-thirds of thirty-six.
David
Dude.
Colt
What?
Mike
Make your own.
Colt
You’ve known me fifteen years. Do you think I know how?
Owen
I wouldn’t trust him to boil water. We have receipts.
David
Someone left like four boxes of cake mix in the pantry, and we have milk, oil, and eggs. It’s pretty self-explanatory.
Owen
Do we have icing?
Colt
Chocolate and French vanilla. Guys, we even have sprinkles.
They’ve clearly moved to the kitchen. Or at least Colt has, but I doubt Owen will let him burn the house down.
The Airbnb won’t let me put a check in time earlier than six am, which is not enough time to bake and decorate at least another batch, then get them and Izzie to school for eight.
If the guys are already baking…
Me
If I’m DD the next five times we go out, can you make an extra batch? I’ll drive over and get it now. Don’t even need to decorate it.
I hate this.
Me
Next twelve times. Once per cupcake.
Really, what’s another twenty minutes when I’m already not getting any sleep tonight?
Me
Forget it, I’ll make the batch when I get there. Just leave me a box.
Nevermind, I’ll bring the ingredients.
Owen
Dude, we’ve got you.
A FaceTime call comes in from Colt, that I want to ignore, but instead I step out to the back porch and answer to find my four roommates in our kitchen.
“Did your oven break?” Colt asks, trying to look behind me.
“How many do you need?” Mike is already taking out mixing bowls and whisks.
“It’s fine, I’ll take care of it.”
“You’re not going to drive all the way here, bake and decorate a bunch of cupcakes, drive back there, then get a minute of sleep before you need to come back,” Owen argues.
“I’ve got it.”
“So do we,” Mike assures me. “How many do we need?”
“As Izzie’s honorary older brothers, you need to let us do this. It’s in the bro code. And we know you’d do the same for us,” Owen adds.
“It’s not—”
“It’s happening, just say thank you,” Colt says.
“Or don’t. That’s what my mom says when people offer help, but this isn’t transactional, so just tell us how many batches we need to make, and I’ll take the scenic route to morning skate tomorrow.
You wouldn’t want to deprive me of licking more bowls, would you?
We lie to kids, but adults know the batter is the best part. ”
“Not sure you count as an adult,” Mike points out.
“Sixteen,” I reluctantly admit. Because I don’t really have another option. “I’ll come get them and—”
“Izzie promised me a knock-knock joke, so I’ll bring them over and look at your oven while I’m at it,” David clearly lies, because Izzie loves dad jokes, but thinks knock-knock jokes are ‘too formulaic’.
“Why?” the guys ask before I tell him not to.
“I’m very handy,” he says as if that explains it. “And my mom often gets up before dawn when she has the family over, and I’ve helped my dad ensure our capricious oven has never stopped her from feeding her armies.”
“I can’t ask you guys to—”
“You’re not. We’re offering,” Mike cuts me off.
“Strongly insisting,” Colt corrects.
“And don’t even think about ‘paying us back’. You can be DD next time your turn comes around.”
They hang up before I can argue, or thank them, if I actually let them do this.
Owen
I’m giving Dave your address so he can drop them off at 6 because he’s an insomniatic psychopath. Or I can drive him if you’re not okay with that. But you even think of driving here before you drop Izzie off with all her cupcakes and…*confers with Ivy consulate because not great with threats*
Colt
I’ve set the alarm and apparently no one else knows the code. It’ll go off and wake the neighbors before one of us caves.
I sigh. Pretty sure I could find the code in the emails Owen forwarded us from his dad, but it’s late, I’m exhausted, and maybe it isn’t the worst thing to let other people help you. And have your back.
Me
Thank you.
Colt
David
But also
Me
Will you at least take the cookies as a thank you?
Colt
If you insist.