Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
Claudia
“You okay?” Nalani asks as I stand and look around, wondering what I may have missed.
“I’m,” I pause, considering my words carefully. I hate lies, but I could spew two truths that are worse than one lie right now.
“What is it?” she asks, looking around eyes staring at the kitchen island where she was sitting with Koa, kissing the hell out of her when we came in. “Claudia, I’m—”
I laugh when I realize what she assumes, “Absolutely not,” I shake my head. “You two should be naked every second he’s home, in every room of his house. You’ve been apart for so long, Nalani. Too long.”
“The beds are really nice though,” she grins.
“You should be christening every room. Which is why, the nights Koa is home, it should be just you two.”
She shakes her head, “We want you here.”
“And I want to be here, I will be here, every night that you don’t have the opportunity to have hot sex on every surface of your home, Nalani.”
“But—”
“Remember, I was going to take over your place when you moved in? And we talked about this just a couple of days ago?”
“Yes, but—”
“I need this too,” I admit.
“Where are you going?”
“I booked a room for the next few nights. And when Koa is on the road—”
“You’ll be here with me.”
“If that’s okay?” I ask just to be sure.
“It’s more than okay,” she says, eyes getting misty. “This city isn’t exactly safe. You should stay somewhere with security and—”
“Trina in HR had travel book it,” I say before she spirals. “And remember, I lived in the city before.”
Nalani blinks. “Like lived, lived?”
“I did part of my clinical internship rotations for my degree. I lived in Bushwick, in this tiny hellhole that should never have been rented to a human. The heat barely worked, the windows rattled, and the train shook the walls every time it went by.”
Nalani winces. “That sounds awful.”
“It was,” I laugh softly. “But after that ended, I went back to California to finish my last semester.”
“And found out you were pregnant,” she says gently.
“Yeah. I found out about a month after I got back.” My voice softens.
Nalani exhales like she feels every part of that with her. “You went through all of that alone.”
“I had my mentor and her partner. They’ve been a huge support,” I say. “I promise you we’re safe. Always.”
“You have the code, and you should share your location just in case.”
“I do, and I will.”
“You need things, so many—”
“Bags packed and in our room,” I assure her. “Now go jump your man.”
We cross the bridge, and within minutes we’re pulling up in front of the Bridgeview Grand Hotel, and I can’t help but smile, it is stunning, of course it is. When I get myself and Savannah out, the bellhop empties the contents of the cargo space in the back of the vehicle and onto a luggage cart.
“What’s up, Doc?” Comes from behind me.
“You are such a dork,” a woman giggles.
I look back and see Dean Costello and his partner, and three little ones.
“Three,” I say as I shake my head.
“Four,” Drew Daniels —his partner and also twin sister to Coach D— and points to him.
He rolls his eyes dramatically but smiles at her like she hung the moon.
“They’re beautiful.”
“So is your sleeping beauty,” Drew says as she leans in to look at her.
“That’s Savannah,” Dean says, looking between the two little boys, “Nicholas, Gabriel, she’s off limits until college, and then, you’ll have to draw straws.”
I smile as I look at the little girl, “And your name?”
“Wen.” She says around the two fingers in her mouth.
“Wren,” Dean says, “Is the boss of all of us.”
“Pwincess.” She smiles at him, fingers still in her mouth.
“That’s a nasty habit we need to break.” Drew smiles at her and tries to pull her fingers away from her mouth.
Dean chuckles, and Drew now rolls her eyes, and makes an inside joke that I really wish I didn’t get because my face is starting to heat up.
“Theys mines.” Wren scowls.
“They are,” Drew sighs, giving up the fight and whispers, “Maybe not the best parenting style, but I pick my battles.”
“I’m sure I’ll be there soon enough.” I smile.
“Don’t blink,” Drew pouts out her lower lip, then asks as we head inside. “You’re moving in?”
“Not exactly, I’m staying with Koa and Nalani, and think it’s best to give them some time alone when he’s in town.”
Dean Costello tells her, “Bronksi’s place is under construction.”
“Oh, that’s right, the one with the chickens.” She grins. “I love that for him.”
“Drews family home in Boston is wild.” He chuckles.
“We’s gots a stinky at poppa’s.” One of the boys says with a grin.
“A skunk,” Drew explains. “That was Auntie Dylan’s rescue.”
“Poppa put it in Daddy Dean’s caw,” the other boy laughs.
“Car,” Drew whispers.
They’re walking toward the elevator, and I need to check in, so I tell them, “It was very nice seeing you all. I need to—”
“Robert,” Dean calls to one of the employees. “Doc’s checked in, right?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Costello,” he says.
“She’s Bears family, make sure she’s got a suite.”
“I’m good with whatever, I’m just staying for a few nights.”
“Robert,” he calls again. “Suite on twelve.”
“Sir, I’m sorry but—”
Dean cuts him off and looks at me, “If you don’t like the suite, feel free to have Robert take you to a different room.”
“I’m sure it’s lovely.”
Dean looks at Robert, “We good?”
“Yes sir. Right away, Mr. Costello.”
“I’m going to guess you own the hotel?” I ask Drew.
“This one gots the bestest poo,” Wren informs me.
“Best pool,” Drew interprets. “Dean owns a few hotels; the kids like this one the best.”
“Ows is too cold.” Wren pouts.
“It’s heated,” Drew whispers.
“But not enough for our little princess,” Dean winks at her as we start to ascend.
“Move it,” Wren scowls.
“Where would you like me to put it?” Dean asks, amused.
“In hims woom, he not sweep thew.”
“Do too,” one of the boys says and sticks his tongue out at her.
“I is tewing.” She all but bares teeth at him. “You mean.”
“Alright, best behavior or we head home without swimming,” Drew says.
“Daddy, tew her.” Wren, who clearly gets her flair for dramatics from her father, pouts.
“You may be the princess, but she’s the queen.” He chuckles.
And I have a feeling, she is.
When we get to the 12th floor, the elevator stops, and Robert is waiting with my bags.
How the hell did he beat us here, I think, and apparently, I do so loud enough that Drew reads my mind.
She giggles, “Service elevator. No stops. So, if you’re ever in a hurry, take one of those.”
She then pulls a card from her pocket. “Call me if you need anything.”
I take it, “Thank you, I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
“See you at work, Doc.” Dean winks at me.
As the door shuts, I hear Drew say, “You are such a meddler.”
“Welcome to your suite, Ms. Halloway. Let me get the lights for you.”
The overheads flick on, and I swear I glitch.
The entire living room is filled wall-to-wall with bags. Premium, glossy handled totes in every color you can imagine.
Pinks. Blues. Silvers. Blacks. Orange ones printed with tiny pumpkins.
They fill the sofa, spill onto the coffee table, and stack against the windows. The dining table is buried under them like a graveyard of retail therapy.
“What,” I whisper, “in the actual world.”
The doorman’s eyes widen like he is seeing the problem for the first time. “Ma’am, I believe Mr. Costello must have forgotten this suite was being used for storage. One of the members of the organization’s annual charity purchases.”
I blink. “Charity. Purchases.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He steps inside, navigating through aisles of bags like we are in some high-end hoarder’s home. “The children’s coats. Winter gear. Halloween costumes. I imagine they were planning to move them tomorrow as it’s almost Halloween.”
I just stand there, speechless. My brain is doing that buffering circle thing.
I peek into the nearest bag and see a small, sparkly velvet witch costume.
Another holds a tiny winter coat, thick and unbelievably warm, the tag still attached.
Another bag has fuzzy boots and matching gloves.
Another has a dinosaur onesie. Hundreds. Hundreds of them.
My throat goes tight. This is not a team thing. This is not a media event. This is not some PR stunt with cameras and speeches. This… feels personal.
The doorman continues, “I can have these removed if you would prefer. Though it may take a bit of time to gather staff.”
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s fine. Really. All we need is a space to sleep.” I walk toward one of the closed doors and open it.
“Aw, yes, the treat bags. He insists on shelf-stable nutritional goods as well as candy, and” he chuckles. “Dental hygiene products.”
“Who does this?”
He smiles gently. “The player who handles this program every year is very quiet about it. Always the same gentleman. Buys out entire inventory lists. Has everything delivered here under another name. Most never notice. I wouldn’t want to violate his privacy.”
“Robert,” a very familiar deep voice comes from behind. “Everything good in here?”
My jaw drops, and the doorman lifts a brow and whispers, “Oops.”
When he steps away, Deacon’s eyes meet mine. He cocks his head to the side, “Miss Holloway?”
“I’m sorry about this, Mr. Moretti, but Mr. Costello insisted I bring her here.”
“You’re good,” Deacon states. “I’ll help her find a space.”
“I can take her to the room Miss Lawson booked for her this morning. It is ready and—”
“She’ll let you know if she needs it,” Deacon steps away from the door, obviously telling him he can leave.
“Thank you, Robert,” I call to his retreating back when I finally find the words.
“My pleasure, Miss Holloway.”
Robert and Deacon unpack the cart, and then it is just us.
When the door finally clicks shut behind Robert, my pulse spikes. The room suddenly feels too big, too bright, and too full of coats, costumes, and whatever version of Deacon Moretti I am trying to understand right now.
He stands there in the doorway, hands in his pockets, hair damp, feet… bare?
“You are good?” he asks, voice low.