Chapter 39
“You’ve just moved in, huh?” Dad came to stand beside me, a beer in his hand.
People were milling all around the house. All of Phoebe’s friends and family were here except for the party’s mastermind. It was typical Alex to drop dozens of people in our lap and then scram back to the city.
I wasn’t too mad. She was going to sort out Phoebe’s publisher, so my scribbler didn’t have to worry.
“Even if I have to fight her,” I reminded him of the advice he’d given me what felt like a lifetime ago.
And I had to fight her. For a woman who was so afraid to have people know who she was, she had no problem letting me know exactly who she was and what she wanted.
Like me finding a second opinion when her doctor told her that she’d have months of restrictions, some of which may be permanent.
Oh, and she wanted to come home now. An extra two-week hospital stay was overrated according to her.
Either I helped her, or she’d find a way.
I didn’t. I’d kissed the pout right off her, grateful I could kiss her.
I kissed her a lot. Then I dared her to try, knowing Satan’s little minion would be on my side with this, and Phoebe was stuck.
I had a feeling when she found out I’d just moved in and transferred the money I’d saved to buy this place in the first place to her that she’d want to fight.
I wasn’t about to live in a house my wife paid for and not contribute equally to the place that was our home.
I couldn’t wait. It would be weeks before I could have Phoebe in the way I craved.
In the meantime, I found fighting with her just as stimulating.
Her cheeks turned my favorite shade of pink, even in anger.
“Good luck, son.” Dad laughed at me.
“She’s looking good.” Wade pushed through the group of people near the door and dropped a casserole on the table that was already overflowing.
I hadn’t taken my eyes off her since I was forced off the couch by Helen, Louise, and Abby, Alex’s sister, so they could give her a break from me.
I snorted. She didn’t need a break from me. Still, I could see she needed the reassurance that they accepted her. I only went as far as the formal dining room where I could watch her.
“She’s beautiful.” There was nothing on this planet that compared with her.
Lock gagged, reaching for a piece of fried chicken. “You make it so gross.” He winked at me and I chuckled. Shoving a piece of chicken in his mouth, he nodded to his mother. “She knows, by the way.”
The three of us turned to him. He froze, a piece of chicken in his mouth.
Scarlette rounded the table, flicking his ear. “What he means to say is he made sure Phoebe knew he was happy you were going to be living with them and promised you weren’t going to take Lock from her.”
“She needed to know I was willing to share.” Lock frowned at Scarlette.
I looked back at Phoebe. She gave me a saucy wink, and I shook my head. Life would never be boring with these two.
“Yo.” Rowdy poked his head in. “You better get out here. There’s a…” He looked at Phoebe. “...development.”
Dropping our plates, we headed outside. It was strange how easily Rowdy seemed to fit into our group. Now I knew the truth; it was hard to hate him.
“You aren’t coming in.” Jesse stood defiantly, feet braced apart.
“What are you doing here, Mom?” I went down the porch only to change direction. “You get the hell off our property.”
Jeremy, the dirty weasel, gave me a haughty look. “I’m here to see my wife.”
Did he—? I cracked my knuckles. Wade and Rowdy flanked me, Dad staying with my mom.
“Ty, let me handle this.” Wade stepped forward, reaching for the badge he always kept in his pocket, even when he wasn’t on duty.
“No, boys. I’ll handle him.” Phoebe’s dad, Chester, made his way over. “It’s time me and this little toad had a chat.”
“Chester.” Jeremy gave him a curt nod. “I’ve come to—What the hell?”
Jeremy went flying back, not seeing the punch coming. Chester looked over his shoulder at us. “Is there a reason you’re still standing there?”
“Oh, leave him.” Erin, Phoebe’s mom, came down from the porch. “Chester won’t kill him.”
The three of us looked at each other and then shrugged. I had other issues to deal with anyway.
“Aggressive squirrel,” Rowdy said when Jeremy covered his bloody nose with his hand.
“Mean little bastard,” Wade agreed, deciding it was a better explanation if anyone asked how the bastard ended up hurt.
“Why are you here, Mom?” My mom and I had had a long conversation while Phoebe was in her coma.
She’d started therapy and the doctor had diagnosed her with a form of PTSD.
It was what fueled her attack on Phoebe.
In the end, it wasn’t Phoebe that she was hurting.
At least not in her head. It had been a rough realization because she acknowledged that she did like Phoebe in a lot of ways.
It didn’t make things better. I wasn’t sure if I could get past all the things she’d said and done to keep Phoebe and me apart.
My anger at my mother had been vented on Phoebe’s parents when they’d arrived.
I’d hated how they’d made her question her writing, her value, and herself.
I wanted to make them hurt the way they’d made my scribbler hurt.
In the end, they’d welcomed me into their family and given me a new perspective on the situation with my mother.
It would take a long time for our relationship to heal, just as it would for Phoebe with her parents.
The one thing I couldn’t do was let my mother near Phoebe.
I hadn’t broached the subject in the two weeks since she’d woken up.
Phoebe had asked once what happened to Mom and I’d told her the bare bones.
She’d sat quietly in her hospital bed for a while after.
I’d been content to just sit there holding her hand.
Eventually, she said, “That’s good,” and hadn’t spoken about her since.
“She’s here because I asked her to be. Now, step aside.” Erin shooed us, giving Jesse a stern look when he refused to move.
“No.” Jesse crossed his arms, digging in his heels. He and Mom were on the road to recovering their relationship. He wasn’t trying to be mean. He was protecting Phoebe; there was a difference.
Erin looked toward the sky. “Men.” To my mom, she said, “Come this way.”
Mom didn’t move but smiled at Jesse for standing his ground.
“I’ll go if you want, Ty.” She shifted the basket in her arms.
“Let her in.”
I swung around, finding my scribbler standing in the doorway, Abby holding her up. “You aren’t supposed to be walking around.” I hurried up the stairs, my mother forgotten.
She stuck her tongue out at me. I grinned, kissing her. “You’re making me crazy.”
She held out her arms, and I scooped her up. It was the one thing I hadn’t had an argument from her about. She let me carry her around without complaint. Yawning, she snuggled against me and then looked past me, blinking like she’d forgotten anyone else was there.
It was possible. The medication she was on left her fuzzy a lot of the time.
I stilled. “She doesn’t have to come in,” I said low enough for only her to hear. “I’ll ask her to leave.” I wouldn’t put it on my scribbler.
She stared at Mom. “No. She can come in.”