Chapter 21
twenty-one
ZACH
After another night of fitful sleep, I wake up early, hit the gym, then shower.
By eight, I’m fully dressed, I’ve read all my emails and I’m still feeling wired.
So I head to my car and drive over to Hudson’s place, deciding to take him up on his open invitation for Saturday breakfast, because being surrounded by my family feels like a better option than being alone.
But as I walk into the Captain’s House, which is already a hotbed of activity thanks to a whole load of kids, an overexcited dog, and the fact that the rest of my family also decided that today’s the day to descend upon Hudson’s kitchen, I start to wonder if this was such a good idea.
The whole house smells of maple syrup, coffee and dogs. A highchair screeches across the floorboard. Someone’s Paw Patrol episode is losing a negotiation war with a playlist of eighties rock.
And over it all, Hudson is calmly flipping pancakes at the stove as if he’s a domestic goddess, complete with an apron over his clothes that says ‘Real Men Don’t Use Recipes’.
His lips curl up when he sees me, and he points at the coffee pot that’s warming on the hot plate. “Hey stranger,” he says. “It’s good to see you.”
I shrug. “Heard you were cooking. Wanted to see the carnage for myself.”
“This isn’t carnage,” he tells me, letting out a sigh. “You should have been here last night. That was carnage.”
Before the last word comes out of his mouth, a blur of fur rushes into the kitchen, followed by four kids, all screaming. Parker is close behind them, holding baby Elijah as he attempts to feed him while yelling at them.
“Barney isn’t a damn rodeo pony,” Parker finishes, hauling the smallest offender off the dog, who looks thrilled by his new career in extreme sports.
“Looks like we have a cowboy in the family,” I tell him. He grimaces at me, like he’d rather be anywhere else right now than wrangling kids.
Barney thumps his tail once in protest, clearly disappointed that the game has ended and lollops off to stand under Hudson, hoping to catch some stray pancake.
I take in the kids, who are all standing around Hudson, asking him when the food will be ready, can they have chocolate chips and whipped cream, and can they eat in the den.
Hudson flips a pancake with surgical calm, completely ignoring them all.
“Remind me, how many children do you have?” I ask, doing the math again and coming up wrong. Because last time I looked, he only had two. Did they multiply over night? Are my eyes betraying me? Am I seeing double?
“Still two,” Skyler says, walking in and kissing me on the cheek, looking gorgeously glamorous in a long skirt and cropped t-shirt. “But Hudson is working hard on the third.”
He grunts and Skyler laughs, leaning over to whisper something in his ear. Hudson swallows hard, like she’s told him something so dirty he can’t think straight.
“The other kids slept over last night,” Skyler tells me. “Honestly, once you have two you might as well have ten.”
“Make yourself useful,” Hudson says to me, pointing at the pile of pancakes he’s already made. “Grab some plates for the kids and serve these up. And no, nobody’s eating in the den.”
“Last time we let them, Hudson found maple syrup in his Bang and Olufsen,” Skyler whispers to me. Hudson loves his stereo system. He must have been fuming.
I grab the plates, loading them up like it’s a military operation, adding enough maple syrup to appease the kids without infuriating their parents, then cut up two of them into pieces, because apparently two year olds aren’t dexterous, or trustworthy enough, to use a knife.
But right as I go to carry a plate to the kitchen table, I feel something slam against my leg.
Or rather, I slam into it, because I’m the one moving.
And my nephew, the little two year old who depends on the world to take care of him, is sent sprawling onto the floor.
Fuck.
I didn’t see him. Had no idea he was there, in my peripheral vision.
He opens his mouth and starts to wail. Tears pour down his little chubby cheeks as I throw the plates on the table and go to pick him up, but I’m beaten there by Hudson and Skyler, who drop to the floor with the speed of parents who live at DEFCON toddler.
Milo’s deafening screams peak, his whole body shaking with the impact of them, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.
“Is he okay?” I ask, my heart slamming against my chest. Christ, he’s tiny. His bones are so damn vulnerable.
Before Hudson can answer, Milo’s screams quieten. As fast as he started, he sucks in a breath, hiccups once, then twice, and goes quiet. His mouth wobbles. His bottom lip threatens mutiny. Tears hang like glass beads on his face.
And my chest fucking caves in.
Skyler gathers him into her lap, murmuring against his hair, while Hudson presses a broad hand to Milo’s back.
“I didn’t see him.” My voice comes out low, scraped, raw in the room full of pancake batter and morning chaos. “He came from nowhere.”
Hudson turns his head toward me, slow, too slow, eyes narrowing with that big brother bullshit that always sees more than he says out loud.
“You didn’t see him,” he repeats.
“No,” I say. “I didn’t.”
Skyler glances between us, rocking Milo gently, her expression softer but sharp around the edges. “Toddlers are stealth operatives,” she says, “I trip over him all the time.”
“Pancake?” Milo says, his little hand lifting toward me on instinct, because he forgives faster than adults ever learn how to.
And damn, that small hand reaching out makes something in me break loud enough that the room should hear it.
“Pancake,” I echo, clearing my throat. “Yeah, buddy, let’s get you fed.”
A wobbly smile pulls at his mouth, and it guts me worse than his tears did. Skyler shifts him onto my knee without asking, and I hold still, because any alternative would mean admitting I might not deserve to be trusted with him.
Hudson watches the whole exchange in unsettling quiet.
Around us, the rest of the kids have already moved on, chairs scraping, syrup smears in progress, a fight breaking out over who gets the sparkly unicorn cup. The normal kind of chaos that’s a constant here, but rarely enters into my world.
It takes them less than ten minutes to annihilate the food, then run off to watch television, or ruin Hudson’s stereo, leaving the grown-ups in the quiet aftermath of syrup, crumbs, and coffee.
Barney circles once, flops under the table, and sighs like he’s survived a battle.
And when they’re gone, it’s the adults turn.
The rest of the family files in. West and Eden are deep in conversation about some kind of eco project she wants him to run at the resort.
Asher has his arm protectively around Francie because she’s carrying precious cargo and even though he’s trying to keep it quiet he looks so pleased with himself it makes me smile.
And then Parker and Autumn sit down, Elijah finally asleep in Parker’s arms, as Autumn starts telling a story about one of the paintings that arrived yesterday, and how the artist called her ten times to make sure it would be placed in a west-facing position because that’s the only way it should be viewed.
I watch them, silently. Thinking about how easily they all fit together. Even Eden, who stayed away for so long looks at home and happy as West teases her about wanting to save the world.
And all I can think is that I’m sitting here with a ticking time bomb that could explode this all into smithereens.
It’s Skyler who breaks the quiet moment first, because subtlety has never been her strongest skill. She takes a slow sip of coffee, eyes looking at me over the rim of her mug like she’s assessing every inch of my face.
“So,” she says casually, “I bumped into Annette yesterday.”
Hudson’s brows knit. “Annette from housekeeping?”
“She came into the bar. I was there doing the books.” Skyler’s smile is teasing as she returns her gaze to me. “I heard you had her do a little favor for you.”
I stop chewing my pancake and freeze.
“What kind of favor?” Autumn asks, her face lighting up at the possibility of gossip. “Please don’t tell me you and Annette…” she trails off, grimacing at me.
“There’s nothing going on between me and Annette,” I say, trying in vain to think of a way to stop this conversation in its tracks.
“So what happened?” Autumn asks Skyler. “Come on, we never get any gossip about Zach.”
“Nothing happened.” I shoot a warning glance at Skyler. She shrugs. She’s a good person, I know that. But she enjoys blood in the water more than any shark I know.
“Annette said Zach had a woman in his room,” Skyler bursts out. And suddenly four voices join in at once, asking who, how, where.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter into my coffee.
“Language,” Hudson admonishes softly, even though there are no kids to hear.
“I knew it! I knew you were messaging a woman the other day. Who is she?” Autumn demands, clearly not letting go of this.
“Isn’t there some kind of Hippocratic Oath with housekeeping?” I ask. “What happens in the hotel stays in the hotel?”
Skyler lifts her hands, all mock innocence. “Annette was just a bit worried about you. Said something about a headache and you asking her to wake the woman up. And then she clammed up, but I’m invested and want to know everything.”
Eden leans forward, her face bright with mischief. “Come on, spill the beans. Did she sneak off before dawn? Was it a one-night stand or are you finally capable of a second date?”
“It was nobody. It was nothing. And it’s none of your business anyway.” I shake my head, my throat tight.
“Well that’s no fun,” Autumn says, folding her arms across her chest.
“Sorry to ruin your entertainment.”
Autumn huffs, like she knows I’m not sorry at all. “Dammit, was it a guest then?”
“Better not have been,” Hudson growls. “Guests are off limits.
Yeah, well so are beautiful redheads who deserve better than assholes who walk out while they’re sleeping.
“Can we change the subject?” I ask, grabbing another pancake because I’m tired of being the center of attention.
“Fine,” West says, stretching his legs out under the table. “Let’s talk about who’s read Jane Eyre for book club this week.”
“This week?” I say. I’d forgotten all about the book club. And the damn book.
“Look at him,” Autumn says, grinning. “The sex was so good he’s forgotten it’s Bro’s Book Club.”
Hudson groans. “Do not say ‘sex’ and ‘bro’ in the same sentence ever again.”
“I second that,” Asher mutters, sending me a sympathetic look.
“You’re all annoying,” Autumn tells them. “You used to be more fun before you got in touch with your inner selves.”
The laughter rolls around the table again, but my smile is tight. Because I know my family and how they’re like a dog with a bone.
And I can’t have them finding out about Sadie. She doesn’t deserve them talking about her behind her back. She’s way better than that.
And now I’m thinking about her again. The feel of her skin. The way she felt when I captured her. Then left without a word.
I push my plate away, appetite gone. I might be surrounded by the people who know me best. But right now, there’s only one woman I can’t stop thinking about.
And she hasn’t answered my last message.