Hard Break (Deadlines & Diamonds, #5) (8 page)

“Hey, bud.”

Chase’s eyes popped open. “Huh?”

“It’s time for bed.”

“But I’m not tired.” He rubbed at his eyes.

“And that’s why you were sound asleep when I came back down?”

“I wasn’t asleep.”

Ian tipped his head, cocked one brow. “What’d we say about lying?”

Chase righted himself. “
So maybe I was
asleep, but I’m not now and it isn’t ten yet.”

He debated letting the kid stay up, but there was no way of getting the miniature tank to bed if he pulled another dead-weight on the couch. ‘Cause if Ian couldn’t lift him, no way in hell could Kayla.

“Listen, man, I’ll make you a deal. As long as you’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed you can camp out until ten. But the second your eyelids get droopy, you’re done. You weigh a
ton
.”

Chase laughed. “Yeah, I weigh more than I look.”

“No kidding.” He plopped down next to his mini cohort. “Do we have a deal?”

Terse nod. “Yep. No sleeping. Got it.”

A
nd yet two hours later, when Kayla walked into the living room, Ian and Chase were dead to the world. She grinned. Ian looked just as young and innocent as Chase. Her son curled up on one side of the couch while Ian had flattened out the recliner on his side of the couch, his feet crossed at the ankles, his arms over his chest.

The television softly played
F.R.I.E.N.D.S
.

“What’s a ven-er-e-
al disease?” Sadie asked.

Horror washed over her and she whirled on her daughter. “Where’d you hear
that?”

She pointed at the TV. “What is it?”

Kayla grabbed at the remote and turned off the television. “You’ll learn about that when you’re older.”

“Like learning what a MILF is?”

Ian’s soft chuckle interrupted her eyeroll. “Where’d she hear that?”

Sadie smiled, big and wide.
“That’s what Daddy used to call Mommy.”

“That’s a great nickname ya got there, Kay.” His laugh
mocked as well as humored.

“What does it mean, Ian?”

“Just like VD, you’ll learn about that when you’re older.” He lowered his legs, snapping the recliner closed. “Lemme see your head, love.”

Thankfully
, she forgot all about MILFs and VDs as she ran over to Ian. She pushed her hair out of the way. “You can’t see it because of the Band-Aid, but I got four
stitches!”

Ian dropped down to one knee, bringing himself down to her level. “Shut up!
Four
stitches? Dang, you’re bra- You were brave, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. Mostly.” She glanced at Kayla for verification. “I only cried a little when they gave me the shot.”

Kayla smiled at her daughter. “You were very brave, sweetheart. It’s time for bed now.”

She
nodded at her mother then threw her arms around Ian’s neck. “I’m glad you were still here.”

“I’m glad I was here too. Goodnight,
Sadiebug.”

She hurried up the stairs, half crawling when she stumbled.

Kayla picked up a couple of toys and set them on the coffee table. “Thanks, Ian. I’m sure you had better things to do than watch my kids.”

“Nope. Didn’t have any plans at all.” He shook his head and glanced over at Chase. “Ah, man. I told him no sleeping allowed.”

“He weighs a ton.”

“Yeah, he does. Wh
at the hell are you feeding him? Concrete?”

She heard herself laugh and the noise s
urprised her. It’d been way too long. “He’s always been like that. There’s a lot of weight jamb-packed in that kid’s body.”

“
I’m going to leave him right there.”

“That’s a wise plan.
Wouldn’t want you straining something.”

His expression went offended. “Are you saying I’m a wimp? ‘Cause I’m no wimp.” He flexed the bicep on his right arm. “I totally could get that little brick shithouse
up to his bed.”

“And give yourself a hernia for your trouble.” Her face sure felt strange. She touched her cheek, felt her dimple. Well, hell, she was
smiling. The idea of being happy scared her.

Back in the old days women mourned their husbands, wore black and a frown for a year. And here she was grinning and
laughing
after only ten weeks. What kind of wife did that make her?

“Kayla
?”

She blinked, brin
ging Ian into focus. “Yeah.”

He didn’t have to sa
y a word. Her mood had changed so quickly, she’d given herself whiplash.

“I shouldn’t be feeling…happy
, Ian. I should—”

“You should just do the best you can.” Ian took her hand in his. He was so warm, his hands huge. “If you feel like laughing, laugh. Crying, cry. Screaming, scream. It’s okay to feel, Kayla. Leon died.
You
didn’t.”

Before she realized what she’d done her hand retreated from Ian’s face, her palm stinging. The motion probably surprised him, but he didn’t pull any of the
what’s-that-for?
He nodded, tipped his head.

“I’ll see you later.” He turned away from her and strode toward the front door.

She really needed to get a
Bitch of the Year
sash to go with her attitude. “Ian,” his name came out as a plea, “wait.”

He stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“I’m sorry.”

His wide back got even wider with his deep breath. “That seems to be your theme song.” Another breath. “Goodnight, Kayla.”

With no excuse good enough, she let him go, cringing when the front door closed. At some point a
For Sale
sign would pop up in his front yard and she wouldn’t blame him a bit. The kids would miss him like crazy. Truth was, so would she. But Ian was a big boy and he’d manage his life the way he saw fit.

“Ian lied.”

She tore her gaze from the very uninteresting front door to let it settle on her wide awake son. “What?”

He sat up in his impromptu bed, his spine straight. “Ian totally had a date tonight. Some girl named Denali.”

“What?”

“He called her and told her something had come up. Me and Pene, we were the something. He lied. When he told you he didn’t have any plans tonight. He lied. Does that make you mad?”

Yeah, it did. More than mad, actually. It made her heart ache. For all of Ian’s goodness, his selflessness, she’d slapped him. “I’m sure he had a good reason for lying, Chase.”

“Yeah, like he didn’t want you to know about Denali,” he added a snort to emphasize the girl’s name.

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t care one way or the other that we know about Denali.”

Chase rolled his eyes. “Don’t
you care?”

“No. Why should I—”

“Aren’t you jealous?”

For the second time tonight Kayla started to laugh. This time it didn’t surprise her. This laugh made her sides hurt.
Her
jealous of some faceless girl occupying Ian’s time? It was about time. The guy needed a little hottie on his arm, someone to be his one and only. Kayla’d had that chance and lost it. She didn’t begrudge Ian his.

“No, Chase. I’m not jealous of Denali.” She sat down next to her son on the couch.

“But he’s your
Ian.”

She smiled and ran a hand over her son’s cropped b
lond hair. “That was your dad’s way of teasing me. Nothing more. Ian isn’t mine any more than I’m Ian’s.”

“
I like Ian.”

“I like Ian, too, but he’s got a life beyond us.”

“We need him.”

The truth of his statement made her intestines slither. “We can get along without him. We don’t need anybody but each other.”

“Mom.” His
you’re-full-of-it
glare nearly had her bursting into hysterics. “Where would we have been if Ian had been on that stupid date tonight?”

“You a
nd Pene would have been in the emergency room with me and your sister. It’d have been just fine.”

“And boring.”

“And boring. But we
can
do it ourselves.” She wondered who she was trying to convince. If he bought it, she might try selling ocean front property on the Strip.

He didn’t. “Whatever, Mom. I’m going to bed.” He stood, gathered his blanket and pillow. “Goodnight, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you, too, bud.” He leaned down and she kissed his cheek.

Sitting in the dark, silence surrounding her, Kayla thought about her life. How quickly
karma swung around to bite her in the ass. She only wished she knew what she’d done to warrant such a harsh backlash.

She’d get
through it, ‘cause—she laughed—it’s not like she had a choice. Her children needed her to be strong. And she didn’t need anyone. She’d figure out how to take the job with Dr. Monroe and she’d get her family’s happily-ever-after back. Even if it killed her.

Nine

I
an had had enough!

Contention. Drama. He wanted n
o part of them and Kayla bought both in spades. He may love her and adore her children, but…
damn!
Every time he managed to distance himself, she managed to suck him back into the insanity.

He snapped his fist forward to hit the punching bag, then danced back on his toes to avoid the backswing.
Punch. Punch. Punch.
Releasing his frustration and bottled up aggression this way grounded him. He got in nice and tight, pummeling the weighted bag in a quick succession of rabbit punches. The throb in his knuckles pushed him to continue. At least if he could concentrate on his fists maybe he’d be able to forget about his heart.

This crap was seriously for the birds!

When his doorbell rang, he ignored the interruption. Finishing his workout was priority number one. All else be damned.

He stretched his fingers, wiped at the sweat on his brow and went back to work on the bag.
With every impact his mind cleared and his resolve strengthened. Screw the Blacks. From here on out, he’d put his own life, his own desires, ahead of them. No matter what.

Knocking joined the incessant ringing.
Seriously!
His visitor, whoever it might be, could go screw himself.

“Go away!” he yelled in the direction of where the front door would be. No way the idio
t on his porch would hear him. Or maybe they did, because the disruption to his peace and quiet evaporated.

He turned his attention back to the
bag. His makeshift home gym took up what was meant to be the family room. He glanced over at the kitchen island, only to have the bag reward his momentary lack of concentration with a slap. Thankfully, his ass didn’t get intimate with the tile.

Never a good sign when instead of hitting the bag with his fist, he considered using his forehead. Pound some sense into himself. Damn, he should consider seeing a shrink.

Instead
, he’d settle for a drink. He crossed the room and pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator. The damp tank top and gym shorts he wore stuck to his heated skin, cooling him off. Sweat trickled down his back. His muscles ached in the best way possible.

He’d just placed the cold rim to his lip when movement in his backyard caught his attention.
What the hell?
A tip of the head. A furrowing of his brows. A frown. Yeah, none of that helped him comprehend why Chase was skulking through his backyard. Although it did explain the persistent demand from the front stoop.

Ian put the bottle on the counter, leaned against the granite and crossed his arms. What was he doing?

The kid glanced back over his shoulder and that’s when Ian saw his face. Streaked with tear tracks, his cheeks were flushed. His eyes were puffy and red. Ian didn’t wait another second. He ran to the door, hurtling a basket of unfolded laundry.

Whipping the slider wide, he grabbed the kid by the shoulders. Chase shrieked, his big blue eyes going dinner plate. He put his arms around Ian’s waist, sagged into him and sobbed.

Ian’s protective instinct jackhammered through his body. As much as he wanted to give Chase the comfort he so obviously needed, Ian needed to figure out what the hell was going on. He pried the death grip from his waist.

“Sorry,” Chase mumbl
ed, going about the task to man up, wiping a hand over his eyes and swallowing hard. Five, make that six times.

Ian dropped down to his knee, giving Chase the height advantage. “Hey, man, what’s going on?”

“Do you have a hammer?” His voice cracked, and not because puberty hung out on the horizon.

“Yeah.”

“I need to borrow a hammer.” Another barely restrained hiccup accompanied the last syllable. He cleared his throat, rubbed at his tears with the neck of his t-shirt.

“Hey.
” Ian stood, putting a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “You don’t have to cry over a stupid hammer.”

No relief registered on the freckled features. “It’s not a stupid hammer.” He clamped his lips together, but not tight enough to keep his chin from
quivering.

“A hammer is just a hammer.”

“It’s not just a hammer!” Chase roared before his face contorted into a heartbreaking pre-breakdown.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Ian crushed the boy to him, rubbing circles on the smaller back. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

Chase nodded and eased back. He looked down at his flip-flops, bit his lip, sighed.

“Do you need a drink?”

Another nod.

After handing Chase a bottle of water and once again gripping his own, Ian said, “Spill it.”

Chase’s head jerked up, his gaze slamming into Ian. “What?”

“The story, not the water, bud. Spill it. What’s the deal with the hammer?”

“Oh.” Chase unscrewed the lid and guzzled the water like he may never get another drink. When the last droplets were gone, he replaced the lid. “You got a garbage?”

Stall tactic. Plain and simple. “No, just sit it there on the counter. I’ll take care of it later. Now, tell me what’s going on, Chase.”

Those blue eyes, so like the color of the ocean, developed waves of their own. “I, um, my mom—” He shook his head, chewed on his lip.

The kid had screwed up, no doubt about that. “I’m not going to be mad
, Chase.” Ian shrugged. “You’re safe here.” As if he weren’t safe at home. Ian wanted to kick his own ass.

Chase squared his shoulders, straightened his spine and looked Ian r
ight in the eye. “I took my da—” He choked back the emotion. “I took my dad’s hammer.”

Light bulb!

“I took it. I didn’t put it back and now it’s lost.” All the big-man-on-campus melted, leaving a devastated little boy. His head drooped on his neck as if too heavy to keep up any longer. His shoulders hunched, shuddered. His fingers wove together, knitting against each other.

“My. Dad’s. Hammer,” he sobbed. “I lost my dad’s hammer.”

“Heeey,” Ian crooned softly. “It’s okay.”

Juvenile eyes flashed behind the tears. “It’ll never be okay! Didn’t you hear
me? I lost my dad’s hammer. My dad is—”

“Stop!” Ian yelled to put the brakes on the kid’s guilt trip. “Just stop,” he said in a normal voice. “I’ll help you find your dad’s hammer. Why do you need the hammer?”

“I don’t. My mom—” More swallowing. More clearing of his throat. “My mom needs it.”

“
Let’s not keep your mom waiting. She can use my hammer—”

“But my dad’s hammer—”

“I told you, little man, I’ll help you find the hammer. But let’s take care of your mom first.”

He nodded, made another swipe across his face. Then, as if the solution loosened his tongue, the narrative started. “My mom was trying to hang a picture and she needed the hammer and the hammer wasn’t there and she couldn’t find the hammer because I’d taken the—”

“No judgments here, my man. Let’s get the hammer over to your mom so she can hang the picture.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Chase followed Ian into the garage.

Ian punched the garage door opener and light flooded the space, reflecting off the concrete and the Mustang’s paint. He blinked, walking up to the red tool chest and opening the second drawer down. “This is where I keep my hammer, Chase. It’s very important you
always
put the tools back where they go.”

“Believe me
, I’ll never make that mistake again.”

Ian smiled. The kid had said exactly what he’d hoped
the prompt triggered. He retrieved the hammer and handed the tool over to Chase. “You know the garage code and I expect this back where you got it as soon as you’re finished.”

Quick, hurried nods.
“Yeah. Got it. Thanks.”

Grabbing Chase by the shoulder, Ian guided him out into the front yard.
“Come on, dude, let’s get that hammer to your mom.”

Chase took off, jumping over the landscaping rocks separating their yards. Ian quickened his pace to keep up. As soon as Chase opened the door, Ian could hear Kayla and her mutter-scream-cry combo.

“All I needed was a hammer.” Sniff. “One damn hammer.” Sniff, sniff. “How many times have I told you to put things back when you’re finished with them?”

Ian guessed he expected the grumblings, his own mother had said things, in much the same way, more times than he could count. What he didn’t expect was to find Kayla teetering on a chair, stretched up on the tiptoes of one foot. She held a high heel in her right hand while
steadying what he only assumed was a nail in her left.

“Oh good hell,” he
said.

She tried to look at him and adding a turn to her already precarious combo brought the
tower down. He jumped, rushed forward and caught her. Cradling her to his chest, he held on. He knew he shouldn’t, knew he should just let her go about her day. That’d be the intelligent choice. But since when could he claim to be smart when it came to the Black family?

He chuckled softly.
“Easy there, babe.”

“Put me down.” The words were most certainly a request, but she didn’t struggle to get down, nor did she release the death grip she had on his tank top.
“You can put me down now.”

He tipped her feet toward the floor, pulled away when her soles touched the hardwood. His shirt stretched out. She offered a tiny, “Oh,” and let go. “Thank you.”

“No problem. You tryin’ to outdo Sadie?”

Lines appeared between her brows. “Huh?”

He reached out, smoothed the lines then eased his fingers up to her hairline. “You lookin’ to get a scar to match Sadie’s?”

“Oh.” She rubbed at her head, pu
shing his touch away. “No. It wouldn’t look nearly as cute on me.”

Her gaze darted to the doorway behind him then back. “Why are you here?”

“I heard there was a damsel in distress.”

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to keep sweeping in here to save me.”

“I keep tellin’ myself the same thing, and yet, here I am.”

“Why are you really here?”

“A little bird said you were in need of a hammer.”

She glared at Chase. “Oh yeah? Did this little bird also tell you he lost our hammer?”

Ian stepped into her line of sight. “Why, yes, he did. He also told me how terrible he feels about it.”

Her eyelids slipped closed as though they, and not her shoulders, bore the weight of the world.
Her bottom lip trembled. He stepped forward, touching her, but only just barely. She leaned into him, dropped her forehead against his chest. Her soft sighs whispered against his skin. He felt the tear, heard the snuffled inhale. He ached to touch her, cradle her, comfort her, but left the amount of contact up to her.

She didn’t wrap her arms around him, didn’t touch him with more than just the small slice of flesh between her brows and hairline, but it was enough. More than enough. In this moment, this pivotal few seconds, she
leaned on him.

“Ian?” Chase whispered.

Kayla stiffened, but didn’t pull a full retreat like Ian expected.

“I got this, my man.” He motioned to the couch. “Put the hammer
over there and go clean your room.”

“But it’s—”

“Never clean enough. Check under the bed.”

“Ah,
man.”

Kayla’s smile, easy
and natural, amused Ian. “You forget, bud, I was ten once.”

Chase stomped up the stairs. After the events of the morning, the kid didn’t have any fight left in him, which was good because neither did his mother.

“Oh, Ian, I really blew it with him.”

“He’s
tough.”

She crossed to the couch, moved the hammer to the coffee table and sat. Ian followed her, sitting at her side, close enough she could lean in, but
leaving enough distance not to crowd her. She leaned forward and dropped her head into her hands.

“I totally lost it. I’ve never,
never
yelled at them like that. But the hammer…it’s a stupid hammer.”

Ian’s fingers ached to take her hand, offer whatever comfort she’d allow. He slid his palms under his thighs. “But it was Leon’s hammer. Your reaction is completely understandable.”

“It’s only a hammer.”

“And after you both calm down, you can have a conversation. He
regrets what he did. Kayla, when he…” Ian’s throat tightened at the memory of Chase’s tears. “The kids are doing the best they can. You lost your husband, but they lost their father.”

“I know. I’m trying. I really am.”

Ian did touch her now, covering her hand with his. “That’s the problem, Kay. You’re only trying. You’re only treading water, simply breathing.”

She jerked her hand from under his. Her baby blues frosted. “Who are you to—”