The Next Always (18 page)

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Authors: Nora Roberts

BOOK: The Next Always
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And the boy smiled at him, sweet as an angel. “I like pisgetti.”
“Me, too. Want yours cut up, Liam?”
“Okay.”
“Gut shot.” Beckett poked a finger on the red stain on Liam’s T-shirt. “And still up for the battle. Harry?”
“I like to twirl it.”
“Good plan.” Fairly exhausted, Beckett dropped into his chair. “Dig in, men.”
CHAPTER NINE
THEY ATE LIKE WOLVES, BECKETT INCLUDED. MAYBE
virtual war followed by a minor meatball fight piqued the appetite. After the meal, the best solution he could come up with was to strip them down in the tiny laundry room off the kitchen. As he tossed his spaghetti-tagged shirt in the machine for good measure, the boys did what naked boys have done throughout history.
They ran around the house yelling like heathens.
He wasn’t sure which was more of a mess, the kitchen or the kids, but opted to deal with the kids first. Since he doubted Clare’s standards stooped low enough to deck out three sticky, sauce-stained kids in their pajamas, he herded them into the bathroom.
“It’s a three-for-one,” he announced. “Everybody into the pool.”
“Can we have bubbles?” Murphy asked.
“I don’t know, can you?”
“We got Spider-Man.” Harry reached onto a shelf in the splinter-sized linen closet, took out a Spidey-shaped bottle.
“Very cool.” Beckett dumped a hefty dose in the water. “Okay, hop in, and I’ll—”
“We need our toys.” Liam got a plastic basket out of the closet, dumped in all contents. From the sneaky look he shot Beckett, Beckett figured that wasn’t how their mom handled it.
But, it was Man Night.
“Okay—”
“We need our soap stuff.” Harry got a pump bottle. “You can wash your hair and your skin with it.”
“Handy.”
“But you gotta wash our hair,” Murphy told him.
“Okay.” Beckett studied the bottle. “Let’s go for it.”
They climbed in. If he hadn’t been distracted by Spider-Man, toys, and soap stuff, he’d have considered water displacement.
He switched off the taps, tossed a towel on the floor where the water had lapped over. Because he was currently shirtless, he metaphorically rolled up his sleeves and got to it.
Realized inside of thirty seconds he’d need more towels.
It brought back dim memories of baths with his brothers, the water battles, the floods, the silly fun.
The wheedling protests when it was time to get out.
“Here’s the deal about Man Night. Women come back. If your mom comes home and sees this bathroom, the kitchen, men, we are toast. It’s better to get rid of the evidence.”
He pulled the plug. Between the floor, the walls, the kids, he used half a dozen towels. And now naked boys ran around yelling again, but at least they were clean.
“Everybody go suit up.” Beckett grabbed wet toys out of the tub, tossed them in the basket. “I’ve got to go deal with the kitchen.”
He carted the towels down, switched the wet clothes to the dryer, dumped the towels in the washer.
He glanced at his watch. Jesus, how the hell did it get to be quarter to eight? Moving fast now while running feet and shouts sounded from upstairs, he stuck dishes in the dishwasher. He scrubbed off the table, swiped the sauce off the floor, then tossed the dishrag in the washer with the towels.
“Hey, you need to come down and put away these games.”
“We’re putting on our pajamas!” Harry shouted back.
The hyena laughter followed.
“Yeah, I bet.”
But time was running out. He made a dive for the living room, gathering up games, controllers, then charged up the stairs.
They’d pulled on the bottoms, and wore the tops on their heads like war bonnets as they sat on the floor around a small mountain of action figures.
“I can fart with my arm,” Murphy told him. “Liam showed me.”
He demonstrated to his brothers’ hysterical laughter.
“An important life skill, well executed. Tops on, guys. Your mom’ll be home any minute.”
“She says it’s rude to fart in public, even with your arm.”
“Words to live by.” Taking matters in his own hands, Beckett tugged down Murphy’s shirt.
And got that angel smile again.
“Can it be Man Night tomorrow?”
The oddest sensation of pleasure glowed in Beckett’s belly. “Can’t tomorrow, but we’ll do it again.”
“We can do it when it’s not school, then have a sleepover.”
Here’s hoping. “I’d like that.”
“Mom’s home. Mom’s home.” Murphy raced off, followed by, then passed by, his brothers.
When he started down they surrounded her, Murphy holding his arms up to be lifted, and all of them talking a mile a minute.
She laughed, hitched Murphy up, managed to kiss the top of Liam’s head and run her hand over Harry’s.
“Man Night, huh? Well, we’ll have to . . .” She looked up at Beckett as he came down the stairs. Blinked. “Ah, hi.”
“Hi. How’d it go?”
“Really well. Um, how’d it go here?”
“Good. We just played some poker, drank a six-pack.”
“Naturally. You boys have to go up and brush your teeth. I’ll be up in a couple minutes. Say good night to Beckett.”
He got high fives from Harry and Liam, a down low and leg hug from Murphy.
“We’re gonna have a sleepover,” Murphy told his mother. “Bye, Beckett. Bye!”
Clare set her purse aside as they raced upstairs. “So, everything’s okay?”
“Sure.”
“You didn’t have to give them baths.” She tapped the side of her nose when Beckett looked blank. “They smell like their bath soap.”
“Oh yeah, well . . . There was a little spaghetti incident.”
“I see. Is that why you’re not wearing a shirt?”
“Oh, right.” He glanced down. “Forgot. I tossed the shirt in the washer with their clothes. They’re drying. Ah, there was also some minor flooding, so I dumped the towels in the wash.”
It was her turn to look blank. “You did laundry?”
“Sort of. I deserve a reward.”
“I guess you do.” She stepped to him, kissed him on one cheek, then the other before laying her lips softly on his.
His bare skin was warm and firm, his arms strong as they wrapped around her.
“You smell like an orange smoothie,” she murmured. And wanted to lap.
“Sorry?”
“The bath wash I use on the kids. It’s different on you. Beckett—”
“Mom!” Liam’s shout made her jump. “We brushed our teeth. Harry’s got the book.”
“Okay. Be right there. Sorry, it’s bedtime, and I try to read to them for a few minutes most nights.”
“I’ll get going. I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow.”
“You can’t go out without a shirt.”
“I don’t think anything of yours will fit me.”
“But—”
“It’s still warm out.” He gave her another quick, light kiss.
“Well, thanks.” Flustered, she stepped back. She’d actually started to ask him to stay—until his shirt dried. Maybe have a glass of wine with her. Maybe . . .
“Mom!”
“No problem. I had fun. See you tomorrow.”
She sighed, locked up behind him. “Coming,” she called when Liam shouted again. Probably better this way, she thought. She could hardly—maybe—with Beckett while her kids were right upstairs.
BECKETT PULLED INTO
his slot in the parking lot behind Vesta.
When he started down the walkway to the stairwell, Brad, their plumber, called down from his seat on the dining porch. “Hey, Beck! Rough night at the poker table? Lose your shirt?”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
In his apartment, he went directly to the fridge for a beer, then switched on the TV, flopped on the couch.
“Good God.” He felt like he’d just finished running the Boston Marathon.
How did she do it? How the hell did she do all that every day, and probably a lot more? But just the dinner, the squabbles, the mess, the sheer volume of
stuff
that needed to be remembered, done, handled with three kids. It was mentally and physically exhausting.
Fun, he admitted, but exhausting.
And she’d have to get up in the morning, get them up, dressed, fed.
Then
go to work. After work, she’d replay—basically—what he’d just done. And with all that, she still had to maintain the house and run a business.
Did women have superpowers?
Regardless, he was sending his mother flowers in the morning.
“
WHEN I HEARD
he came home shirtless, I thought, that Clare. She’s a wild woman.” Avery leaned back on her elbows on Clare’s bed.
“More like wild boys.”
“Flying meatballs, bath floods.” Avery shook her head. “And he’s still taking you out tonight. Shows character.”
“Once I convinced Murphy to make me an honorary man, he spilled his guts. Plus I found a couple spaghetti sauce handprints Beckett missed.” She picked up the earrings Hope had selected. “He did great, really, and got out fast. Didn’t even wait for his shirt to dry.”
“Is that code?”
“Not entirely. Though I was going to ask him to stay awhile, maybe open a bottle of wine.”
“You are a wild woman.”
“You know you can put men and sex on the back burner.” To test the earrings, Clare tipped her head from side to side. “In fact, you can take them off the stove altogether. It’s not easy to fit them into the schedule anyway. But . . . once I started thinking about Beckett that way, and realized he thought about me that way . . .”
“The heat got turned up.”
“The pot’s simmering away. It’s not as easy to keep it on the back burner now.”
“Move it up front. Be proactive.”
“I guess I’d better see how it goes tonight first. We’re sure this works, right?” She did a little turn.
“You look fantastic. That shade of blue, turquoise I guess, looks amazing on you.”
Clare narrowed her eyes at her reflection. She liked the dress’s simple lines, just a little flow to the skirt that stopped shy of her knees. “With or without the sweater?”
“Start with, then you can slip out of it later. Yeah.” Avery nodded approval. “A very nice end-of-summer look. Nervous?”
“A little. And excited. I’m going on a date, and for the first time with a man I’m actually interested in.”
“Proactive,” Avery repeated.
“I started back on the pill. Is that proactive or aggressive?”
“It’s just smart. I’ve got to go. I’m closing tonight.” She took Clare’s shoulders. “Have fun, and call me tomorrow and tell me everything.”
“I will.”
She took another moment, studying herself from every angle. Three kids, she thought, but she’d kept in pretty good shape. That was a matter of vigilance and lucky genes.
If tonight went well, if the chemistry continued, she and Beckett could—probably would—end up doing what single adults with chemistry did.
“It’s called sex, Clare,” she muttered to herself. “Just because you haven’t had any in years doesn’t mean you can’t say the word.”

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