Page 2 of A Very Un-Shakespeare Romance
Why not call or text him? He knew she’d caught her worthless husband, Scotty, cheating with one of her nail salon technicians a few days ago and thrown him out of the house, saying they were done. His brother Danny had spread the news after Tara had stormed into O’Connor’s wanting a fully loaded Rueben and a Cosmo.
Why were Tara’s two girls at some gym way up in Beacon Hill? Tara didn’t belong to a gym as far as he knew, and neither did Scotty. Certainly they didn’t hang out in that chichi neighborhood. And what was with the bit about not telling anyone or being followed? Had Scotty hired an investigator for divorce proceedings?
Shit. Divorces sucked. He’d left his cousin a voicemail the moment he’d heard about the O’Connor’s incident, saying he was sorry Scotty was such a worthless jerk and asking if she needed anything. Her parents had both passed and she was an only child, so Robbie felt a sort of responsibility toward her. She was almost like another sibling to him and his brothers and sister. But he hadn’t worried too much when he hadn’t heard back from Tara. He’d figured she had her hands full. Obviously, she did. But with what?
He eyed his gun. He didn’t love the idea of picking up kids while he had his service revolver. Technically, he was on duty, however, so he was required to be armed. Shrugging out of his jacket, he refastened his shoulder holster and tugged the garment back on, grabbing his cell phone. He was out the door moments later, walking past Patty with a brief wave. Finding a taxi was always challenging, but he walked up the road until he hit a main intersection and hailed one there.
The ride was over twenty minutes with lunch-hour traffic, giving him time to stew and put extra wrinkles in his pants as he gripped his knees. Tara was a smart, independent woman who handled her own shit like the rest of the O’Connors. Something was wrong. Bad wrong. His gut was flip-flopping like a largemouth bass hooked at Hammond Pond. He was sweating by the time the cab dropped him off in front of the gym, but he was ready for anything. Tara could count on him. She’d always known that. He’d made her that promise when he’d held her after arriving with the police to inform her of the tragic car accident that killed her parents.
The electric double doors of the gym whooshed open as he approached, the blast of the air-conditioning welcome. He approached reception with his best attempt at a smile.
“Hello, I’m Robbie O’Connor.” He masked a shaky breath. “I’m here to pick up Reagan and Cassidy.”
“Oh, Mr. O’Connor.” The woman whose gold nameplate read Brenda gave him a blooming smile. “I’m so glad you made it. Your wife was so worried.”
Wife?He compressed a shudder. “Do you need to see my ID?” he asked, already reaching into his back pocket.
Brenda rolled her eyes. “Yes, I do even though your wife showed me your photo. She’s never left the kids with us before, so she was a little nervous. Then her boss made it worse when he called her back to work only ten minutes after she’d started her workout. What a jerk. Poor thing was beside herself having to leave them here for longer and asking you to take off work early to pick them up. I felt so bad for her.”
He heard this story with more than a little shock. His cousin didn’t have a boss; she was the boss, of three nail salons. The lies were clearly necessary in Tara’s mind, but why? He made himself nod as he quickly flashed his ID and then signed the kids out, not feeling exactly comfortable with being on record for something he didn’t yet understand. He was the guy who put liars away when they took things too far. Impersonating a child’s father to remove them from gym daycare was skirting the line, but he knew Tara must have a damn good reason.
“I’ll just call and have your kids come out since you don’t know where the daycare is,” Brenda said helpfully.
Moments later, he heard“Daddy!”echo throughout reception.
Robbie’s muscles locked hard. The girls were in on it? He swung his head to the right as a young girl ran into him and wrapped her little arms around his leg, gripping it with all her strength.
“Da-da,” another childlike voice sounded as a soft lump knocked into his other side, tiny fingers tickling his kneecap.
He hoped the gym attendant hadn’t seen his ripple of shock as he automatically put his hands on the girls’ heads. What the hell was going on? The smells of workout sweat and pool chlorine kicked up his mounting nausea. Tara had said more information would be at the gym. It had better be. Because now he was super freaked. And he dealt with life-and-death situations daily.
This was family, though, and that made the stakes so much higher.
“Hey, Cassidy and Reagan,” he managed to say through a dry mouth as he looked down at the little girls.
Big matching blue eyes in unsmiling china-doll faces filled his vision. He knew Tara’s girls, of course. But man, had they grown since he’d seen them at the annual O’Connor July Fourth BBQ over a month ago. Reagan looked inches taller. Was that possible for a six-year-old? And Cassidy’s short, curly hair was a darker brown. He tried to smile despite the tension in his jaw. This had to be weird for them too, right?
Cassidy gave him a drool-drenched grin as she clutched the girliest teddy bear in history, decked out in a pink gingham dress with a huge matching bow between her fuzzy white ears. Miss Rosie, if his memory served.
He studied the girls for any signs of further distress as he would on a 911 domestic call. They both had bright bows in their hair, which added to the girly ensembles of flowery sundresses and glittering sandals, Reagan’s open-toed and Cassidy’s closed. They were dressed just like Tara, who loved her bright colors and bling. The kids didn’t have any bruises, thank God. Not even a scratch. He tried to suck in some oxygen in relief, but he caught the worry in their eyes. You could always tell what someone was really feeling by looking there.
This had to be about their father. Robbie hadn’t liked Scotty Flanagan from the time they’d shared a playground at St. Stephens Catholic School. He was a weak excuse for a man, but Tara had fallen for him and said he both supported and helped her business aspirations, so Robbie had kept his lips zipped and been pleasant to him at family events.
If Scotty had done something to hurt Tara and her babies, as she called them, they were going to have one hell of a serious talk.
“Hi,”Cassidy drew out, hugging his leg harder. He felt something wet touch his knee through his pants and cringed. She was a drool factory, which is why her nickname was Drool Baby while her sister’s was Miss Pixie.
“Mr. O’Connor, I’ll just grab the diaper bag. Your wife said to make sure you didn’t forget it since it’s not your fave.”
Diaper bag?His balls shriveled, and he immediately looked down at Cassidy. Yeah, she had the puffy outline under her dress that indicated she was still in diapers. His brain shorted. Man, he hadn’t changed a diaper since Kathleen was little, and it wasn’t something he missed. Then he realized the bag might contain the information his cousin had mentioned was waiting for him, and his palms started to sweat again.
“Thanks, Brenda. I’ll just wait here with the girls.”
Kneeling to their level as the woman took off, he laid a hand on Reagan’s shoulder. Cassidy cuddled into his body with Miss Rosie and laid her head against his chest, smelling of sour orange juice she must have spilled on her dress. “You guys okay?”
Reagan bit her lip but bravely nodded. “Mom said you need to read her letter.”
“Is it in the diaper bag?”
