Page 56 of More Than Words

As we dressed, I didn’t know what to say to him. I hadn’t expected him to make me feel something other than loathing. But now Leila’s comments about him were running through my head. What if he would be okay with helping me get pregnant? And even though I tried to fight it, my last thought as he kissed me softly before he helped me pull my skirt into place was…

What if he also wanted to help me raise it?

ADRIAN

Boston

I may have taunted Isobel with the idea that she’d be the one who couldn’t stop thinking about me, but it was the other way around. A fat cherub had shot me in the ass when we were at that conference over Valentine’s Day, and I was a total goner now that I’d been inside her.

My fascination that started years ago had morphed into a full-blown obsession with one ten-minute tryst in the copy room. The same room I’d met her in, and now could never step foot inside without getting a raging erection.

She’d canceled our dinner plans that night; Sloane calling her in for a last-minute meeting at the end of the day. But I hoped she wasn’t using it as an excuse to avoid me again. Isobel seemed to scare easily, but I hoped my transparent pursuit of her made it clear I wasn’t trying to string her along.

I lingered in the office long after Sam left, scanning over the pages he and Kristine had submitted for final approval. Part of me kept hoping Isobel would find me after her meeting, but as 6:30 rolled around, I knew I needed to get home.

I concentrated on the slow-moving traffic the entire drive through downtown, but the further I distanced myself, the more my mind kept wandering. How was Isobel getting home after work? Would she be vulnerable waiting for her ride when the building had emptied for the day? Did Sloane know she didn’t have a car?

As I parked down the block from Ma’s house, my fingers itched to text her, but I wasn’t sure what the boundaries were. Did she want me to text her? Should I pretend something inside me wasn’t fundamentally changed after what happened this afternoon? Was I acting like a pathetic douche?

I didn’t have a fucking clue what the answers were to the first two, but I was thinking a resounding yes on the third one.

A thump on the passenger side window startled me and I glared at the person standing on the sidewalk. Until they crouched down, and my brother’s amused grin greeted me.

“Get outta the car, you fancy fuckah’.”

He was so eloquent. And to think people often couldn’t tell us apart when we were younger. Half a dozen words out of his mouth and it was never hard to guess.

I shoved my phone into my pocket and climbed out, locking the car before I joined him on the cracked sidewalk. “Such a lovely greeting. I’m never disappointed by your hospitality, asshat.”

“Pot meets the fuckin’ kettle. Pops is in fine form today. We betta get back in there before Ma loses her shit.”

Fuck.

“How long this time?”

Sometimes his lucid moments would last days, but on his bad days, he was a little unpredictable. He’d been more melancholic lately, especially when we mentioned grandma, but Ma took the brunt of it on the days when he was agitated.

“Past few days,” he replied with a shrug, looking more concerned than I’d have liked to see. If Hutch was rattled, something was wrong. “I got tha tickets for this weekend from Patty down the block. I’m hopin’ that’ll pull him outta this funk.”

“It’s not just a funk, Hutch. Eventually, this is what he’s going to be like all the time. Do we need to talk with Ma about that assisted living facility again?”

He sighed, clenching his jaw and running his palm down his bushy beard. “Yah think I don’t know that, Ad. I live here with him every day. But Ma won’t consider it. He took us in when he didn’t have to and made sure we all had a roof over our heads. She’s not gonna leave him in a place like that.”

He was right. I knew he was. And I hated thinking that it might be the best place for him, but taking in your son’s young widow and your grandsons was a little bit different than advanced dementia and a heart condition. And while I knew she could handle the medical stuff, she also worked crazy hours. Once Hutch decided what he wanted to do now that he was retired from the military for good, there wouldn’t be someone home all day to help keep our ornery grandfather in line.

“Just think about it. We can convince her if it gets to that point. And you know I’ll help find the best place.”

“We don’t need your money,” Hutch sighed, and I knew they didn’t. Pop’s pension and Medicare should cover most of it, but my money could make sure he was comfortable. I’d take a demotion and work remotely until we could find him somewhere that wasn’t a shithole. Despite Isobel’s insistence that I didn’t, I did have a heart. And loved my Pops something fierce. He’d protected our family without question when we needed it, and I’d make sure he had whatever he needed until his last fucking breath.

“Just know the offer is there if he needs it.” I’d do anything for my family. And it’s not like I lived an extravagant lifestyle. Other than half a dozen expensive suits and my car, I lived well within my salary.

“Noted,” he responded, his voice gruff. “Anyway. Pen has a conflict with her mom this weekend. Anyone yah want to invite to fill the empty seat?”

I sighed, knowing we’d never hear the end of it if Pat found out we didn’t fill all four seats for the game. He and Pops had gone in together before we’d even been born to get 4 season tickets to the Sox, and they had yet to spend a game empty. If neither of our families were using them, there were plenty of people in the neighborhood who’d jump at the chance to buy them from us.

“Gimme an hour and I’ll let you know. I think I might have someone from the office who’d be down to fill the spare seat.”

“I thought your intern was into lacrosse or some shit.”

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