Chapter 18 What The Fk?
WHAT THE F**K?
Ihave no idea how I ended up in my bed or how my clothes were washed and dried, my bathroom gleaming clean, and my pillow sopping wet. I could have sworn, though, that Tate was there with me. Or maybe not Tate—maybe Holt.
But that can’t be right, can it?
I’d say judging by the ache in my heart and the throbbing hole where my soul used to be that it was a possibility. There’s nothing else on this earth that can hurt me quite like the Wilder brothers. And now that one is gone—the only possibility is Holt.
But it doesn’t make sense. Why would he have been here in the first place, much less caring for me while I was deliriously sick?
I recall the way Elise had left me on the bathroom floor, half naked and smelling of vomit.
I groan. Horror is a whiplash of emotional torment that stains my flesh red as I throw back my covers.
I can still smell the scent of sickness.
It clings to my skin like glue, and I pray that I really was ultra delirious, and Holt wasn’t actually here.
But the fact I was in my bed and not plastered to the bathroom floor is telling in a not great way.
Standing sentry, Milo jumps onto the closed lid of the toilet as I step into the shower and begin scrubbing the sick from my skin. Flashes of vision—memory—burn inside my mind before flitting away like a dream forgotten. But I swear, Holt was with me in the shower. Or maybe it was Tate.
God, I’m a mess.
Feeling weak in body and heart, I lower to my knees under the hot spray and cry.
My cat meowls.
“We’re keeping the kids for the weekend.” I sigh a sigh of pure relief and Elise laughs. “You take a few days to just rest. Watch sappy movies and eat soup.”
“I have to make soup to eat it.”
She clucks. “There’s soup in your fridge.”
My skin prickles with hope. “You were here?”
“I dropped it by this morning. You were in the shower.” Her words are a pinprick in the balloon of my hope.
She prattles on, “I stopped by the grocer with the kids, and we grabbed a chicken. We made chicken bunwiches last night.” That’s what Elise calls a sandwich on a bun.
“I boiled the carcass so it’s the good kind of broth.
There’s chicken and veggies in there, too.
And Mabel insisted on those little star noodles to make it pretty. ”
“Thank you, Elise.”
“Anything for my girl, Faye, honey. You know that.” There’s a kind softness to her voice that she gives me often. Too often. I don’t deserve her love after the way I came between her sons. Still, she’s never withheld it from me. Not ever.
I bite back my tears. “Tell my babies I love them. I’m going to take a nap.”
Translation, I’m going to bawl my eyes out some more.
“They love you, too.”
I hang up. And then I sob.
I sob until I think even my heart has run itself dry.
“I want to watch the princess dragon.” Mabel bounces on her knees on the sofa. Duke yaps.
“No jumping on the couch.” I toss the remote to Owen who searches for Shrek, which is what Mabel means when she talks about the princess dragon. A.K.A Donkey’s lady.
Mabel, as she’s prone to do, ignores my request and bounces again. Duke yaps again.
“Mabel, you’re going to be a floor kid if you keep that up,” I warn.
“I’m not jumping!”
“You’re bouncing on my couch. Whether you’re on your knees or your feet makes no difference. I’m not buying a new couch because you think it’s a trampoline.”
Her eyes light up. “Can we get a trampoline?”
“Oh, for freak sakes,” I mumble.
Owen laughs.
I shoot him a glare. He tries to stop, but a snort escapes.
I fight a smile. I love my kids even when I want to pull my hair out.
The opening song for Shrek begins at the same time the doorbell rings. Duke goes into little doggy attack mode as he rockets for the door. Mabel races behind him. “Don’t you open that door Mabel Wilder, until I get there.”
She shrieks and I curse. This time, I get bonus points because it’s in the confines of my mind. But I still do it.
“It’s Uncle Holt!”
I stop dead in my tracks, my eyes snapping wide as I catch my reflection in the hall mirror. I could not look more a mess if I was trying.
My hair is up in a bun that could be cute if it didn’t look like something nested in it, and I’m not wearing a drop of makeup. I ditched the underwire for a workout bra and topped that with a slouchy t-shirt I tend to wear when I scrub my bathrooms down. There may be a tiny hole near the hem…
I’ve paired that with black leggings and thick pink knitted socks that could be called slippers before topping the entire ensemble with a ratty old grey button-down men’s cardigan.
I bought it for Tate for an ugly sweater Christmas party we’d attended.
I’d sewn pom poms to the chest to resemble Santa’s beard with jingle bells throughout.
Thankfully for me, I’d since removed the pom poms and bells.
It was still an ugly as heck sweater that also doubled as the comfiest thing known to man.
“You okay, Mom?” Owen frowns at me as he passes on his way to the door, clearly thinking my making Holt stand outside while I study the horror of my reflection, is rude. Mabel jumps up and down, a blob of pink and yellow bouncing on the other side of the frosted glass his only view.
I curse again. This time, it’s audible.
Owen’s brows rise.
Mabel doesn’t hear me. Small mercies.
My son unlocks the door and I brace myself for the dark eyes that land on me. And land on me they do. Hard. Hot.
I flush, pivot, and scurry back into the kitchen.
I need to catch my breath and I need space to do it.
Because I haven’t seen Holt since the flu hit my house hard.
But I’m pretty sure seeing him now, that my vision of him in my shower is more than just a foggy dream.
But a reality I really don’t want to face—especially without the armor of a nice outfit and makeup.
I don’t get much time to breathe before Holt is there. He hands me a coffee from Cherry’s, and there’s something in his eyes that makes me feel like we’ve come to a truce. There’s a ribbon of soft sewn into the edge of hard. But why?
And why can’t I remember what happened the night I was sick?
I should ask him, but I can’t seem to summon the courage.
“You feeling better?”
I smirk. “You can’t tell by the way I look, but yep.”
His eyes drag slowly down and then back up. He may as well have tossed a match. I’m burning up.
“You look good.” Oh, God, why is his voice all rumbly and deep like that?
And why does it make me burn hotter?
His eyes track the flush of pink as it climbs my neck and settles in my cheeks.
I attempt a distraction and take a sip of the coffee he brought. It’s my favorite.
How did he know?
“Mommy, Uncle Holt brought gooey cwasonts.” I still smile at how she says croissants. “Can I have one.” She bounces on her toes. “Pleeeease?”
I want to tell her she doesn’t need more energy. I say, “Maybe after dinner.”
She pushes out her bottom lip. “What are we having for dinner?”
I palm my forehead. “Urgh. I don’t know.”
“I can order in?” Holt offers, and my gaze swings to him because what in the actual twilight zone?
“I could go with pizza,” Owen says.
“Me too!” Mabel shrieks. I wince.
My doorbell rings again. For the second time, Duke loses his mind.
“Duke!” I snap at my yappy dog.
“Duke?” Holt’s head knocks back on his shoulders. He frowns. “The thing can hardly be called a dog, and you call it Duke?” I roll my eyes. Holt asks, “What do you call your cat?”
I stop midway to the door.
Owen mutters a, “Here we go again,” as he passes me on his way to the door. He thinks I’m trapped in the mirror again. Mabel bounces behind him.
I turn slowly to Holt. “How do you know I have a cat?”
Holt just smirks at me as he brings his coffee to his lips.
Dread expands in my belly. It wasn’t a dream.
I think he kissed my hair…
It was real.
I woke up naked.
Oh. Fuck.
“Uncle Tanner!” Mabel screams her excitement. I flinch.
Oh, fuck. Again.
Tanner steps inside holding two boxes of pizza. “I brought rations.” Tanner winks at me even as he catches sight of Holt standing behind me. “Figured it’d be a treat after the stint you’ve had.”
“We were just talking about ordering pizza.” Holt moves close. Too close. His heat is too much.
I want to shed my sweater, but my shirt is an abomination.
I shimmy away and clear my throat. “Um—come in.”
“Yes, Uncle Tanner, come in!” Mabel takes his free hand and pulls him into the kitchen.
Owen’s brows pull in as he watches me. I do my best to clear the anxiety from my expression so that my observant son won’t read into my discomfort at being here, between my ex-lover and husbands’ brother, and my late husband’s best friend want-to-be-current-lover, in the house I shared with that dead husband.
My life is a mess.
Tanner slides the pizza boxes into a candle on my counter, making room on the island. I’m too overwhelmed by the presence of these two men in my home to worry at the clutter on my counter.
“If I eat pizza, can I have a cwasont?”
“Yes.”
Mabel drops her hands on her hips to negotiate. “But no cwust.”
“Crrrrrust,” I correct, but I’m too stimulated to engage in negations with my little lawyer in training. Her auntie Willow would be proud. “Just eat some pizza, Mabel.”
Tanner chuckles and flips the lid of a box. “Extra olives.”
Owen smiles, but I don’t miss the way his eyes move between the two men. “Mom’s favorite.”
“I know.” Tanner winks at Owen as he flips the second box. “And for the second lovely lady, we’ve got ham and pineapple.”
Mabel claps, her smile beaming as she blinks happily up at her uncle. My stomach knots.
Owen doesn’t respond as he moves to the cupboard. He pulls plates down for everyone and I slide a ham and pineapple piece onto a plate for Mabel. She carries her plate to the couch and plops down. Duke scurries to take his place beside her.
I see her take a bite and settle in to watch Shrek enter the castle where the dragon princess Mabel loves, resides.
“Thanks for dinner, Tanner.” I slide a piece of pepperoni with extra olives onto my plate before I take a giant bite.
I nearly moan. I haven’t eaten anything but soup in too long.
When I open my eyes, I find both men are looking at me with way too much intensity. I wash the lump in my throat down with my maple latte and croak, “Eat.”
Tanner and Holt slide pieces onto their plates. Owen looks to me. “Can I go to Colton’s tomorrow after school?”
“Uh, sure.”
Mabel appears with an empty plate. “I’m ready for my cwasont.”
I raise a brow. “Where’s your crust?”
“I ate it.”
“Mabel.” I’m under no delusion as to who ate her crust. “If Duke pukes, you’re helping me clean it.”
She grins. “Okay, Mommy.”
“I’m serious Mabel. Not cool.” I’m already on my way to the couch where Duke is chowing down on the crust. I can tell the bites up until the crust are human, so I don’t protest as my little demoness in training slides her sugary treat onto her plate.
I snatch the crust from Duke before lifting him into my arms. I toss him outside to puke up whatever he’s going to puke up—hopefully. Then I wash my hands.
I’m turning to my pizza when my bloody doorbell rings again. This time, I blurt it loud for everyone to hear. “What the fuck?”
“Mom!” Mabel scolds. “That’s a bad word.”
“Says the girl who just lied to me.” I hold up a finger and stomp to the door. I’m not just a mess. I’m frazzled in a not great way and it’s starting to show. “Not now, Mabel.”
I hear Tanner ask Holt, “Bet you’re looking forward to the day you get to ditch again, eh?”
I swing open the door to see Mom and Dad standing close, beaming bright and curiously. I don’t hear Holt’s reply, even though I wish I had.
The knots in my belly are cinched too tightly.
“You’re back,” I say to my parents. I feel like I’ve run a marathon. I probably don’t look much better.
“We just got in.” Mom peers nosily around me. “You’ve got trucks in your driveway.”
I peer around her. “It would appear that I do.”
“Manly trucks.” There’s a discomfiting kind of excitement in Mom’s voice that has prickles of anxiety rising to spill from my pores.
I force a smile. “Women drive trucks, too, Mom.”
Dad pushes his way inside. “I smell pizza.”
I deflate and swing my door wider. “Come in.”
Mom gasps a sharp inhale. “Oh, Holt.”
She hurries toward him, and I wince at the sharp sting in my heart when she moves in close, and he gathers her in his arms. His eyes connect with mine as he hugs my mom. I feel emotionally and physically bludgeoned as she says shakily, “I missed you, Holt Wilder.”
There’s none of the boy I used to know in Holt’s rough reply. “I missed you all, too.”