I looked to my dad, but he had already moved into the kitchen, heading for the backyard. I caught up with him.
About ten years ago, he had started dyeing his hair, looking to stave off the onslaught of age. Approaching his mid-sixties, he was clearly anxious to maintain touching distance with his wife, almost thirty years his junior. He should have been sliding into retirement, but kids and a hot wife cost money. After various stints as a local alderman—yeah, people voted for him—he had returned to practicing law.
Out on the patio, he turned back to me.
“Would have thought you’d want to buy a place on the water.”
“Something about this house appealed to me.”
He nodded. “Good place for family gatherings. You ever think about that?”
“Family gatherings?”
“Having a family.” He met my gaze levelly. “I’ve always been surprised you haven’t settled down by now, Jason. I see that girl you dated—what’s her name, Everly? She’s moved on.”
“And I’m happy for her. Things usually happen for a reason.”
“That’s what I’ve always said. You are where you’re meant to be.”
Not quite what I was going for. Individual choices were key. Leaving your kids behind as collateral damage was not the acceptable result of some laissez-faire psychobabble that boiled down to “shit happens.”
Before I could respond, my father placed a hand on my shoulder. “Now you’re back in Chicago, I’m hoping we can see more of you. The boys need their big brother. All their big brothers.”
What about their father? Did they need him?
Rage rippled through my veins, but now wasn’t the time to lose it. Those were the hurt feelings of a kid, and I was an adult man who should just accept that his father was a dick.
“I’ll be here for them. I’m going nowhere.”
Two hours later, my brothers had whipped my ass in Hockey All Stars, and we were waiting on the pizza delivery. I was in a bit of a salty-sugar coma myself, but I figured one day wouldn’t hurt.
The doorbell rang and Ezra yelled, “pizza!”
“Yep. Go get some plates—ah, hell, forget it. We’ll eat straight from the box. But grab a roll of paper towels from the kitchen.”
The boys cheered, so I guessed Paige was probably fussier about table manners, which was her prerogative as a mom who had to clean up after her little monsters.
I opened the door and got the second surprise of the day on my doorstep.
Francesca St. James.
She looked exactly the same as always—hair loosely tied back and up, glasses pertly positioned on her nose, that jean jacket with the snail pin—but today it all had a different effect on me. While her stubborn chin and assessing gaze annoyed me before, now I just saw a smart woman on a mission.
And I liked it.
I especially liked that she was here, because—well, it could be good or bad. Maybe she preferred to turn me down in person because she was brought up well and wasn’t afraid of speaking bluntly.
“Hey there! I thought you were the pizza.”
Behind me, one of the boys cheered at something in the Avengers movie we started watching after the video games. Probably Captain America kicking Hydra ass.
“Oh, you have company,” she said. “I can come back or?—”
“You could come in. My brothers are here, the younger ones.”
“I don’t want to disturb your family time. Do you have a second to talk?” She took a step back, and my heart sank. This didn’t sound promising at all. Much easier for her to escape in the sensible Honda Civic parked a few feet away.
I closed the door behind me, leaving it ajar.
