Chapter 8
Hudson
I pull into the garage, pop the trunk open, and grab the supplies for our first family movie night. A massive tin of flavored popcorns fits under one arm—Jolene will dive into the cheese, no question, while I claim the caramel.
Mulling spices and a jug of cider are in bags, along with Jolene's favorite store-bought lasagna. I would have made it from scratch but I want my focus to stay on Jolene and Jane—and I'm pretty sure Jolene likes the frozen one as much as mine.
Every kid deserves parents who show up. My goal is to convince Jolene that I'll fill that role with her. This isn't the path I sketched in my head, but it works. I want this family with her.
With one finger, I catch the final bag that contains a toy for Jane. I close the trunk and make my way inside.
A light in the kitchen catches my attention as I deposit the toy bag on the kitchen table. A woman holding a sippy cup—not Jolene—steps into the doorway.
"You must be Mr. Powell."
I freeze, regripping my armfuls. "Who are you?"
"Kendall, the babysitter." She shifts. "Didn't Jolene tell you?"
I ease the load onto the table, one item at a time. The popcorn tin thuds down first, then the cider and lasagna. Proper storage can wait. "Hi, Kendall. No, she didn't mention a sitter. Where'd she go?"
She twists the cup's lid, her gaze sliding away. "I'm not supposed to tell you."
My pulse ticks up. "Why? What if Jane needs something?"
"I know how to get hold of her." Her voice firms, but she won't meet my eyes. "She gave strict orders."
I unclench my jaw. "Do her orders allow me to let you go home? What do I owe you?"
Relief flickers across her face. "Yes, sir, or I can take Jane to my place."
What is Jolene up to? And why doesn't she trust me? Does she think Jane burdens me? It would at least be courteous to let me know a stranger would be in my house.
"How much do I owe you? Jane should stay here."
The toy bag tips to the side and a blanket with different textured tabs along the sides falls out. I catch it, shoving it away from the edge.
"She paid up front." Kendall shrugs and returns the sippy cup to the kitchen. With her purse over her shoulder, she says, "That's a great pick, by the way. Jane will love playing with those tabs."
"Thanks." It's a small win I wanted to share with Jolene.
Kendall stops at the front door. "Do you want my number in case anything comes up?"
"No, I've got this."
The front latch clicks shut behind her. I pull out my phone and click Jolene's name. It rings through to voicemail but I don't leave one.
I send a text. I let Kendall go home. Where are you?
Jolene: with friends
Her being out with friends doesn't bother me as much as the clipped answer or her evasiveness.
I preheat the oven and get the lasagna going since it takes a while. I still need to eat even if she doesn't.
The silence in my house sits heavily in contrast to the movie that should be underway.
The evening drags on and I abandon my half-eaten lasagna while staring absentmindedly at an old Sherlock episode that's playing out on the TV. Sherlock would know where Jolene went.
The front door swings open, and while I don't know where she’s been, I'm relieved that she's finally home.
She slips in quietly, and I hop up.
Her cheeks are flushed as if she's had quite a night. But contrary to an evening out with friends, she has a couple of her bags that she usually packs for an overnight.
"You're still up." She tries to skirt around me to get to her room.
I touch her arm in a gentle request that she give me a minute. "I am. I was worried."
The musky scent on her devastates me.
"Kendall has great referrals."
"But you didn't tell me."
She shrinks. "Sorry, I was trying to handle everything without burdening you. I'll let you know next time."
"Want some lasagna?"
"Sure, I need a quick shower first." She rushes to her room and I do my best not to think about where she went and what she did. She's home now.
When I hear her padding down the hall, I warm a plate of lasagna. She carries it to the living room, tosses a baby doll out of the chair, then regroups and puts it in the toy bin. She rolls her eyes when she sees Sherlock on the screen.
She may be showered but the scent of another man's cum is burned into my senses. Unable to sit with not knowing, I pry, "Why wasn't Kendall supposed to tell me where you were?"
Jolene stops the fork halfway to her mouth. "It's not like I'll do this every night." She slumps. "I just had to get out."
"I'm not judging."
"Then why won't you let it go?"
"There was a stranger in my house."
"I already apologized for that. And I promise, I'm getting a job and I'll move out so you don't have to worry about me and who I bring into your house anymore."
"That's not what I meant. You should go out. You have to take care of yourself. You'll be fresher for Jane if you do."
"I just want you to trust me."
She huffs. "Trust you? Of course I do, you're the nicest, most reliable guy around, which is why I need to get the tornado of my life out of your tidy house."
"I already said you could stay."
"Because you're too nice." Her gaze shifts to the new blanket I set on the end table. "Did you get that for her?"
"Yeah." Because I'm the nicest guy around. That's definitely not the stage I want set when I propose to her. I can't have her think I'm doing it to be nice, like I'm saving her from being a single mom. Fuck!
Jolene motions for me to toss it to her. She balances the plate of lasagna precariously on her lap while reaching out. Fighting my love for all things tidy, I risk chaos and toss the blanket.
That's something I've been learning from her, that I can relax a little and the world will still be fine. It's liberating.
Her fingers trail over the tabs—silk, velvet, corduroy. "She'll love this. Thank you." She eats a bite of lasagna then says, "You really are the best brother a girl could have. I should have told you I was getting a sitter. I'll do better next time."
"I truly don't mind taking care of her." Unsure where the line crosses from nice into committed, I say, "I'm here for you. For Jane. We're in this together."
A wail pierces our ears from down the hall. I'm on my feet while Jolene tries to set her plate down and ends up knocking the new blanket into it.
I could have gotten to Jane's room already, but I couldn't stop watching the trainwreck.
"I'll get her." Jolene bolts past me. "You've done enough."
Have I? Picking her plate and blanket up, I stop in the kitchen first, rinse the dish, then take the blanket to the laundry room and spray it with stain remover.
I'm heading to Jane's room when Jolene meets me in the hall and flashes a tired smile. "She'll be up early, I better get to bed."
"Go on. I cleaned your plate."
She pecks my cheek. "You spoil me, big brother."
Stepbrother, I want to insist, but I need a bigger plan than that.
The popcorn tin sits untouched and the cider's cold. Family night crumbled—a real possibility that I'm brother-zoned. I try to laugh at my friend-zone joke, but it's not funny when I have a marriage proposal sitting under the Christmas tree.
All this time I thought I was wooing her, I was doing the exact opposite. How did I get this so wrong?
Is there something to be learned from her fascination with Krampus and her love of monster romances or am I grasping at straws?
I plop onto the couch and pull out my phone, entering a search I never would have imagined doing. Why do women love monster romances?