22. Serena
SERENA
Just because you miss the way things were
doesn’t mean you can’t fall in love with the way things are.
—Serena’s Secret Thoughts
“Shh, buddy. You don’t want to wake her up,” Hendrix whispers, and I’m suddenly wide-awake, even if I absolutely refuse to open my eyes.
“Why is there a princess in your bed, Daddy?” a little voice asks, and my entire body locks.
Oh no.
I’m naked in Hendrix’s bed, and his two-year-old is sitting right next to me. I’m pretty sure his foot is wedged against my hip. Thankfully, I’m under the duvet, and I’m almost certain from the feel of his foot that he’s on top of it.
“She was too sleepy to drive home last night,” Hendrix says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Damn, he’s good. “Should we make her breakfast?”
“She looks like she needs chocolate chip pancakes. The good kind. Not the kind from the toaster.” I think he’s trying to whisper, but it’s not working at all, and to be honest, it’s adorable.
“She likes chocolate.” The laughter lingering in Hendrix’s soft tone makes my heart hurt for what could have been.
For them.
For us.
“Come on.” The bed shifts, and I’m guessing Hendrix stands up, based on the movement. “Let’s go make her some pancakes.”
“With whipped cream?” the little voice asks, angling for more sweets. Whipped cream and chocolate chips—a kid after my own heart. “Do we have strawberries?”
I chance a quick peek and catch Bodhi taking a flying leap into his father’s arms as Hendrix looks over the little boy’s curly, blond bedhead and winks at me. “Do we have strawberries . . . ? Of course we do. We have raspberries and bananas too.”
“Will she be scared to wake up alone? Maybe I should stay with her and turn on the TV.”
Hendrix ruffles Bodhi’s hair and kisses his temple. “Nice try, bud. No TV until after breakfast. You know the rules.”
“Fine,” the little guy pouts.
“Serena is more a play with a ball kind of princess than a watch TV kind anyway.”
Once upon a time, maybe.
“Like a football?” Bodhi asks Hendrix as he carries him out of the room, and I catch the faint sound of Hendrix’s voice moving down the hall.
“More like soccer.”
I wait until his footsteps fade before throwing the blanket back and padding into the en suite bathroom, frightened to look at myself in the mirror. I doubt standing in the rain last night did me any favors. And when I do look, I realize I was right. Definitely not a good look.
I debate how long I think it’s going to take Hendrix to make pancakes.
Long enough to shower?
Let’s hope.
I turn on the hot water and step under the scalding spray, stretching sore muscles that haven’t been worked in a very, very long time. Very different muscles from the ones I was using on a soccer field a little over a year ago or in rehab more recently. But my goodness, it hurts so good.
I grab Hendrix’s body wash, the same one he’s used for as long as I’ve known him, and scrub my skin until it’s soft and pink, then wash my hair with the shampoo and conditioner combo sitting on his ledge.
It’ll have to do. Once I’m done and dried off, I realize I don’t have clothes to wear, unless a wet dress thrown in a ball on his floor counts.
Umm . . . Okay, this is fixable.
Quickly, I look around his room, hoping to find something to throw on without going through his drawers, and eventually open his closet, relieved when I find a laundry basket full of folded laundry. Score. Sweats and a Kroydon Hills University tee for the win.
Or maybe just the tee.
After rolling over the waistband of the sweatpants in an attempt to get them to stay up, the damn thing still falls down. Time to give up and grab a pair of his boxers instead. It’s not like I can go commando around Bodhi, and his father legitimately shredded my panties last night.
Fuck, that was hot.
Is it okay for me to go downstairs in a T-shirt?
I look at myself in a mirror propped against the wall of the closet and shake my head. Hendrix’s tee is longer than the dress I had on last night, so I’m pretty sure it’s fine. I’m also pretty sure I’m stalling like a queen right now as my anxiety levels rise to an uncomfortable new high.
What if last night was a mistake?
I don’t think it was, but what if he does?
Or what if he doesn’t but Bodhi doesn’t like me?
Oh, God. What if Bodhi hates me?
What if everyone thinks I’m a homewrecking whore trying to take his mother’s place? Or that I’m preying on a widower? What if they think he cheated?
Shit.
None of this is doing me any good.
What would Octavia say?
She’d tell me to shift my focus.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Five things I can see.
I see a bed I slept in.
Sheets we were wrapped in.
My wet dress on the floor.
My ripped panties and lace bra next to them.
Four things I can touch. I move to Hendrix’s dresser and run my hand along the wood, picking up a picture of him and Bodhi smiling at each other after a game.
Then I move on to another one, this frame is heavier and looks like it was taken last Christmas with all the Sinclair siblings and spouses and kids.
Annabelle and Declan sit in the middle of the group with Bodhi between them and a goofy-looking bulldog with a giant pink tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth and planted in front of Bodhi.
It’s a great picture. I move to the chair where a hoodie lies discarded next to a stuffed dinosaur with a white Kings tee on.
It’s soft and well-loved, and when I pick it up and close my eyes, I bury my nose in it and inhale.
Three things I can hear. I focus on Hendrix and Bodhi laughing downstairs, their conversation, and the sound of water running.
Two things I can smell. Burning sugar—guessing the pancakes aren’t turning out the best—and melting butter, I think.
And one thing I can taste. That’s an easy one. Coffee, mouthwatering coffee. The scent so strong I can taste it and smell it, and my God, I can’t wait to drink it.
By the time I get through everything, my brain has slowed down, and my body has calmed down. I can do this.
The hard part was coming here last night.
Now the rest should be easy . . . right?
Oh, who the fuck am I kidding?
Hendrix
“Should we go get her, Daddy?” Bodhi asks as I scoop him up and buckle him into his booster seat.
I’ve definitely considered it, not that I’m telling him that. It’s not like she ran away, but I’m pretty sure my girl is hiding. The question is what’s got her spooked. “Nah, bud. She’ll be down soon. I think I heard the shower running.”
“Oh.” His little eyes get big. “Did she get dirty?”
I bite my tongue—because she most certainly did, but I’m not about to tell my kid that— and turn to grab the plates instead.
At least, that was the plan before my wet dream walked in, in one of my old college tees and a smile.
Her wet hair is thrown up on top of her head.
Not an ounce of makeup on her gorgeous face.
And if I’m not wrong, no fucking pants—again.
She’s fucking killing me.
“Good morning, princess,” I murmur as I pull her close and brush my lips over hers.
She goes with it, leaning in and melting in my arms for a second before she pushes back and looks behind me wide-eyed. “Hendrix . . . don’t.”
“Not a chance, princess. We’re not kids anymore, and I’m done hiding.” I kiss her forehead and smack her ass. “Now go sit, and I’ll grab your coffee.”
Bodhi squeals, thoroughly enjoying the idea that we had a sleepover. “And pancakes.”
“And pancakes,” I agree and pull out a chair for Serena. “My princess,” I tease her dramatically, holding out a hand. “I’d like you to meet Bodhi.” I run my hand over Bodhi’s hair and tickle his chin. “My son.”
She looks between him and me, clearly uncomfortable, but she pushes her shoulders back and lifts her hand for a high five. “Hi, Bodhi.”
My kid stares at her hand, confused. “Grandpa says you shake hands when you meet people.”
I hand Serena a cup of coffee and watch her squirm. “Well, your grandpa is a smart man.”
She takes his small hand in hers and shakes. “Nice to meet you.”
I drop a paper plate full of cut up chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream and syrup in front of him, and he drops her hand and grabs a fistful of pancakes.
“Fork,” I warn him, and he pouts and picks up his blue plastic fork.
“We have to use forks,” he tells Serena, and I’m a little shocked because Bodhi isn’t a big talker most of the time. He’s choosey about who he talks to. Strangers aren’t his favorite, and he typically needs a little more time to warm up to someone.
Serena leans back and breathes in her coffee. “We had to use forks in my house too. Dads are sticklers for good manners. But that just means they’re good dads.”
Man, I hope she’s right. And when she looks up at me, silently asking for my approval, I give it, thinking maybe this won’t be so bad.
A few minutes later, we’re sitting at the table, watching as Bodhi inhales his breakfast like it’s the first time he’s eaten in days.
“I swear I’ve fed him before,” I tell Serena when I cut up another pancake for him and push it onto his plate.
She lifts her coffee cup and smiles. “Well, I didn’t think you starved him.” Serena ignores the phone she’s set on the table as it vibrates, too busy watching Bodhi as he picks up a banana slice. “Are you sure this is okay?” Her eyes flick to mine. “Me, here . . . with both of you?”
“Yeah, princess. It’s more than okay.”
“What are you a princess of?” Bodhi asks, and I’m not sure what makes me smile more—his question or her laughter.
“She’s the princess of Kroydon Hills,” I tell him and love the pretty flush that creeps up on her cheeks.
“Your phone’s moving,” Bodhi tells her, and she flips it over and sighs.
“It’s my dad.”
“Is he a king?” my kid asks in the way only a kid can.
“Umm.” She smiles and shakes her head. “Sort of.”
“Everything okay?” I ask when she gets quiet.
“I think so. It looks like I’m meeting with King Corp. on Monday to discuss the Emerald City FC.” She picks up her plate and mine and walks over to the sink.
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her as I move behind her, caging her in.
My lips skim her shoulder as she drops her head, giving me better access.
“I’ll just throw them in the dishwasher,” I tell her, feeling like she’s about to bolt.
“You want to spend the day with us? I promised Bodhi I’d take him to the zoo before the season starts Tuesday. ”
“I can’t, Hendrix. I’ve got more work to do before that meeting. I should really get home.”
“You’re running,” I say softly because if I know this woman as well as I think I do, I know that’s her MO. “Don’t, Serena. Stay here with us today. Get to know Bodhi.”
“I will, Hendrix.” She spins in my arms to face me, her turquoise eyes begging me to understand.
“But it’s not going to happen all in one day.
I need time. One night doesn’t magically fix everything.
We still have so much to work through.” She presses up on her toes and kisses my cheek. “But it’s a start.”
“Promise me you’re not running.” I cup the back of her head, holding her gaze. “Not this time.”
“I’m not running. I’ve got work to do and hopefully a job to finally be officially rid of.” She nibbles her lip and bats her lashes. “Any chance you have a pair of pants I can wear home?”
“Ones that will fit?” I laugh. “Probably not. But I could run next door to Grace’s—”
“No,” she stops me, horrified. “Absolutely not. I know you’re done hiding, but maybe let’s roll the whole us thing out to your family slowly.”
“Too late.” I cringe, thinking about the messages from this morning.
“What?” she squeaks, and Bodhi whips around in his booster seat.
“I’m done. Can I watch TV now?” He holds his syrupy, whipped-cream-and-chocolate-covered fingers up, basically asking for a washcloth, and I laugh. Because seriously, some days I wonder how this is my life.
I grab a washcloth and clean him up, then let him turn the TV on before turning back to Serena, who’s glaring fucking daggers my way.
With her delicate hands planted on her hips, she looks less than thrilled. “What do you mean too late, Hendrix?”
Fuck me. “Well . . . I live next to my sisters, and they’re nosey as fuck. They may have noticed your car in the driveway. All night.”
“Oh God,” she whispers, dropping her hands and her fight. “No.”
“Yeah, baby. There was a group text,” I finally admit and wrap my arms around her as she drops her head to my chest. “They all know. And apparently, Ares knew it was us in the shower at the wedding a few years ago.”
“Seriously? So does Gracie know?”
“He never said anything.” Thank fuck. “But it’s safe to say my brothers and sisters and their spouses all know now. And since Nixon’s wife is your cousin . . .”
“Fucking small town, incestuous bullshit,” she mutters and lifts her head. “Great.”
“Tell me how you want to handle it, and I’ll take your lead.” I press my lips to her forehead. “We’ve got this, Serena.”
“Give me a few days, okay? With any luck, Kenzie will be on call at the hospital this week and won’t have time to activate the family phone tree. Let me get through my meeting with King Corp. And—wait . . . your first game is what? Three days from now?”
“Tuesday night. Against New York. We’ll leave Monday and be back late Tuesday night.”
“Who’s staying with Bodhi?”
“He’ll stay at Gracie’s this time. Britt’s mom, Melissa, is moving to Kroydon Hills to help with him soon though.”
Serena’s eyes focus on something over my shoulder, like Mel is too much for her to handle this morning. “Okay. I’ve got a ton to get through. I’ve got to go.”
“Still not running, right?” I ask, needing to know we’re on the same page.
Serena presses her lips to mine and nods, but once she’s gone, I realize she never answered.