Chapter 4
Oh Hell No
That evening, Sarah hovered uselessly while Lily manned the stove, Daisy set the table, and Gage shredded cheese. What could Sarah do to help? God, she hated being an intruder in this little family’s sweet routine, contributing nothing while sucking up the scant spare space in their crammed house.
Her phone rang, and when she checked the screen, she suppressed a groan and thumbed the call off.
She’d been dodging her mom for days, sending texts saying she was busy with work and would call later.
If she didn’t call soon, she ran the risk of Nola Nelson flying to Seattle and organizing search teams.
With a sigh, Sarah plopped into a kitchen chair and started folding paper napkins into fancy shapes.
Daisy executed some rapid-fire sneezing, and Gage craned his head over his shoulder. “You okay, kiddo?”
Nodding her head, she rubbed her eyes. They were bright red.
Gage turned back to his shredding. “So has anyone been following this virus in the news?”
“COVID-19,” Sarah chirped, feeling suddenly helpful. “I heard about it on the radio as I drove cross-country. Started somewhere in China. Wuhan, I think.”
“Yeah, well, it’s popping up in South Korea, Italy, and Iran, to name a few, and it just showed up in the US.” Gage flicked his gaze to Sarah. “In Washington state.”
Her eyes widened. “What? How did I miss that?”
Gage gave her a grim nod. “I don’t know much about it, but there’s talk the World Health Organization might declare a pandemic.”
Lily stopped what she was doing and faced him. “Which means what, exactly?”
He shrugged. “I’m not really sure.”
Lily’s blue eyes popped with something akin to panic.
“There are only a few reported cases in Colorado, sweetheart,” Gage soothed. “Mostly they’re on the west coast, so we’re okay.”
When Sarah climbed into Daisy’s Pepto-Bismol room that night, she surfed the Internet and read what she could about the virus. Honestly, what was the fuss about? It was the flu. During flu season. People got sick. Some died. Gage, Lily, and Daisy were healthy, and so was she. They’d be fine.
“I can’t believe you fucking beat me!” Quinn set the video controller down on Wyatt’s coffee table.
Hunter sat beside him on the couch, his voice laced with smug condescension. “Admit it. I’m that much better.”
“No, you’re not. But I guess even a blind squirrel finds an acorn once in a while,” Quinn groused.
He rose and took his empty beer bottle into the kitchen, where Wyatt was finishing off a plate of tortilla chips covered in orange goo that looked like plasticized neon.
“Dude, how can you eat that shit?” Quinn pointed his finger down his throat, faking a gag.
“Until I find me a Playboy centerfold who cooks like Betty Crocker, this is it.”
Quinn couldn’t stop himself. “Oh, you mean like McMurphy’s ex? What was her name? The one who caught him boinking her best friend?”
“Fuck you!” Hunter snapped.
Wyatt shook his head. “Jesus Christ, you’re a jackass, Hads.” Then he offered up an orange-toothed grin. “My perfect centerfold Betty is gonna take a while to find. Meanwhile, I’ll have hella fun auditioning candidates for the part.”
“Speaking of which,” Hunter stood and joined them, “you’re clubbing with Wyatt and me tonight, right?”
“Nope. My head’s still pounding from last night, and practice about killed me today. I wanna be ready for tomorrow night’s game.”
“Oh, come on, you big pussy.” Hunter shoved his arm, and Quinn bit back the urge to flatten him.
Wyatt licked his thumb and chuckled. “Hunts needs you there, Hads. Only you can wheel the ladies and spin one his way. Otherwise, he’s got no one to nail.”
Hunter glared darts at Wyatt. “Fuck off, motherfucker.”
Restlessness spiked inside Quinn, and he was suddenly anxious to be out of this stupid conversation and away from these asshats.
Why was he here anyway? Oh right. To get away from his mom for a few hours.
They were the only two losers who didn’t have anything better to do, which left him with the unsettling thought he was a loser too.
Wyatt’s chuckle turned into a full-on laughfest. “Your epic comeback says it all, Hunts.” Wyatt flicked his eyes Quinn’s way and jerked his thumb toward Hunter. “Know what this asshole was doing last night while you were balls deep in that blond?”
“Who said I was balls deep in anyone last night?”
“Her girlfriend saw you guys putting on quite a show in the backseat of your truck.” Wyatt wasn’t laughing anymore, but he still wore a stupid-ass grin.
Goddamn. Quinn pushed down his alarm. Not only had he been stupid enough to screw this girl in his truck, but he hadn’t checked his surroundings once they’d gotten going. He dragged a hand across his neck. “As much as hanging out with you two dipshits is the highlight of my day, I’m out.”
“Wait. Don’t you want to hear how Hunts was begging—and I mean begging—for a piece of ass? Fuck, it was embarrassing.” Wyatt giggled like a girl while Hunter cussed him up and down. Shit was getting old.
“I don’t give a fuck about what Hunts—or you—do off the ice.” Except Quinn somehow always wound up in the middle of whatever they were doing. Why was that? He picked up his jacket and headed for the door.
“We’re starting at the Red Room at ten,” Wyatt called.
Quinn waved a noncommittal hand behind him. Maybe if I’m ready to stick needles in my eyes because my mother is bugging the shit out of me …
By the time he strolled into his house, he’d zenned himself into a state of calm—only to be yanked out of it when he reached the kitchen. His mother lay on her side on the floor. Several feet away, out of her reach, sat her upright wheelchair.
Fuck!
He dropped beside her, and her eyes fluttered open. Thank God! Patting her face, he scanned her. “Mom? Are you okay? What happened?”
“Oh, Quinn. There you are.” She said it matter-of-factly—as if she weren’t in a prone position on the floor—before grasping on to him and hauling herself up onto one elbow. “Help me sit up.”
“Hold up, Mom. I don’t want to move you until I know you didn’t break anything.” He slid his arm along her back.
“I didn’t break anything,” she sighed. “That darn chair and I had a disagreement, that’s all, and then I couldn’t get my legs to work in sync.”
Christ! “How long have you been like this?”
She craned her head and peered up at him. “No idea. Forty-five minutes? A few hours?”
“Jesus, Mom!” He pulled her upper body into his arms and cradled it. Guilt swamped him. I should have been here instead of wasting time with the two yokels. This wouldn’t have hap—
“Swear jar!”
“For fuck’s sake—”
“Quinn! That’s ten bucks!”
Yeah, she was okay. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder and began laughing. And couldn’t stop. Whether it was relief, the absurdity of the situation, or a combination of the entire FUBAR day, he had no idea. Soon her shoulders were shuddering along with his, and she let out a few whoops.
“Isn’t this great, son? We’re finally getting some quality one-on-one time.”
He brushed tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yeah, on the fucking floor!” She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off. “I know. Ten bucks. Twenty. I don’t give a shit.”
She shook her head, but he caught the chuckle in her voice. “I taught you better.”
“Yeah, you did, Mom, but guess what? I unlearned most of it.” Judging by his dumbass behavior of late, a truer statement had never been spoken. “C’mon, sassy. Let’s get you up.”
“‘Sassy.’ I like it.”
After he’d gotten her situated in her wheelchair, he handed her a glass of water and guzzled one of his own, keeping a wary eye on her. “Mom, we’ve gotta get someone in here for you. Any of the ladies that were here before know the setup and—”
She shook her head so hard he thought it might fly off her neck. “No, no, no! I will not tolerate any of those Nazi cows. I’ll get back on my own two feet, and I won’t need a Nurse Ratched. I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”
“Your stubborn streak’s the reason you fell down today. You could’ve broken your neck!”
She flapped her hand. “Not really. Besides, a Nazi cow babysitter would’ve been completely useless. A waste of couch space while she sucked down popcorn and watched soap operas. Did you know not one of them knew how to play Parcheesi? For heaven’s sake! Who can’t play a simple child’s game?”
He pushed a cleansing breath through his lungs. “Parcheesi skills are not a job requirement.”
“Well, being smart is,” she scoffed. “What about your friend’s sister, Sarah?”
What the actual fuck? Feeling as though he’d been doused with a bucket of ice shavings, he coughed. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am serious. We’re simpatico. She’s spunky. Way better than any of those stodgy biddies you’ve hired. I want her as my caregiver.” She bobbed her head as if signaling the end of the discussion.
“No. No way.”
“Why the hell not?”
Fighting the quirking at the corner of his mouth, he pointed his finger at her. “Swear jar.”
“I’m allowed one a day.”
“Since when? You can’t just arbitrarily change the rules to suit yourself.” He bit back his amusement. “Look, Mom, there are a million reasons why Sarah can’t be your caregiver. Let’s start with the most obvious ones.” He held up his index finger. “First, she hates my guts.”
A little gleam came into his mother’s eyes. “Why don’t you just use your charm on her?”
Oh no. He was not about to let this train leave the station. “Sarah Nelson is deathly allergic to charm.” He held up a second finger. “Second, she’s a structural engineer, which means she’s not qualified to be a caregiver.”
“Why not? Her smarts qualify her for any job. Besides, you can pay her far better than whatever she could earn as an engineer.”
“While that may be—and thanks for spending my money for me, by the way—they’re two different jobs from two completely unrelated industries.” He blazed ahead. “Third, she has a dog, and I’m not having a dog here. The lease probably doesn’t allow it anyway.”
His mother clapped as though she hadn’t heard a damn thing he’d said. “Yes, and Archer was being trained as a service dog. Did you see what he did? Of course you did. You were standing right there. I love dogs. Archer would be perf—”
“Did I mention Sarah hates my guts?” Quinn flicked out another finger. “That leads me to four: You don’t need that kind of tension around you. Fifth, I don’t like her.”
“Really? What’s wrong with you?” Now his mother held up her fingers and began counting off.
“First of all, I like her. Second, she’s cute as a button.
Third, she’s sharp as a tack. Fourth, she makes me laugh.
Fifth, I like her dog. Sixth, she’ll take me to get my nose pierced. At least talk to her, Quinn. For me.”
His mind was wobbling like an unbalanced top. How was he going to derail his mom from this beyond-insane track? He pondered relenting for a nanosecond before giving the idea the heave-ho. Sarah Sunshine in his house? Twenty-four-seven? Hell no.
Even if that meant it was all on him to take care of his mom?
Fuck me.
The only retort he could muster was, “Pretty sure there’s an age limit for getting your nose pierced.” As he opened his wallet and emptied bills into the swear jar, he huffed. “Discussion closed.”
He was pretty damn sure his mother mumbled, “We’ll just see about that.”