Our Chance (Los Rancheros #4) (7 page)

That night, as my house descends into chaos, the doorbell rings. I have one child fighting doing his homework, one starving and whining, and the third running around screaming with a colander on his head and towel cape over his shoulders. There’s music on from when things were calm, but now it just feeds the need to pull my hair out. Dinner is . . . not done. Trigg and Harper had too much homework that needed my assistance, so I’m attempting to put together a quick spaghetti when the damn door rings, delaying me yet again.

Harper lets out a wail as I walk away from the stove, Trigg yells after me that he needs help again, and just as I get to the door, Jet jumps off of the forth step, landing right in front of me.

“Jesus Christ, child. Aren’t you out of steam yet?” I ask as I open the door distractedly.

“Nooooo . . .!” Jet screams as he runs back down the hall away from me.

I put my hand to my forehead to keep it from exploding, finally glancing at the person waiting patiently at the door. I blink. Yep. Still Brody in a button down shirt and slacks. Shit.

I take a step toward him and stumble over absolutely nothing, catching myself on the door jamb as Brody reaches to stall my fall at the same time. I straighten back up before he can touch me. “What are you doing here?” I ask quietly.

Brody’s eyes move over me as he blinks slowly, taking inventory of my hot mess look. “Do you know you have a noodle in your hair?”

He reaches for the pasta, but I slap his hand away lightly. “What do you want? You look like you’re going out.”

“I—”

“Why are you here?” I ask, exasperated.

“Are you . . . Can I talk now?” Brody asks with a smirk.

My eyes squint up at him, showing clearly that I’m not amused. I sweep my arm in front of me in a ‘be my guest’ manner.

“I thought we could have our first date tonight,” he says, with obvious amusement.

“Are you flippin’ high? I’m not going anywhere.” I step back to close the door and a muscled arm shoots out to stop me, pressing it back open. He steps into the house, instantly shrinking it, causing me to back up.

I sputter and shake my head like I’m having a seizure as he passes me to go down the hall into the kitchen. I trail behind him saying, “You can’t just come into my home, Brody. We have rules, boundaries.”

“Routines?” he says, glancing at me over his shoulder.

I nod my head vigorously, the ball of hair on top of my head waving wildly. “Exactly.”

“Yeah, that’s what your mom said.” He stops walking right before the doorway to the kitchen and leans on one foot. “When she called. Approximately thirty minutes after I—,” he leans down to whisper softly, “had my fucking head between your legs.” He straightens and looks over his shoulder before asking me, “You wouldn’t be oversharing with your mother, would you, Jules?”

I scoff and look to the side, laughing under my breath, like he just asked me if I smoked weed in my basement. I don’t even have a basement. I should probably get my mind off of drugs, too. “No! She caught me in a moment and is clairvoyant. I can’t believe she called you.”

My mom was always butting her head in where it wasn’t needed. Seriously. But I was happy she was there for me this morning. Routines. Right.

“I need you to go. No date.”

Brody ignores me, of course. Trigg is bellowing out from the kitchen table, a particularly overlong “Mom” that declares his need. Harper is collapsed at the island bar, tears streaming down her cheeks because she’s wasting away. Jet bounces around, swinging his towel as he spins in the air, knocking over sheets of paper and a precariously balanced book.

“Holy shhhh . . . shitake mushrooms. Harper, your mom’s feeding you, I promise. Trigg, let’s see what I can help you with. Jet . . . I have no idea what to do with you,” Brody says, wading into the storm. He heads for the iPod dock and changes the song from top forty music to classical in a second.

The kids pause to process his presence and then look to me. I shrug helplessly and head to the stove. Sauce done. Noodles done. I grab oven mitts and pull a slightly charred loaf of garlic bread from the oven.

Turning with bowls in both hands, I see that Jet’s mess has been cleaned up, the colander beside him at the table. The other kids are there, Trigg and Brody bent over a textbook and talking quietly while Harper’s eyes track me to the table with sustenance.

“Trigg, let’s put a pin in that for a second so that your sister doesn’t blow away in the wind.”

As Brody helps Trigg with his books, I dish and cut plates of spaghetti for the kids. Everyone is silent as they stuff their faces and I close my eyes at the sudden quiet.

“Do you pray now?” Brody asks quietly over the sound of the classical music softly playing.

“Yes, for my sanity. Every. Day.”

After that, it’s all passing plates, telling about our day, asking the kids what they did in school. I’m quiet, watching my babies interact with the man who has always had my heart. I study him, his face rapt as Jet describes the playground with big hand gestures and extra volume in his voice. Harper brushes her hair back from her shoulder and looks at Brody under her eyelashes. Brody never takes his eyes off of Jet, but lifts an arm to the back of her chair. She smiles down at her plate, her cheeks pink. My first crush is her first crush.

Trigg interrupts my thoughts. “Mom? You okay? You aren’t eating.”

I fill my lungs to bursting and pick up my fork, shooting a smile his way. “I’m fine, buddy. Tell me about the friends you made today.”

He shrugs and moves his food around on his plate. “Nobody, really.”

“No one was nice to you? I’m sure there has to be a pretty girl that caught your eye.”

His eyes shoot fire at me as he jumps up from his seat. “I said there was nobody, okay?!”

I feel my face flinch at the loud screech of the chair on hardwood and watch him stomp up the stairs before picking up my fork again. Everyone is frozen and looking to me. I take a breath and ask Harper what she thought of her teacher. I can feel Brody’s eyes on me after the kids go back to their food. Questioning me? I don’t know.

I tell the kids they can have popsicles on the porch after dinner and Brody gives them balls to throw for the dogs as the sun sets. I clear the table and do the dishes, Brody’s eyes following me around the room. I throw the sponge in the sink and turn to face him.

“What?!” I ask in exasperation.

He shrugs. Fucking men and their shrugs are just as bad as a woman’s. I lift my shoulders mockingly back at him.

“What does that mean?”

“I didn’t say anything, Jules. Chill out.”

I point to him and step closer. “You’re thinking it. You think I’m a bad mom? You think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“Jesus Christ. I don’t think you’re a bad mom, maybe a little nutty and prone to jumping to conclusions, yeah. But I’m not judging you for letting him storm off and slam doors.” He moves his eyes to where he places his hands on my shoulders and gives me a little shake. “I’m learning, babe.”

What? I look past him to process his words. Nope, still don’t get it. “What?”

“You know your kids. I’m still learning them. I’m learning you again. Don’t ever think I’m doubting you when I watch you. You should remember, I like to look at you.”

I sniff indignantly. “Stare.”

“Fuck yeah, stare. I would have had a tattoo of your pretty face on my arm a long time ago if I didn’t think I would walk in a circle all day just to look at it.”

A laugh bubbles to the surface and I can’t hold it in. “You’re such a dork.”

Brody smiles and then it slips as he puts his thumb on my bottom lip. “And you’re a goof.”

I scoff. “I’m perfect.”

“Yeah, I perfect mess.”

I push him playfully and he rocks back an inch, giving it to me, I know. If he didn’t want to move, I couldn’t make him. Then he holds my hands against his chest and I become aware of his heart racing. I look up into his hazel eyes that are swirling greens and golds and feel myself falling into the whirlpool that is J+B. But we haven’t been that, don’t even know how to be that, all of these years later. We aren’t teenagers anymore and need to do this right.

I pull my hands away, my rough skin scraping on his nice shirt on the way down his chest. I curl my fingers in and make fists, putting them on my hips. I will not think about how Maggie probably has satin skin. “Are you leaving?”

“Nah,” Brody says as he backs up toward the back door. “I’m going to play with the kids. You coming?”

I shake my head and gesture over my shoulder. “I need to see about this one now.”

He lifts his chin and watches me walk to the garage door.

“He went upstairs, babe.”

I turn to make sure he can see me when I roll my eyes at him. “I know that. He has my old room.”

Brody smirks, lines forming next to his eyes in amusement. “And since he’s just like you, he would figure out that the roof is perfect for sneaking out of the window.”

“How did you know he’s just like me?”

Brody bites his lip and tosses a tennis ball into the air before catching it. “I’m learning.”

I have a smile on my face as I open the door and see my boy sitting in the driver’s seat of his dad’s car listening to his iPod. Since the windows are down, I hoist myself up awkwardly and slide in, instead of opening a door.

“Mom! What the hell? You could have scratched my paint!” he yells, snatching his ear buds out of his ears.

“Language,” I say lazily.

“Sorry. But seriously, I know you’re trying to be cool or whatever, but you’re not and that could have put a dent in my car.”

I eye him and ask sarcastically, “A dent? Really?”

He lifts a hand as he talks, his eyes wide in his tanned face. “The paint at the very least.”

I slouch in the leather seat, putting my bare feet up on the dash. “So sorry, sir. I wouldn’t want to be rude, or show you any disrespect.” I look over at him. “I hate rude people. And I hate disrespect even more. Kinda like when a mother’s favorite son storms off in the middle of a meal, especially if there’s a guest. That really sticks it to them, don’t you think?”

Trigg looks down at his hands, wrapping and rewrapping the cord to his headphones around the iPod. “Yeah, yeah. I’m not your favorite son.”

“That’s not the point, little dude.”

“I get your point. I shouldn’t have blown up. I’m sorry.”

“Why did you?”

“I’m . . . This place is different.”

I put my hand on his head and sigh. “I know it’s hard making new friends. But they have to think you’re so cool for having been in Alaska.”

He give me a look that says he’s not impressed. “Mom, these people are rich. Their parents are like, famous and stuff. Alaska is nothing.”

I poke him gently in his arm. “Not true, sir. A lot of them are farm kids.”

“Yeah, I’m not one of those, either.”

“Okay, so you don’t know the planting seasons, but just wait until harvest. You’re going to be a pro!” I smile over at him, but his eyes are serious and his next question makes my heart split open.

“Mom? Lots of people have a mom or a dad, and not both. But nobody has one parent who died. What do I say?”

Oh my precious baby. I’m so sorry. I blink back my tears and pull his forehead to touch mine and whisper to him, “You tell them that your daddy died for this country, that he loved you more than the world and wanted to keep you safe. He was the bravest man in the world and no one will ever be like him again.”

Trigg reaches his little arms up to me and squeezes my neck as he cries. It doesn’t last nearly as long as I was prepared to hold him, and my arms don’t want to let him go when he pulls away.

“I love you, buddy.”

Trigg smiles with half of his mouth, causing a sharp pain in my chest when I see that glimpse of the man he’ll be one day. “Love you, too, Ma. Don’t we need to get inside with the others? Jet’s probably stuffing all of our underwear in the freezer by now.”

I pop the door handle and walk quickly over to the driver’s side, pushing him over the gearshift. I put the key in the ignition and smile slowly. “Nah. Brody’s babysitting. How about you and me go for a little spin?”

His beautiful eyes sparkle back at me as he bounces in the passenger seat, quickly reaching for his seat belt. “Yes!”

The engine turns over with a growl and I back it up until I’m beside Brody’s Bronco next to the other garage. It looks like they’ve started a little bonfire in the backyard. I rev the engine, causing Brody to jog over to the car and lean down on Trigg’s side.

“What’s up guys?” he asks, looking relaxed.

“We’re going to hot rod around if you’re cool to watch the kids.”

“When you say hot rod, you mean . . .”

“I mean, we’re going to break some of your fancy speed limits and leave marks on your pretty cobblestones,” I inform him before nodding to Trigg. His smile is about to split his face, it’s so wide as he presses play. I turn my wrist all the way around as I turn the volume up to blasting.

I am —of course— careful with my baby in the car, but we definitely break the speed limit, whooping when we pass a slow moving tractor on the deserted roads. Trigg takes videos with his ever-present camera. I make weird faces and dance like a loon for him, listening to him giggle until he’s coughing.