Eight Days a Week (11 page)

Ian chuckled. “I have no idea what any of this means. I can’t crack the code.”

I called the kids together and gave them their instructions along with their weapons. Then I checked my watch. “Fifteen minutes.
War!
” I yelled, and the kids scattered over the lawn, hiding behind bushes and trees.

“Did you ever do this shit as a kid?” I asked Ian.

“I
still
do this shit. If they had invited me, I’d be playing right now.”

A car pulled into the driveway, and I wiped my hands across my face in preparation. “I know Jimmy’s your friend, but I want to murder him with my bare hands.”

“Yeah. I’d want to kill him, too. And he’s not my friend, so feel free.”

Jimmy headed up the walk, and then there was a barrage of screaming and yelling as the kids sprang from their hiding spots. It was almost like it happened in slow motion. Jimmy was running his hands through his long ponytail and adjusting the rubber band. He was wearing a black biker jacket—made of real leather, I presumed. And, to his detriment, he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings.

Bree shouted, “
Kowalski!
”

And, for the record, in slow motion that sounds like
Ko-o-o-o-wa-a-a-a-a-lski-i-i-i-i-i.

Unfortunately for Jimmy, water balloons don’t make a sound when they’re being launched. Even eight of them at once won’t give any warning.

The first one hit him in the back of the head and exploded, and his face flew forward with the force. Then they came one after the other in a torrent of bursting rubber and faucet water. He yelled and ducked, but the kids were faster.

“
Rico!
” Jennifer yelled. “Reload!”

They ran for the remainder of the balloons in the bucket.
 

I was rolling on the grass, gasping for breath.

Jimmy looked like a drowned rat.

He screamed and waved his hands frantically as the children ran toward him with their new balloons.

The front door opened, and Gwen yelled, “Stop!” She looked at me, wide-eyed. “What are they
doing
?”

I looked up with tears in my eyes. “Playing
Penguins of Madagascar
,” I said, nearly choking.

She narrowed her eyes, but I saw a smile twitch at the side of her lips before she pulled herself together. “Enough! Mr. Jimmy didn’t ask to play.”

Jimmy stood, frozen on the walk, his arms over his face to fend off the attack. He was soaking wet and shivering, looking worse for wear and kind of pissed.

I collected myself from the ground and called the kids to my side. They held their chins high and proud.
 

“Not cool,” I scolded, trying to keep a straight face. “We discussed this. Only people with the paint on their faces are in the game.”

Bree smacked her forehead. “I forgot.
Sorry, Dee.” She batted her eyelashes and poked her bottom lip out at Gwen.

I palmed my face and shook with laughter. Jimmy was shaking the water out of his hair and wringing it out of his clothes, and Gwen laid a hand on his arm, for God knows what reason. She turned to me, her eyes apologetic.
 

“Dee? Do you have some clothes Jimmy could borrow? We have reservations.”

My jaw dropped open, and I narrowed my eyes in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“I’m sorry. I—”

“Yep,” I said, turning to see Ian’s shocked expression and the confusion on the kids’ faces. I shrugged. “I’ll meet you at the hallway bathroom, man.”
 

Gwen may have thought she was being funny, but I wouldn’t let this opportunity pass me by. I ran down to my room and rummaged around in the back of the closet for a pair of old jeans and a button-up dress shirt I never wore anymore. Satisfied, I ran back upstairs and knocked on the bathroom door. Jimmy cracked it open and held out his hand, not even saying thank you.

How rude. Even Brady knew to say please and thank you.

When I returned to the front yard, Gwen was reprimanding the kids, though they looked less than impressed with her disciplinary skills.
 

Even wearing a frown, she looked pretty in a little white dress and heels. Heels I wanted digging into my shoulders while I went down on her.

She turned to me, shaking her head in mock disappointment, and I made a face. Then the front door opened, and I had to bite my knuckles to keep from dying of laughter right there in the grass.

My old jeans were way too long for Jimmy’s legs, and he’d cuffed them at least three times to be the right length. The shirt I gave him was almost too big for me and hung down to his thighs. He looked like a fifth grader wearing his dad’s clothes. God bless him, it was the funniest shit I’d seen in days.

“I guess six inches makes a bigger difference than I thought,” I mumbled, and Ian snickered into his hand.

Gwen slapped my arm and pointed at my face. “Behave.”

I shrugged and looked at the kids. “Come on, it’s time to make pizza.”
 

They cheered and called goodbye to Gwen as they barreled past Jimmy and through the door.

I walked by and gave him a shrug. “The chick has kids. What can you do?”

Chapter 11

This Boy

I fell asleep with the kids on the pull-out couch in the living room. We’d been watching a movie, and before I knew it, both of them were snoring. Brady was curled into the fetal position on my left, and Bree was sprawled on her back with her head on my chest, her long blond hair spilling down my arm. I was pinned and didn’t want to move for fear of waking them, but I drifted off to sleep before the credits rolled, so it didn’t really matter.
 

When we woke up the next morning, the television was off. Gwen must have done it when she’d gotten home from her date.
 

Her date was not the first thing I wanted to think about in the morning.

Brady asked to help cook breakfast, and it must have been the smell of burnt bacon and the sound of the fire alarm going off that made Gwen race down the stairs and through the glass doors to the backyard, where I was dumping the remains of charcoaled pig into the vegetable garden. She was yelling and rushing toward me in a panic, when I looked up and my eyes went wide.
 

“I swear, I turned around for one second and Brady twisted the burner to high.” I looked her body up and down. “Your nipple is hanging out.”

She glanced down and flushed bright red then shoved her breast back into the tank top. “You scared the shit out of me.”

I laughed and headed back toward the kitchen door but stopped just by her ear. “You look sexy in the morning. Even with the Lindsay Lohan eyeliner.”

“Stop it.” She popped me on the back of the neck.

“What?” I asked as we walked inside. “Miss me last night?”

“Like I’d tell you.”
 

“Am I getting my clothes back?”

“No.”

“Didn’t like them anyway.”

She slid the door closed behind us, and we both looked at Brady, who was hiding in the corner.

“You’re learning,” I said. “Don’t look so sad. We’ll try again.” I pulled the fire alarm down, emptied out the batteries, and walked to the fridge.

Brady nodded and came around the island to hug my leg. I dropped a hand and ruffled his hair before chuckling and pulling out some more bacon. Thank God for the extra bacon reserves I always kept in the fridge. A man needs meat.
 

“Where’s Bree?” Gwen asked.

I smiled. “She’s at Jennifer’s.”

Grinning in satisfaction, she climbed the stairs to her room. When she came back down, she was wearing a robe. I assumed it was to prevent another peep show, which was a little disappointing.
 

She joined me at the table, where I was sitting alone, drinking coffee, and scrolling through the news on Brady’s iPad.

“Now where did Brady go?”

I didn’t even look up. “He’s in his bedroom picking out his clothes for the day.”

“Wow. Big steps happening around here, huh?”

I lifted my head and smiled. “Yep. It’s pretty cool.”

Staring at the plate of food I’d made her, she leaned on her hand and sighed.

“What?” I asked.
 

“I want to be part of this, too.”

I put the iPad down and turned to look her dead in the eyes. “Then stop working so much. And don’t go out with douchebags.”

She leaned forward and stared at my lips. “But you’re so sexy when I date douchebags.”

“Am I, now?”
 

“Yep. Cro-Magnon.”

“And how did that work out last night?”

She pursed her lips. “He made me pay for my half and then tried to feel me up during the movie, so I dumped buttered popcorn on his head. That’s why he’s keeping the clothes—because he won’t be back.”

“Hmm.” I leaned over until her lips were out of view because they were so close to mine. “I can’t say I’m upset it didn’t work out.”

“You say my name in your sleep,” she whispered, lifting her eyes to mine. “I heard you when I came home and turned off the TV.” Her eyes widened and then narrowed into slits. “Makes me want to—”

“Dee!” Brady yelled from the door.

Gwen startled, and I jerked, my knees colliding with the table.

“
Shi
—” I bit down on my lip and could feel my face turning bright red from the pain in my knees and from holding in expletives.

“Sowwy,” Brady said.

“You’re okay,” I said with a gasp.

Brady set a stack of cards on the table. “Daddy’s.” His voice was so soft as he pointed to the baseball cards. “Fow you.” He smiled and patted me on the thigh, right above the pulsating pain I was fighting against. Then he leaned up and gave Gwen a kiss on the cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you, too, little man.”

He beamed at her before retreating to the living room to watch cartoons.

I stared at the cards. “I can’t take these.”

“You can. He wants you to have them.”

They were Brady’s most prized possession. But giving them to me wasn’t just a show of friendship or affection. I knew what giving away a favorite thing meant to a boy his age. It meant he expected me to be around forever.

Chapter 12

Carry That Weight

I couldn’t bring myself to talk to Xander or Cece yet, because the two of them being together made me so angry it stirred up emotions inside me that I’d sworn didn’t exist. I didn’t disapprove of them—I was just blindsided by their believing I didn’t have the right to know. My brain was so twisted up I didn’t know if I wanted to kill Xander for keeping everything from me and bury his body in the backyard, or if I wanted to thank him for taking care of my sister while I was gone.

As for Cece, I was pissed she hadn’t told me anything. She’d known about Gwen’s situation, and she’d never said a word about dating my best friend.

It probably wouldn’t have bothered me if they’d been honest upfront. It must have been pretty damn hard keeping that shit quiet while I was in her apartment. I was racking my brain to think whether or not there’d been any signs I might have missed, but the truth was I hadn’t been paying attention to anything at the time.

What other things had I ignored?

I couldn’t stand the way it made me feel. Because it was doing just that—making me
feel
, like an emotional, pansy-ass sad sack. Now I had these kids who depended on me and a woman I didn’t just want to screw anymore.

I hated every second of this new ability to “care.” I wanted my old life back. I wanted to walk around with a stick up my ass and drink and shirk responsibility. I wanted to hate my family and not care about anything or anyone other than me, and Don, and my inheritance.

Then my thoughts turned to Brady and Bree, and I threw myself onto my couch, my face hitting the cushion with enough force to make me grunt and bounce.
 

How had I fallen in love with some kids? It was ridiculous, and I felt antsy, fidgety in my skin. My fingers itched. I had to focus. I had to do something. Running my fingers through my hair, I let out a long breath. The kids had another half hour before bed. And I needed a release.

Maybe Gwen wouldn’t mind.

I charged up the stairs, sat down at the piano in the sitting room, and pushed the lid back to stare at the keys. I hit a couple of notes and sighed in satisfaction, my muscles relaxing and my head clearing out just a little.

With my eyes closed, I felt along the keys and began to play a song I’d written years before, when I’d had every intention of making the piano my life’s work. I’d written it to make myself feel better after Geoffrey and I had gotten into a particularly intense fight one night. The notes had flowed in an aggressive torrent, and I’d never forgotten them. I’d played it over and over until the sound created a sort of scab over the gaping hole in my chest, made by my father’s intense disapproval of everything I’d wanted to do.

I wasn’t Cece. And if she was honest, Cece wasn’t Cece either. I wondered if my parents knew about Xander. It seemed obvious that my best friend, a guy who worked in a bar, wasn’t exactly who they’d have pictured my sister with. But then it occurred to me that maybe they knew and it didn’t matter, because Cece was perfect and they approved every last thing she did, no matter what.