Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Hayes
I can see why Leighton is exhausted. I’m tired too. I did over two hundred squats during the game and warm-ups today, but that’s likely nothing compared to Leighton coming off a shift in labor and delivery.
As soon as we get back into the house, Monroe rushes into the kitchen, opens a drawer, and grabs the marker. “Okay,” she says extra loud, “everyone ready?”
Lincoln groans. “She does this every time.”
We all circle around and watch her use the marker to put a check mark over today’s date where Nail Day is written in the box. We all clap and give her high fives while she jumps up and down in excitement.
I fire up the grill, wondering if Sky or Patrick were the last ones to use it, then inevitably think about the last time they cooked—how they didn’t know it would be their last time.
Easton and Lincoln play catch in the yard.
Easton is helping Lincoln learn how to field the ball correctly, while Decker paints rocks with Monroe.
She’s telling him a story about the last time she did it and how her parents got into a big fight because pink paint got on the expensive patio chair, and Mommy said Daddy should have put something down and he’s old enough to know better.
I’m surprised at how even her voice is. Part of me wonders if she really understands what’s going on. I can’t help but wonder if some time will have to pass before she realizes the permanency of what it means that her parents are no longer with us.
Decker gives Monroe a sweet smile and says, “That’s what happens with mommies and daddies sometimes. My mommy and daddy used to fight too.”
I don’t know his whole story, but I do know his parents are divorced, and that he and Foster grew up in separate households for most of their teen years.
I’m walking inside with the burgers, putting everything out to make an assembly line and debating if we should eat inside or outside, when the front door opens.
Leighton is wearing her scrubs. She’s got a lunch bag, another bag swung over her shoulder, and a big water bottle in hand.
She stops and leans back against the door.
She takes a deep breath, and I watch her chest rise and fall.
Then she opens her eyes and sees me. Her face flushes with surprise and slight embarrassment. “You guys are back?”
“We decided to cook out.”
“Amazing. Your sister completely monopolized my entire lunch today.” She smiles. “Just kidding. My salad wasn’t cutting it, so I’m starving. Nobody brought anything good into the break room today.”
She drops everything on the bench by the front door, then toes off her shoes and walks into the kitchen. Damn, scrubs look good on her. They’re snug in all the right places. And now I’m thinking about naughty nurse role plays with this woman.
She peruses all the items I’ve set out on the island. “I love burgers.”
“We went to Mariano’s. There are pasta salads in the fridge.”
“Tell me somebody bought the broccoli pasta salad.” She opens the fridge. I have no idea which salads Decker picked out. “You guys spoil me. You did buy it.”
Decker gets credit for that one. Unfortunately.
“How was Nail Day? Was it horrendous? Did you have to wait a long time?” she asks.
“Well, I don’t think every six-year-old in the neighborhood follows the same National Day calendar as Monroe, so we were lucky. We got in right away, and she got them done. So did Easton and Lincoln. I really hope Lincoln doesn’t catch shit about it when he goes to school.”
“Easton Bailey went too?” she asks. “You just jumped twenty rungs on Lincoln’s favorites ladder.” She steals a chip and leans against the counter.
“Decker Davis is here too.”
Her hand and half-eaten chip fall to her side. “Seriously?” She breaks across the room and looks out the window. “And he’s painting rocks with Monroe?” She turns back toward me. “Take a picture of that, and he’ll have women lined up outside your building. What are they calling it now? The Saloon?”
“Saloon? Colts are horses, not drunks.”
She chuckles. “Sorry for not keeping up with the diamond girls.”
“But you did know they’re debating what to call our building?” I lift an eyebrow. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does that she’s keeping tabs on me. Sort of. In a roundabout way.
“It’s not a big deal… but honestly, Tweetie Sorensen has a big mouth and kept carrying on about it when Tedi delivered their baby.”
And there goes that hope, popped before the balloon even blew all the way up.
“What’s your opinion?” I slice the tomatoes.
“I don’t have one, but if I snap that picture and post it, all those girly notes that get left at your building will only be for Decker.” She nods toward the back patio, veering our conversation in a different direction.
“Now you’re making me jealous.”
She giggles, not taking me seriously, although I’m about ready to ditch the meal prep to go paint rocks.
“Ah, don’t worry, you’re feeding me. I’ll take that over being nice to a little girl any day.” She reaches past me for another chip. She’s so close, and the way her strawberry-blonde hair is pulled up in a messy bun, exposing her neck, makes me want to bend down and place my lips there.
“Good to know. Food wins for you.”
What a fucking lame line. Jesus, do better, Carlisle.
“Food and massages.” She pops the chip into her mouth.
“You’re heartless.” In my mind, she’s not wearing scrubs. She’s naked under me as my hands roam her body.
She gives what I interpret as a flirty smile. “What did the boys get on their nails?”
“Easton wanted to say, ‘Fuck Texas,’ but he ended up having to say, ‘Boo Texas.’ Because, you know, we’re with a six- and a nine-year-old.”
She laughs again. It sounds really nice, and I realize how much I’ve missed it.
“Do you mind that they’re over? Can I introduce you?” I wipe my hands on the dishcloth and motion toward the back door.
“Couldn’t handle the kids yourself?”
I take the jab and open the back door. Now, all four of them are painting rocks. They all look up mid-stroke.
“Hey, best friend.” Easton smiles and waves.
She turns to me, and I shrug.
“Easton Bailey, this is Leighton Sinclair. Leighton, Easton. And this is Decker Davis. Leighton, Decker.”
They all say hello, and she takes a seat with them. Monroe ditches the painting and crawls into Leighton’s lap.
“Look.” She wiggles her fingers. “Pretty.”
“I love daisies—they’re my favorite,” Leighton tells her.
“I know.” Monroe holds them up in the air, admiring them again. “And look—Lincoln got his done.”
Lincoln lifts his hands.
“Oh, I like it. The Colts’ colors.” Leighton flashes him a smile.
“Yeah, because the Colts are gonna kick Texas’s butt.”
“Yeah, we are,” Easton says, knocking Lincoln’s elbow.
It’s weird to have this mix—my friends and her and kids I didn’t know until last month—but I like it. It makes me trust the boys a little more, and although I didn’t want them to come at first, I’m glad they did.
Now, how do I get them out of here before bedtime?