“I just thought you should know I’m her father. Right there,” he says, nodding toward Holly. “And you and I might run into each other a lot on account of Lindsey and I being roommates.”
Brandon’s smug grin droops instantly, and his focus zips to me. I merely waggle my fingers from my folded-arm posture. My turn to grin.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Brooks adds, stepping in close enough to put one of his wide palms on Brandon’s shoulder. He meets him eye-to-eye, and from my vantage point, the physique comparison is comical. Brandon’s skinny pants and fitted dress shirt aren’t helping his slim frame. He looks like a well-dressed pile of bones Brooks spit out after eating a whole chicken.
“What’s that?” Brandon grits out.
Brooks leans in close, and his mouth curves into a faintly devilish smile.
“I ain’t no kid.”
His words linger between the two of them for a beat before Brooks pats his hand twice on Brandon’s shoulder and marches away. He stops at Holly’s carrier, near my feet, and squats to give his daughter his index finger. She wraps her tiny fingers around it and gurgles. Brooks glances up at me cautiously.
“He leave?”
Just then, Brandon rumbles his Land Rover into drive, and pulls away.
“Yeah, he sure did.” My smile spreads the farther away his annoying PROF ME license plate gets.
I shift my attention to Brooks when he stands, and he holds out a fist for me to bump. I push my knuckles into his, and our fingers press together for a moment. It feels . . . like more than a fist bump.
“Good riddance,” he finally says, his eyes narrowing on mine until the blue is literally all I see. “That guy? He’s a dick.”
“He is,” I agree.
And then he leaves me with this mysterious knowing smile, a look I plan on dissecting and obsessing over—along with that jealous display by my ex—for the rest of the day.
I daresay this day of mine is looking up.
SEVEN
BROOKS
I’ve never really lived with another person. I mean, yeah . . . I’ve been living with Holly for nearly two months, but that’s a different circumstance. She doesn’t talk. She cries or makes a dozen other fascinating, occasionally gross, sounds, but Holly and I don’t carry on two-sided conversations. Not yet anyhow.
I’m a quiet guy, and maybe the fact I’ve spent so much time alone is to blame. When I was in kindergarten, I let myself into the house after school with my own key. I made my own bowl of oatmeal for breakfast in the morning before school, packed my own lunch, and made sure my ass was out the door in time for the bus. I never had a parent around to do those things. Even when my mom was home, she was usually passed out on the couch or in her room.
Today, however, has not been quiet. Lindsey hasn’t stopped talking since the moment she hauled her first box into this house. I’m actually shocked her voice isn’t hoarse. And what’s weird is the way I don’t mind. Rather, I keep catching myself smiling and laughing, and my face is starting to hurt.
I also keep staring at her, and that’s the part that’s going to get me into trouble. I can feel it. I’m not shutting it down, but I feel it—that dangerous pull. And I think she feels it, too.
We both step into the same hallway, each of us holding a box, and our shoulders touch as we pass one another. Lindsey giggles, and I grumble even though I don’t mind that she’s in my way.
“Sorry,” she says. I grabbed the wrong box. This one goes in the boys’ room.
She glances over her shoulder and smiles. We decided putting the boys in the room farthest from mine would be best for Holly. I’ve been lucky getting her to sleep decently, and Deacon and Riggs aren’t built for naps. They’re like walking alarms.
“I can bring up the rest,” I say, tucking the box of towels just inside the hall bathroom, then rushing down the stairs to pull the remaining things from the back of her van. I hook the hangers holding a few dresses and coats on my thumb, then fold the garments in half to make it easier to tuck them under my arm. I scoop up a pillowcase stuffed with bedding along with a plastic caddy filled with hair products, combs and brushes, then tap the button to close up the van before rushing back inside.
It’s going to rain today. Any minute, actually. And this house is surrounded by a lot of dirt. We barely beat the mud that’s sure to rise up like a moat around the porch. And since the boys have amused themselves by sprinting across the field in the back most of the day, I can’t help but project the dirty floors that are in my future once the first few drops fall from the sky. And yet I’m still happy with all of it. The chaos. The mess.
The full house.
“You can just drop that on my mattress!” Lindsey hollers when she spots me halfway up the stairs. She’s pacing in the kitchen with Holly, who must have woken up when I was outside. I drop her clothing and hair products off in her room, then fly down the stairs to take over diaper duty while Lindsey finishes making Holly a bottle.
“Hey, we’re a pretty good team,” she muses.
I laugh softly and wink, “Yeah.”
