“Oooh.” Mason takes several steps back as if putting distance between himself and the scene of the crime. Smart kid. Not his mess. Mine.
“All right. WE can do this.” I bend and pick up the pieces. “First step is to get rid of the evidence. No evidence, no crime.”
The glass not only looks expensive but has a weight the cheap stuff doesn’t. But maybe, if there’s any luck in the world whatsoever, Inara won’t notice it’s gone. Not for three hundred and fifty or so more days.
Craiger shakes his head. “Can you not teach my son the best way to commit a crime?”
I snort. “Someone’s high and mighty today. Sorry, Dad.”
Craiger picks up Mason and shifts him back to the couch so he isn’t in the way while we clean up the tiny shards of the glass. “Is it dad-like to say that you shouldn’t have been having a pillow fight inside of the house?”
Dad-like. Hell, yeah. Definitely something a dad would say. Especially my own father. “Absolutely. It’s also crazy talk. Where the hell else are you going to have a pillow fight? There are bound to be casualties sooner or later. And what the hell do you mean, ‘you’? I didn’t throw that first pillow at myself.”
Craiger grins, strides into the kitchen, and comes back with a damp paper towel. “Sorry, I’m not taking the fall for this one. I’ve got a kid to think about.”
“How ‘Bear’ of you.” I ignore his laughter as he bends to wipe the hardwood to catch the slivers of glass I hadn’t been able to grab. Once all evidence of the vase has been wiped from existence, we make lunch and settle on the couch to watch the game. The Sox are playing the Yankees at Fenway and it’s a double-header. Unfortunately, before the first pitch, it becomes abundantly clear Mason has missed his nap. He’s cranky and grouching about everything from his too-tight shoes to the lack of cheese puffs in the house. So, we end up watching Pixar and Disney for almost two hours. I enjoy animated movies as much as the next guy, but if I have to sing along with one more princess, I’m going to chuck the remote at the flat screen. Thank God, Mason finally curls into my side and falls asleep right about the time the ice queen is letting it go, and we can flip the channel to catch the last few innings of the game.
An unconscious Mason is a nice respite and I’m unwilling to jeopardize our temporary peace. Craiger moves in increments to grab the remote from the coffee table. We’re men who’ve spent the afternoon drinking our beer to singing fish and a dancing snowman. We need to fuel our testosterone with swinging bats and balls hit deep to right center. But he bypasses ESPN for Bravo.
“This is my shit,” I murmur in approval, nodding as the geniuses from Queer Eye teach some loser about the importance of accessorizing.
Craiger settles back on the couch and takes a swig of his beer. “Don’t know if I like the reboot as much as the original.”
We sit in silence for a while and I’m on the verge of nodding off myself when Craiger’s voice drags me back to full consciousness. “What do you think of Graves?”
My jaw clenches. Trevor Graves is the newest member of our unit. He’s also a glaring reminder of the man we’d lost during our last deployment. “Too quiet. Takes Jim’s shit too much. Needs to give it back. Otherwise, he does his job, so I can’t really complain.”
Knox, Jim, Craiger, Bear, and I were brothers. Knox dying was hard on all of us, but Jim took it the worst. The two had grown up together. Not to mention after a falling out with Jim, Knox had volunteered to extend his deployment while the rest of us went home. Jim still blames himself and deflects onto Graves. All I could do was try to keep the team running smoothly. All of us promised Taya we would get Jim back home to her, and so long as his attitude didn’t make me a liar, he was welcome to it.
Craiger swirls the remaining beer in his bottle, staring as the liquid inside sloshes from side to side. “Speaking of awkward partnerships...”
I stare at the television screen with laser focus. Unfortunately, my action isn’t very effective anymore thanks to the abrupt presence of commercials. One can only look interested in animated bears wiping their asses badly for so long. So, I slump, my chin touching my chest, and exhale long and hard. “Not sure I can make it through.”
Craiger reaches across the couch and squeezes my shoulder, his smile fading around the edges. “Don’t really have much of a choice. Besides, I’d rather have your ugly mug watching my back any day of the week, and I don’t think Jim’s blood pressure can handle another new face.”
I rub a hand over my scalp. “Maybe if there’s a mission and we are gone long, I could do it. But I’m out of my element. I don’t do long-term and I think that may be what Inara wants. Not to mention all the added complications with her being tied to our group. Why couldn’t it have been some stranger?”
Craiger quirks an eyebrow. “In other words, you care for her and don’t want to hurt her.”
I frown. Of course I do. She’s one of us. If only Jim or Taya had mentioned Inara was considering the program, things might have been different. Maybe that would’ve been enough to stop me from signing up.
I glance down at Mason and brush his hair back from his forehead. He started snoring a few minutes ago, and now he’s drooling on my forearm. “How do you and Lisa do it? You two get along so well for being divorced.”
“We have a common goal, for one.” Craiger nods in Mason’s direction. He finishes off his beer and leans forward to place the empty bottle on the coffee table. “Bit of advice? Stop breaking her shit.”
The sound of a lock turning and the front door opening reaches my ears and I look over my shoulder as Inara walks inside. She smiles and waves at Craiger, who with careful exaggeration points to Mason and puts his finger against his lips.
Her eyes widen and she comes into the living room instead of heading back to her bedroom. When she circles the couch and finds Mason curled up between us, her expression softens. Holy shit. That look. Those eyes. I’ve never seen Inara so disarmed. The last time I’d caught even a hint of vulnerability had been at the hospital with Taya.
The way Inara focuses on Mason, the way the stern lines around her mouth disappear, giving way to a new and unexplored softness around her lips, hits me low and hard in the gut. It isn’t lust, but something softer. Kinder. An affection that rises from the seeds of witnessing someone I care for unfurling in front of me. The image of Inara and I standing together, gazing down in that same adoring way at our little boy tucked into bed flashes in my mind, and my heart turns to mush.
I freeze, my face dampening with sweat.
Hold up. Our little boy? What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t be picturing children with Inara. At the end of the year, when the program committee asks if I want an annulment, I’m out. No strings. No complications. No bringing kids into this world who will grow up full of anxiety I won’t come home one day. Or suffer when they bury me because of a mission gone wrong. I won’t be responsible for fathering a child only to have them suffer the way I did when my mom died.
I swipe the moisture off my forehead. No, definitely no kids. After the year is up, I plan to walk away as free of responsibilities as I was when I signed up. That’s the best thing for both of us.
“Are you guys watching the Oprah Network?” Inara snorts slightly and to my surprise, squeezes onto the couch beside me. She could have taken the loveseat or sat next to Craiger. Hell, she could’ve ignored all of us and continued to her room. And while I put up my shields against the warmth of her skin against mine, there’s no shield, no defense whatsoever, that blocks the scent of her.