Seven
I left the family to their time together, wanting to give them their privacy, but when the doorbell rang, I had to check who it was.
That was easy because of the cameras I’d installed.
From where I was, in the recliner in my room, with Wink curled in my lap, I watched the stream of women coming in to drop off food.
I was guessing it was for Luke. There had been no food deliveries before he came home, so the timing told me everything I needed to know.
The man was both rugged and beautiful, so I understood. I would have brought him food too.
Into the mix came Shelly Canton—Shaw had provided me with her last name and a photo—and I was not surprised at how wrung out she looked, having lost her mother the week prior.
The kids all hugged her, and then she went into Luke’s arms and clung.
I would have done that too. He seemed like a good hugger.
More people showed up, which was surprising for a Monday.
The following day was a federal holiday, so that would have made more sense, but it felt like a lot of company for late morning on the first day of the week.
Although, everyone had been quite friendly at the neighborhood yard sale, so perhaps this kind of spontaneous gathering happened here often.
Being from Chicago, it was not at all normal for me.
Since the kids were having fun, interacting with everyone—Griff, especially, had drawn quite a crowd as he related the story of what happened with Wilson—when the time came to take Wink to the vet, I took him myself.
My room had a sliding glass door that led onto the back deck, so I tucked Wink inside of my well-worn, sherpa-lined leather jacket, and went out the back.
As the bodyguard, should I have left the family alone?
In their own home, with a good forty people in the house, I wasn’t too worried.
Anyone the cartel would send wouldn’t care if the killing was done loudly, publicly, but they weren’t stupid either.
Witnesses were one thing, but pushing your way into a crowded house with people who would rise up and get you arrested was another thing entirely.
At the vet, I bought Wink a nice carrier, since they hadn’t had one at the grocery store the day we found him.
I was surprised he was the picture of health except for worms, which were easily dealt with.
They estimated he was no more than a month old, so one dose was going to take care of his problem.
“Wink is the cutest name,” the vet tech confirmed.
“It suits him, don’t you think?”
She smiled and nodded, and when he winked at her, she said he was flirting.
“I suspect he is,” I said with a grin.
Once I was done, I was going to go straight home, but I got a call from Chief Higheagle in Newcastle, who asked when it would be possible for me to drive over and sign the statement I’d given her about what happened with Griff and Wilson.
Since I was out and on the road already, I headed over.
She appreciated my making the time and enjoyed meeting Wink.
Everyone in the office did. Small towns—you had to love them.
When I got home, I went in through the garage, put Wink down and shooed him inside, then found a shelf in the garage for the carrier. When I turned to head into the house, Luke was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at me.
“Where were you?”
I squinted at him. “I took the cat to his vet appointment. I texted the kids on our group chat, so they all knew where I was.”
He cleared his throat. “I would like to be added to the…chat.”
“Not a problem,” I assured him, taking a step closer, needing him to move so I could go into the mudroom. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I just—Tatum got freaked out when she couldn’t find you.”
“Not to call that statement into question, but as I said, I texted, so I doubt she thought I was in the house,” I replied, studying him. “Something else happen?”
“I meant to say, after she got upset—about what, I don’t know—I think she was sad you weren’t here.”
“But you’re here.”
Frustrated huff of air. “But that’s not good enough.”
“It is,” I told him. “You’re hanging back.”
“Pardon?”
Quick inhale. “You want to grab them and squeeze the crap outta them, but you’re not. How come?”
“Do you always say whatever pops into your brain?”
“No,” I contended. “I breathe because I’m big enough to hurt people if I don’t.”
It was interesting the way he looked me up and down then, and after what seemed like a moment too long, his eyes returned to my face. “Yeah. That’s why I was concerned when I walked in. I was afraid I couldn’t take you.”
I smiled at him. “You’d have been right.”
He scoffed. “Sure of yourself, are you?”
“Yes. Very.” I pointed at myself. “Fixer.”
“Yeah,” he said with a sigh.
“So answer the question—why aren’t you squeezing the stuffing out of your kids?”
“What?”
I nearly growled. “You know what I mean. Answer the question.”
Quick exhale from him. “I’m unsure of them. Those are not the kids I left.”
“In what way?”
“I left a sullen, surly sixteen-year-old boy who hated me, a withdrawn, silent thirteen-year-old who shared nothing with me, ever, at all, and a ten-year-old girl who stared at me, all the time, like I was stupid. But…I could order them around, and they would do what I said. It was quiet in the house except for the TV and their phones and tablets and game systems.”
I nodded.
“But I walked through the door a few hours ago, and everything’s different, from the house itself to the people in it. Suddenly I’m being talked to, and it’s taking me a second to catch up to where you all are already.”
“I get that. But they’re starved for hugs and affection, and they need it from you.”
“I know what my kids need,” he croaked defensively.
I maintained eye contact, and after a moment, he looked away.
“I would never tell you how to parent. What I’m relating to you is what I’ve observed in the time I’ve been here.”
He dragged his gaze from the floor back to mine. “I know. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve?—”
“No. Taking care of your kids was my privilege, make no mistake. And if you’d rather wait for them to come to you, that’s your choice.”
“And what did you do?”
“Two of them came to me. Your oldest, I said to him, I wanna hug ya, he said okay, and that was that.”
He took a shaky breath.
“All right, then,” I said. “I should get in there and go talk to?—”
“Tatum said you might be leaving after Thanksgiving.”
“No. I told her I would be here through Thanksgiving. After that, I’ll be going for sure.”
“Oh. Is that…” His voice went out on him, and he swallowed. “Is that how long you think you’ll be needed?”
I shook my head. “There will be someone here through the course of the trial—at least that’s what we planned for at Torus—but I think it would be best for the kids if I was swapped out for another fixer.”
He cleared his throat. “Why is that?”
I shrugged. “Due to your absence and things being a bit—” I thought a moment. “—in flux, I think they sort of glommed on to me because I was here and?—”
“You’re a rock. They’ve all been singing your praises.”
“Yes, but now you’re back, and you’ve already made changes to the time you’ll be spending at work versus the time you’ll be at home.
With that, as well as them all seeing their psychiatrist twice a week, since a fixer is only here temporarily anyway, it would be better in the if someone else they had no ties to were?—”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea at all,” he said, his brows furrowing. “Their mother left, I was…emotionally cut off from my own kids, and the one who has righted the entire ship in a matter of days is leaving as well? I don’t… How can that be the right choice?”
I exhaled sharply. “Because I’m not gonna be here, yeah? I don’t want them to learn to lean on me, and then I’m gone. It’s better to stop now. Believe me, I’ve been a fixer a long time. I know what I’m talking about.”
“I think?—”
“I really should check on Tatum,” I said, tipping my head at him.
He moved so I could get by, but just barely, and when I bumped him gently on my way by, he caught my bicep. I turned to meet his gaze. He was a bit shorter than me, but not by much.
“I know you’re a fixer, Nash, but maybe, in this instance, since I know my kids better, you should defer to me.”
“I promise you, it’s for the best,” I husked.
“You don’t like being here,” he stated.
“That ain’t it,” I replied flatly. “Your kids are great, and they’re frickin’ hilarious, but I don’t want to do them any harm. Or you either.”
“Me?” He was squeezing my bicep, though I doubted he realized what he was doing.
“Yeah. I don’t wanna interfere with what you’re doing with the kids, and I don’t want to cramp your love life.”
“My what?”
I grinned at him. “The kids told me you have a lot of women vying for your attention, and you’ve been home what, a few hours, and the place is flooded with visitors and food. I don’t want to get in the way of anything that could happen organically.”
“Won’t that be the same with someone else?”
“No, because the kids won’t be talking to a new person; they will engage with whoever you bring over. But if I’m here, they’re gonna keep away and stick with me.”
He shook his head. “The last thing I want is another relationship.”
“You say that now, but things change,” I assured him. “And you know the statistics.”
“I—what?”
“Statistics tell us that men remarry quicker than women after divorce. Now, your ex doesn’t count because—are they married?”
“I have no fuckin’ clue.”
“Okay, so in a very short time, you’ll probably get remarried, your future wife may have kids too and you’ll have a blended family, or she’ll be younger and you’ll have children together. None of which is going to happen with me here.”
“How long were you originally planning to stay?”
“Currently, the contract goes through the end of the year.”