The Handoff #3
“Reg drives like two grandmas,” he said blithely, taking the menu lying under Reg’s hand. “Both of them arguing over who’s going too fast.”
Reg pinned his little brother with a bored look. “Chance thinks because he drives the Grapevine in a Ford Fiesta twice a month, he can push a minivan to ninety and do the Muhammed Ali bob-and-weave among the semis without ending up a grease spot on the freeway.”
Bailey’s eyes widened, and Anthony nodded. “True story. Twenty miles out of Bakersfield I begged Reg to take over.” He glared at Chance. “I am absolutely driving the whole way back.”
“It’s my folks’ minivan!” Chance complained, and Anthony rolled his eyes.
“And they love me and want you to live.” He yawned then, one of those monster yawns that seemed to take over your entire body, and then added rather pathetically, “but I’m all on board for the coffee thing, though.”
“Dad or I can drive,” Bailey said. “We both got plenty of sleep in the cabin.”
Chance, who had been a little deflated at the criticism of his driving, was suddenly all perked up again.
“I love that thing! Val used to haul me around on my summer breaks—we’d go to Oregon or Seattle or Vancouver.
I could sleep for hours back there, and then I’d run around the city while Val was doing business or catching up on his own sleep.
” Chance gave his older brother a look of pure hero worship.
“Most of the time we’d have a couple hours to tour together. It was great .”
Val smiled gently back at Chance. “You were an ideal passenger,” he said. “Half the time I’d forget you were there.”
“I know you did,” Chance said affably. “Because you’d start singing along with Mom’s musical theater stuff.” He turned to Bailey and Connor. “He’s not bad, you know.”
“ I know,” Rory said. “And I heard him do an amazing version of ‘The End of the Day’ from Les Mis that I’ll tell you about one day.”
Val sent Rory a killing look that had overtones not sex that Bailey didn’t understand.
“When was this?” he asked suspiciously.
“Oh, this was the day we first met,” Val said grimly, eyes set as though trying to bore a hole through Bailey to make him understand.
No holes necessary. Bailey realized that whatever misadventure had thrown Val into his ER had happened to the tune of Les Mis and thought now that he really wanted to ask Dean about that day.
“You met before yesterday?” Anthony asked sharply.
The waitress arrived to take their order, which was good because it gave Bailey a chance to organize his thoughts into something that children could hear.
Well, not exactly children , but Dean’s family, which, he realized, was starting to feel like his own.
The waitress left, and Bailey gave an abbreviated version of the events of that day. “Dean and I… uhm, connected when Val was getting checked over for a concussion,” he said smoothly, “so when Dean was in town the next week, he looked me up.”
Reg and Chance exchanged glances, and then Val and Rory exchanged glances, and then Connor gave an inelegant snort.
Bailey could only glare at his father. “Don’t,” he warned.
“Boy…,” Connor said, shaking his head.
“Dad, can we just leave it at that?”
“You are fooling nobody ,” his father said. He was sitting at the end of the booth, one hand on Catherine’s noble head as he fondled her silky ears.
“Maybe one person,” Val said, winking at Bailey. “But my family won’t let you live in denial that long.” Something flickered over his face, though, and Bailey gazed at him curiously.
Then he glanced at his phone and suddenly, like a slug to the gut, Bailey knew what was bothering Dean’s brother.
He never told us when we’d hear from him , he realized. It had already been thirty hours.
He met Val’s eyes and said, “Soon,” hopefully, and Val nodded once, grimly, as though Bailey had said a prayer.
Chance burst into their thoughts then with a question about Marcus, and something about the plaintive note in his voice seemed to echo in Bailey’s own heart.
“How’d he look?” Chance asked, glancing anxiously from Val to Bailey and back. “I mean, we saw him at the family reunion, and he didn’t seem to be, uhm, you know, tied down. Did he seem… settled? Has he gained any weight? Said anything about a soulmate? Those kinds of things?”
Bailey stared at the boy, the nonconversation Dean and Marcus had engaged in about somebody younger that Marcus was waiting on to grow up suddenly making sense.
“No,” Bailey said flatly. “Marcus looked just as insane as any other single man on the planet. In fact, he drives like a freaking maniac, if that makes you feel better.”
Chance’s adorable smile surfaced again, and Bailey wondered if Marcus had ever stood a chance. “So much better,” he said earnestly. “You have no idea how much better I feel about that.”
Next to him, Reg had taken off his glasses and was massaging the bridge of his nose. “Wow,” he mouthed to Val, who rolled his eyes.
Bailey turned his attention to Chance, who was oblivious of the byplay.
“He and Dean were a pretty impressive team,” he said, not sure if he should feed Chance’s apparent crush.
“I mean, Marcus drove, and Dean planned and bossed everybody around, and Marcus read his mind. I, uhm, don’t think they’ll be working with anybody else soon. ”
That smile again—gah! Bailey had a thought that if Dean ever smiled at Bailey like that, he was a goner. Lights out. That’s all she wrote. Here lies the ghost of Bailey Dodge’s resistance to falling drastically in love with a man crazy enough to toss him out of an airplane with his cat.
Then he remembered the way Dean had climbed into the shower that last morning and gentled Bailey’s skittishness with warm hands and matter-of-fact chatter, like he was calming a rogue horse.
Apparently Bailey Dodge’s resistance was already dead and buried, and Bailey had simply not acknowledged the gravestone.
He glanced at Val again, who—arrested in the middle of checking his phone—caught Bailey’s gaze and nodded.
Yeah. They hadn’t heard from Dean in nearly thirty hours. It was a hell of a time for Bailey to admit to himself that he was in love.