Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
HARLAN
MARCH
My body buzzed heading into the dining room on our first day back in Ohio.
The only text I’d gotten from Emma in the last few days was to cancel our private lesson for the week.
I figured she didn’t want my mom to see us texting, which, same.
There was also a chance all the stuff with Liam was getting to her, and who could blame her?
I had no clue what it was like to be a single mom, but I assumed her first allegiance was to Liam.
I could never fault her for that.
But I would do my best to charm and/or annoy her like usual at work, and maybe I’d have a chance to make her scream in a good way again soon.
Miguel looked harried coming out of the kitchen, and after waiting a good ten minutes, I still hadn’t seen Chef. I never got one of Miguel’s famous omelettes, but now was time to start.
“Switching up your habits, Mr. Royce?” he asked as I approached.
“Uh, yeah. Thought I’d try more protein. Load it up however you think.”
“You got it.”
I stood with my hands in my pockets, quite literally whistling to seem casual.
“You can sit and I’ll bring it to you,” Miguel said.
“Oh. That’s okay. You’re busy today. Speaking of, where’s Chef?”
“Off sick.”
My jaw tightened and a pulse of worry shot through me. “Is she okay?”
“Haven’t talked to her much. Said she can hardly stay awake. She helped out at her friend’s restaurant when her staff had the flu and now it got her.”
“Poor thing,” I said, and Miguel shot me a quizzical look. Fuck. I was being way too obvious. “I mean. Poor you. That’s a lot of work. For you.”
A stinging slap landed on my shoulder. “This guy giving you hell, Miguel?” Colton appeared at my side. He leaned over and grabbed a cherry tomato from Miguel’s toppings bar. “Where’s Chef Em?”
“She’s sick,” Miguel and I said in unison.
“Aw.” Colt puffed out his lip. “What happened to her?”
“She has the flu,” Miguel said.
“That sucks,” Colt said. “Hope she’s okay. Does she need anything?”
That dog in me wanted to snarl and bark at him. Chef was mine to take care of. “I’m sure she’s fine,” I growled.
“Geez, I know you guys hate each other but have a little sympathy. The flu sucks,” Cap said.
Nice. I managed to stay on brand for my little spats with Chef. Everyone here was none the wiser.
“Well. Tell her I hope she feels better,” he said, then sauntered off to bother someone else.
My brain started running some thoughts. Could I take something over to help her? Had she been eating? My chest squeezed at the thought of Emma wasting away while she was sick. What if it wasn’t her custody week with Liam? What if Liam was sick too? Was anyone checking on them?
“Mr. Royce,” Miguel said, clearly annoyed. He held a plate out my way. “Your omelette.”
I went to the store.
I bought a rotisserie chicken, wild rice, lemons, and mirepoix, the combination of celery, carrots, and onions signature to French cooking.
I paid an absurd amount of money for ready-made bone broth because I didn’t want to waste time making my own. I shredded the chicken, sautéed the veggies, and stirred in the rice, then waited for it all to take hold.
I did all of those things so I could make soup for Emma.
Well, partially for Emma, partially because I knew she couldn’t be dropping soup off at the shelter while she was sick.
I was nervous driving to the shelter. Would my mom see me there and make some kind of connection?
I felt like a teenager trying to hide my crush from my mom, but mostly, I wanted to spare Emma from being subjected to my mom’s bullshit.
If she caught wind that something was happening there, neither of us would hear the end of it.
Yes, it’s a bit of a family tradition to get under each other’s skin. Needling somebody is a love language to us, because if you know how to push somebody’s buttons, that means you know them.
The only bullshit I wanted Emma putting up with was mine.
I dropped off the soup at the shelter without notice from Mom or recognition from the volunteers, and soon I was back in the singular spot on the planet that could give me instant bubble guts.
Chef’s porch.
I thought I was nervous the last time I stood there, but this was notably worse.
Liam’s car was parked on the street, but the house was quiet.
It looked like a light was on at the back of the house along with a lamp in the living room.
I rang the bell and waited, but no one came.
I knocked gently, and still there was nothing.
I pinched my lips together and my stomach tingled. Something felt off.
I knocked one more time, then tried the handle. The door opened with little resistance.
Was this breaking and entering? I’d just make sure they were okay, drop off the soup, and leave.
“Emma?”
The house was silent except for a soft buzzing sound, only heard every few seconds.
“Em? Liam?”
I crept around the couch to find Emma passed out there.
Her cheeks were stained rosy and her lips were in this cute little pout.
I was haunted by how much I wanted to kiss those lips in her hot tub, by how secretly pissed I was when she wouldn’t kiss me.
I couldn’t stay mad looking at her like this.
She was huddled under a throw blanket like she was freezing.
All I wanted was to make it better.
“Hey,” I whispered, kneeling next to the couch. I quickly identified the source of the buzzing. Emma was snoring.
Her hair had partially fallen into her face, so I used a gentle finger to tuck it behind her ear. She was burning up. My fingers settled on her neck and it was all clammy and sticky.
Her eyes struggled to open, like they were weighted with cement. “Royce?”
“Yeah, it’s me. What do you need?”
“I’m so tired,” she mumbled, nestling her face back into the throw pillow.
“Have you eaten anything? I brought you some—” I turned to get the container of soup, but by the time I faced her again, she was all the way out. I’d bought a few sports drinks, figuring she probably needed something stronger than water.
I sat there on the floor, trying to figure out my next move.
Emma was sound asleep, and sleep was probably what she needed.
But there was no sign of Liam, or maybe he was sick too.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead before standing and passing through the house to see if anyone else was around.
It was just Emma. I couldn’t just leave her there like that, all alone and with no one to help her.
I’d at least stay until she woke up long enough to drink something.
I settled down in an armchair in her living room and it wasn’t long before I, too, was out.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
I jolted awake to find two tall men watching me and the aroma of a hockey bag blooming in the room.
“Liam,” the other figure scolded him. “Sorry. Who are you?”
The man stepped into the dim lamp light, and he looked a lot like Liam. It felt a bit like being interrogated in a gangster movie. There may as well have been a lightbulb on a chain swinging in my face.
“Um, I’m Harlan. I just came to check on her because Miguel said she was sick and I hadn’t heard from her in a few days, and I made some soup, and I stuck it in the fridge by the way, it should keep for a while . . .”
This was full-on rambling from me.
“Harlan Royce, in the flesh,” the man said, sticking out his hand and leaning my way. “Jeff. Corrigan. Emma’s ex. Liam’s dad. And I hear you’re Emma’s . . .” He fumbled for my definition.
“Student,” I said at the same time Liam said, “Fuckbuddy.”
His dad shot him a look and Liam threw his hands out. “What? He was naked in Mom’s bed. What else should I call him?”
“No,” Emma groaned from the couch. “Why?”
My stomach sank. Was she hurting? I wanted to rush over and kneel next to her, but that felt awkward with the two main men in her life in the room.
Fuck it. They weren’t the bosses of me. “You alright, princess?”
“Princess?!” Liam squealed.
Jeff pressed a hand to his own forehead. “Liam, go upstairs. I know you’ve got homework.”
I knelt next to the couch, meeting Emma’s exhausted, bloodshot eyes. “Do you need medicine? I brought you some drinks and—”
“I think we’ve got it covered,” Jeff said over top of me. “We need to let Emma rest.”
A stuffy silence filled the room. I could take a hint. I grabbed my jacket off the back of the couch and gave Emma one last look. Jeff followed me out onto the porch and turned to square up with me.
“Look, it was nice of you to check on her, but you’re not what she needs in her life right now.”
“All due respect, that’s not your decision to make,” I said.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maybe not for Em, but Liam needs things easy right now, okay? He’s got a lot on his plate and the last thing he needs is you taking his mom away.”
I cocked a brow at him. “You don’t trust Emma to put her son first?”
Jeff squeezed his eyes shut and snorted. “It’s not that. It’s more complicated than that.”
I crossed my arms and planted my feet wider. “Emma’s asleep. I’ve got nothing but time.”
Jeff’s lips pressed into a line and his jaw clenched. “It’s . . . hard to explain. I need you to respect what our family needs.”
I ran my tongue over my teeth and debated whether I wanted to keep pushing. Jeff was pissing me off and acting like he owned Emma. But would she have been talking to me if she wasn’t sick? Or was her slow response while I was gone a sign of her pulling away?
Because I didn’t know, I had to let it drop.“Understood.”
“Good.” He patted my shoulder. “Really was nice to meet you, man. We love watching you play.”
I resisted the urge to let my eyes roll into the back of my head. Kick me out of your ex-wife’s house, and then fangirl me? Get fucked.
But for Chef, I’d shut my fucking mouth. “See ya.”