Chapter Three

 

“This is a bad idea.”

Solomon watched Seamus kiss his daughter Penny and whisper in her ear, sending her into a fit of giggles before she nodded and ran outside to join her brothers in the backyard. Even though he had a feeling the laughter was at his expense, he wished he could join her. At this point, he’d even wear one of her tiaras. She’d love that.

You’ve entered the bargaining stage. Not a good sign.

“Bell, tell Solomon that ties are not a bad idea. Normal people dress up a little when they go over to a stranger’s house for a party. It happens all the time. At least I let you keep the jeans.”

“Let me?” Solomon looked down at the skewed tie and cursed as he brushed back the hair that fell forward to obscure his vision. “I should have gotten this cut today.”

“I have rubber bands. Most of them are pink, but I have them.”

He felt like snarling. “That would be perfect. An unemployed ex-cop in borrowed clothes with a pink ribbon in his hair is exactly the kind of man you’d invite to a family dinner.”

He still wasn’t sure why Bronte Wayne had extended the invitation. He remembered them talking before Seamus came to pick him up. Well, she listened. He was pretty sure he’d done most of the talking, though he couldn’t remember exactly what was said.

He had a feeling it was mostly about Hugo.

By the time he was walking out the doors Bronte had made him promise he’d come to her parents’ house for Hugo’s birthday dinner the next day. She’d even given Seamus the information so he wouldn’t forget.

He got the sense she was trying to give him the opportunity to have the conversation with Hugo her brother had been avoiding. Or maybe she just felt sorry for him because he’d been so pathetic.

He would feel better about tonight if he knew her motives.

His cousin’s husband Bellamy appeared behind Seamus, wrapping his arms around him while eyeing Solomon’s new look. “It’s not long enough for a good braid, you’re too pink to wear pink, and I vote no on the haircut. You look hot like this. Nothing like you used to.”

Seamus grinned and even Solomon found himself fighting off a smile. “I won’t ask you to expand on that, buddy. A man can only take so many compliments in one day.”

Bellamy shrugged one shoulder. “It was a compliment. And you don’t need to be nervous about the Waynes. They’re good people. You’ll be fine.”

Solomon crossed his arms, wincing when the hard cast knocked him in the chest. “If they expect me to talk about current events or tell them about my future prospects, they might be sorry they invited me.”

“Bronte invited you,” Seamus reminded him. “And if anything comes up that you aren’t comfortable with, change the subject and talk about my kids. Cassandra thinks they’re all angels. Little does she know.”

“Who’s Cassandra?”

“Didn’t you used to investigate things for a living? Cassandra is Hugo’s mother. If this plan of yours is going to work, you have to get in with the family. Trust me. I speak from experience.”

As he listened to Bellamy he had a vague recollection of a beautiful woman in yellow as well as an older man with dimples and a pair of round, old-fashioned glasses perched on his nose. He’d seen them at Hugo’s graduation, when he’d gone to congratulate James. “I don’t have a plan, beyond not embarrassing myself. Who said I had a plan?”

“How drugged up were you yesterday?” Seamus was squinting in confusion. “You asked us to help you get Hugo back.”

“No, I didn’t.” Solomon would have remembered that. 

“That’s why we’re giving you a pep talk and dressing you like a grownup—which I used to think you knew how to do before I realized you cheated with your uniform. That’s why you accepted his sister’s invitation. Solomon Finn is going a-wooing.”

“A-whating?” Son of a bitch. “I’m going to kill William for leaving me there to make a fool of myself.”

And he didn’t care how much his arm ached, those pain meds were going in the trash. He’d take physical discomfort over saying too much any day of the week.

“You already accepted his apology when he called a few hours ago.”

He avoided Bellamy’s gaze. “I felt bad for the kid. James pulled him over and gave him hell for an hour.” He didn’t need to ask for more details. William’s outrage was enough, and his brother wasn’t known for being subtle.

“He said he’d gotten the feeling you wanted privacy. Did you tell him about Hugo?”

“Who the hell knows? Apparently I told everyone who’d listen anything they wanted to know.”

And he’d made Hugo uncomfortable.

I want to kiss you.

“Maybe I should stay home.”

“You can’t back out now.” Bellamy walked over to straighten Solomon’s tie. “You may not have meant to share that much, but I’m glad you did. Your cousin has been worried about you.”

He looked to Seamus for confirmation. “Why?”

“We all are, Younger. Rory most of all. You two have gotten a lot closer this year, and he was the first to notice you’d started closing off again. What he doesn’t know is why.” Seamus held up his hand before he could ask. “And before you ask, I haven’t told anyone but Bellamy how you feel about Thoreau’s brother. You know that.”

Seamus had been his only connection to Hugo via Thoreau, and he’d noticed how often Solomon managed to work questions about him into their conversations. There’d been no way to avoid sharing, thought he hadn’t told him everything. He had to admit it was nice to have someone to talk to. He and Seamus had always been two peas in a responsible, repressed pod, so he understood what Solomon was going through better than most.

The only difference was Seamus had always had his kids and his parents to support him and keep him grounded. And now Bellamy.

“I’ll talk to Rory tomorrow.”

“But will you talk to Hugo?”

The couple stared at him expectantly. “He isn’t going to be happy I’m there, Seamus. He looked like he would rather be doing anything else than standing in that hospital room.”

He remembered that clearly. Hugo had been jumpy and tense. It was out of character for the man he remembered. He was always confident and compassionate. Always comfortable around everyone.

And that said more about what Solomon had put him through than words ever could. Did he have the right to keep pushing his way in like this?

“You’ve lost your confidence,” Bellamy said, shaking his head. “Chief Finn would pull any string and cross any line—right or wrong—to help his family.”

“I’m not that man anymore.” He hadn’t been for a while. “And my family is fine.”

“That’s the problem. It’s about you now, not the people you watch over so vigilantly. But in case you’ve forgotten, you’re a Finn too. Or do you think you’re the only one in your family who doesn’t get to be happy?”

No. That was his father. “What if he’s really moved on and I’m pushing for something he doesn’t want anymore? I care about him too much to be the reason he’s unhappy.”

Maybe that was why he wasn’t looking forward to tonight. If Hugo sent him away, it would be for the last time and he knew it. Anything less and he’d be heading toward stalker territory.

“Thoreau has mentioned more than once that his brother hasn’t been happy in a while, so you can’t use that as an excuse.”

Seamus took his hand and walked him over to the mirror in the foyer. “Look at that man. That man can make him happy again. He breaks rules and does whatever he needs to do to get what he wants. If Hugo Wayne thinks he’s moved on… That man can change his mind.”

Bellamy started chuckling and didn’t stop until Seamus sent him a glare. “What? I didn’t have time to call everyone in for a big Finn huddle. And I can do interventions as well as anyone else in this family.”

“No, keep going. I love it. I’m calling it your This Man speech. If I get the camera will you do it again? We can show it to Jake before he picks up his prom date next year.”

Solomon studied himself while the two men bickered. His hair was out of control and he could probably use a shave, but he’d looked worse. The dark blue shirt had been rolled up to his elbows because of his cast, and the grey tie had silver threads running through it, making it look as expensive as it probably was. He was dressed like a man about to go out to a nice dinner.

Or on a date.

His mouth went dry and he watched his reflection turn a light shade of green.

“Hey, guys? This man is embarrassed to admit it, but he’s never been on a date before, let alone met anyone’s parents.” He was aiming for conversational, but the room got so quiet he might as well have been shouting. “I might need a few pointers before I puke in your fancy foyer.”

Bellamy chewed on his lip thoughtfully, glancing over at Seamus. “I don’t think he’s kidding.”

“Of course he is.” Seamus looked as worried as he sounded. “He was popular. I remember him being popular. He went to all the big dances and… He definitely dated.”

Solomon shrugged as he tried to soothe his nerves. “Those weren’t dates. They were large groups of teenagers wearing rented tuxes, driving in rented limos and getting drunk. No social skills or a-wooing required. Especially if you were a member of the football team. I can’t remember even trying to get to second base, for all the obvious reasons. People just assumed I had, so I let them.”

“You had me fooled.” Seamus whistled through his teeth. “You never bragged about sex, but honestly I thought it was because you were getting so much of it.” He laughed, shaking his head. “But you didn’t, I mean, when did you—?

Solomon stared at him until he stopped making an obscene gesture with his hands. “Sorry. None of our business.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bellamy said unapologetically. “I’d like to know.”

He ran his damp palm through his hair again. “It’s no big deal. I skipped out halfway through senior prom and took a drive. Right after I hit the state line there was a bar. In that bar, I drank until I got up the nerve to talk to the bartender, who happened to have a camper behind the building.” He couldn’t look in the mirror again. “Not exactly a romance, I know. But it got the job done.”

“Shit.” Seamus looked over at Bellamy. “He’s not kidding. He’s never been on a date.”

“No time to waste then.” Bellamy rubbed his hands together. “Let’s make some coffee, because this is going to take a little longer than it did to clean him up. Should we call in reinforcements?”

At Solomon’s growl Bellamy winked. “No reinforcements. Got it. If you want to learn how to do it right, you go to the masters. And I’m already here, so you’re in good hands.”

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

It’s only a birthday party for the man who keeps avoiding you. Followed by a little soul baring with the potential of life-shattering rejection. You can handle that, can’t you?

With his track record the odds weren’t exactly in his favor.

 

***

 

Thanking the driver, Solomon stepped onto the walkway holding a bag with a bottle of wine and Hugo’s present inside. He wasn’t sure what to do with the flowers, so he tucked them in there as well, crushing a few petals in his haste.

The cast was already causing problems.

He kept his pace slow, checking out the manicured lawns and attractive homes on either side of the Wayne house. It was a newer neighborhood compared to his, but it had a nice, family feel to it. He could hear children’s laughter and he noticed that a few people had gotten an early start on decorating for the holiday.

He could imagine Hugo growing up here. Everything about it made him feel welcome.

Until he knocked on the door.

After his introduction and the first three minutes of silence that followed, he wondered why his cousin hadn’t prepared him for this possibility. Seamus was the father of some fairly precocious children, but he’d never experienced anything like it before.

This young man—who looked like he might be ten or eleven, at most—would break lesser men if Solomon set him loose in the interrogation room. All he’d have to do was stare at them the way he was staring right now, with the perfect combination of suspicion and apathy.

They’d spill all their secrets. Possibly cry.

A younger boy slipped under “The Interrogator’s” arm and joined the staring competition. Luckily, he didn’t feel the need to add to the silent treatment. “Are you here for the party?”

“I am,” Solomon said, relieved. “I was invited.”

Nothing. “By Bronte. Is she here?”

The older boy finally blinked and shook his head, his smirk revealing a telling set of dimples. “There’s no party here. You must be at the wrong house.”

Before he could respond, the younger boy did it for him. “You can’t lie to Thor, Lang. Aunt Bronte said someone was coming for the birthday party.”

“She meant Uncle Thor, not Avenger Thor, Barry.”

“She told Daddy he had long hair. Uncle Thor doesn’t have hardly any hair, and he’s already here.”

Solomon smiled. “I think she meant me too, Barry. My name is Solomon, so you can ask her if you want. She invited me to Hugo’s party yesterday, when I was getting this put on.” He wiggled the fingers poking out of his cast, drawing the injury to their attention. “You should have seen my arm before they wrapped it up. It was just hanging there like all the bones had been ripped out.”

“Eww,” they said together, their eyes glowing with interest.

“What happened to it?” Lang asked, still making no move to let him in. “And why isn’t it signed yet? Don’t you have any friends?”

“Did you drop your hammer on it?” The little one added hopefully.

“No hammer. And it is signed.” He shifted to show them the inside of his arm where Penny had drawn a pink heart and her name. “Only one at the moment, but maybe somebody inside could help with that. I broke it when my shower exploded and threw me across the room.”

Yeah, now they were interested, Solomon thought with satisfaction. He had five younger brothers worth of experience at this. He should have thought of it before. Anything gross or containing explosions was always fascinating at that age.

“It blew up?”

“How’s a shower just explode?”

A woman’s voice drifted toward them, moving closer in the dimly lit entryway. “Why are you answering the door, Langston? Who are you talk…Oh.” A woman in her twenties, wearing a red wrap-around dress that tied at her hip, blinked up at him with a pleased smile. She was stunning. And the warmth in her light brown eyes reminded him of Hugo. She had to be one of his sisters.

“Solomon Finn, I hardly recognized you.” She patted the two boys on their heads and shook her own. “Why are you giving Mr. Finn a hard time? Aunt Bronte told you he was coming, and you know he used to work with your Uncle Hugo.”

“Thor’s related to Penny and Wes? Little Sean too?” Barry asked, eyeing him with a new level of respect.

“That’s right, and Jake. So why don’t we let the poor man in?”

Lang’s face transformed in an instant, leaving a handsome, smiling young man and no evidence that The Interrogator had ever been there.

This one could run the world, he thought with silent admiration.

“Sorry, Mr. Finn. Come on, Barry.” He grabbed his brother’s hand and disappeared into the house as the woman stood back to wave him in.

“Thank you. I had no idea my cousin’s children were the references I needed to get through the door.” He’d have to remember to thank them.

Her laugh was lovely, almost musical as she took the bag he’d been holding and slipped her arm through his. “Don’t get a complex. Lang is exactly like my brother Emerson was at his age. You should have seen him when I started dating. You’d think they were guarding Fort Knox the way they act around strangers.”

“They’re protective and they have good instincts. Nothing wrong with that.”

Her smile grew and she squeezed his arm. “I’m Austen, by the way. And you’re very polite. Most of the family is gathered in the kitchen, but I’ll be giving you the grand tour while I find out what you use to get your hair looking that good.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to the compliment. The truth was, he never paid much attention, usually buying whatever was on sale. He studied the tight, silky, shoulder-length curls she kept off her forehead with a scarf that matched her outfit.

“I would ask you the same question, but Hugo already told me what you do for a living.”

Yesterday. It made him think about how many details he still didn’t know.

“There’s no better marketing team than family,” she said with a grin. “That’s my motto.”

“I wonder if you think that soap he uses might work for me. The one that smells like apples?”

She looked up at him and bit the corner of her still curving lips. “I’m afraid he loved it so much I only make it for him now. But I’m glad to hear that you approve. If you’re willing, I’d love to try a few products I’m working on out on you sometime.”

His smile was so broad his face ached from it. “Anytime.”

“Oh my,” she said softly. “I can see it now. You should smile more often, Solomon.”

What did she see? He looked around uncomfortably. “You were going to give me a tour?”

“I am. Starting now.”

His father’s house was small but serviceable, with all the necessary furniture but no signs of life. No sense that any family lived there at all, let alone seven growing boys.

The Wayne’s place was different. It was a home. There was proof in every corner and on every wall that life happened here. That there were people who loved well and laughed often…and read excessively, if the books left open on the arms of fat, worn leather chairs and filling every shelf in sight was any indication. It made sense, with Hugo’s father being an English lit professor.

Austen guided him down a hallway where the walls were covered in framed pictures of the family, and Solomon couldn’t stop staring.

They weren’t the usual images he’d seen on the walls in other homes with children. There were no awkward eighth grade school pictures or formal graduation shots to be found. These were professionally done group photos with the Waynes in poses varying from amusing to artistic. They wore costumes, had props, and from the sheer number of them, he would guess it was an annual event.

He’d never seen anything like it, but he had a feeling a few of the newer members of his family would be all for making it another Finn tradition if given the chance.

He must have made a noise, because Austen patted his arm and chuckled. “Crazy, I know. It started as a joke. We’d agreed to get a family portrait, but no one had any desire to sit like a generic bump on a log at one of those places in the mall. Instead we went all out and had a blast. Now there are email chains filled with heated discussions on each potential theme. We’ve done everything from recreating works of art to favorite television shows, and the only constant is our father finding an excuse to hold a book in every frame. He says no one would recognize him without one.”

He smiled in acknowledgment, his throat oddly tight. “These are great.”

His eyes were drawn to Hugo over and over again. Even in photographs, the sheer presence of him was captivating. “You have a beautiful family.”

“We do what we can. Come on, handsome, I’ve monopolized you long enough. Now that we’ve dipped your toe into the waters of Wayne, let’s go to the kitchen and jump right in.”

He hesitated and she squeezed his arm again, her expression kind. “Don’t worry, Solomon. Bronte, Thoreau and I are all in your corner.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re willing to give you the opportunity to make my brother smile and mean it again.” She stopped him before they got any closer to the sound of laughter and clattering dishes.

“I can see you trying, and I’m here for you, but I also believe that you did something that hurt him last year. Do it again and we’ll be having a very different conversation.”

“I understand.” Instead of scaring him off, the warning gave him more reason to hope. To believe that they thought Hugo had missed him at all made him feel better than he had in months.

“Anyone else on my side?” he joked weakly. “I could use all the help I can get.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Not at the moment, I’m afraid, but the night is young. Bring your A game, Chief. We’ll see what we can do after that.”

The first thing he noticed when they rounded the corner of the crowded kitchen was that Hugo wasn’t in it.

“Mama, look who brought you wine and flowers,” Bronte said, coming up to him with a wink while taking the bag out of Austen’s hand. “Did you find the leprechaun?”

“Yes, and he’s been appropriately punished. No gold for a week.”

“He needs to be punched for a week,” she muttered, turning back to the counter. “Everybody, Solomon Finn is here to celebrate Hugo’s birthday. Be nice.”

Thoreau, who was in the middle of stealing a cookie that was still on the cooling rack, lifted his hand in greeting. “Seamus told me you were coming.”

It was nice to see someone he knew. On the other hand… “He did? That was nice and invasive of him.”

Thoreau shrugged. “He’s a dad. Anyway, I got a text to be on the lookout, but you took your time and the smell of baked goods distracted me.”

Austen snatched the cookie out of his hand. “He was delayed due to the guards at the gate, but he got in anyway, no thanks to you. And he passed my test with flying colors, in case we’re keeping score.”

Shit. Were they keeping score?

Thoreau’s embarrassed groan reminded him of his brother Wyatt. “You showed him the wall? Already?”

“Of course she did.” A tall man with glasses, a goatee and a burgundy sweater stood up from the table and held out his hand. “I’m Emerson. My sons told me we had company.”

“White Thor,” Bronte said chuckling as she put the flowers in a crystal vase on the counter. “That’s how they came in describing him. According to the boys, we have two Thors in the house now.”

Thoreau choked on the cookie he’d just bitten into, laughing with her. “Welcome to the club.”

Solomon wanted to tug on his collar, but that might make how nervous he was too obvious. “Proud to join you. And nice to meet you Emerson.”

White Thor. He definitely should have gotten his hair cut.

When he stepped away from the handshake, an older woman was standing in front of him, wiping her hands on a hand towel decorated with pumpkins and dinosaurs. He smiled, remembering Bronte’s explanation for her nickname.

Cassandra Wayne was smaller in stature than most of her children, looking like a slightly older version of Bronte. Honestly, she looked too young to have children in their forties, but from her expression there was no denying she was a natural nurturer. He already felt welcome. Like he’d known her all his life. It was a gift her son possessed, and one he’d always envied.

“It’s good to finally have you over, Solomon. We’ve been hearing about you for years now, but Hugo always said you were too busy taking care of your own family to make it to a meal.”

He’d never actually been invited, but he wouldn’t say that out loud. “I’m not as busy as I used to be, and it smells so good in here, if you invite me again I already know I’ll yes.” And then, because he couldn’t help himself, “Hopefully you heard good things about me.”

“All good things, Solomon. He really admired the strides you were making in the community before he decided nursing was his true calling. We all did.”

He took her hand and she gripped his warmly, without hesitation. “He was the one with all the ideas and people skills,” he confided as sincerely as he could. “He left impossible shoes to fill.”

Cassandra’s smile was like a spotlight shining directly on his soul.

He heard Thoreau’s, “Nailed it.” Followed by Austen’s pleased chuckle.

Another test?

Just when he was starting to relax.

“Hush,” Cassandra said without looking behind her. “Sit down, Solomon. Emerson get up and give him your chair, he was just in the emergency room yesterday. Would you like something to drink?”

For the next few minutes he was introduced to most of the family, all of them named after well-known authors. Bronte, Austen, Emerson, Thoreau… Shelley was the third and youngest of the daughters, with several long, pink braids woven into her dark hair and a cellphone seemingly attached to her hand.

Emerson’s sons—he was divorced, with shared custody, according to Cassandra—were also named after authors. Lang and Barry, or Langston and Barack.

“After the forty-fourth President,” Barry said, having wandered into the kitchen with a handful of brightly colored markers, his eyes glued to Solomon’s cast.

“Who is also a fine writer,” Emerson added, an amused smile finally lighting his serious expression when Solomon laid his arm out on the table so the six-year-old could go to town.

He glanced around the room again, wondering where the guest of honor was. Cassandra handed a mixing bowl to Bronte and caught his eye, reading his mind. “Hugo is in the basement with my husband, Foster, his brother Robert and one of Robert’s friends from work. They were trying to get to the boxes where we keep our holiday decorations before dinner, but one of Thor’s experiments got in the way and they made a mess.”

He caught Thoreau’s look of irritation. “If they’d told me what they were doing I could have warned them not to jostle the fermentation bucket.”

His mother waved him off. “They’ll get the smell out. The real question is how you found the time to fiddle down there in the first place when you have that final to study for.”

Thoreau stopped his eyes mid-roll. “I’m done with finals and you know it. I won’t have another until after winter break.”

Cassandra wasn’t swayed. “It’s never too early to get a head start.”

Solomon wasn’t going to laugh. “He’s always working or studying, according to Seamus. He can’t stop talking about Thor’s ideas and his knack for tweaking recipes. It seems like a skillset in chemistry runs in your family.”

She was beaming at him again. “You have no idea, Solomon. Between Austen and Thoreau… Even Emerson was part mad scientist when he was Lang’s age. Before he decided on forensic accounting, I was sure he’d end up in Frankenstein’s lab. The stories I could tell—”

“Younger?”

Everyone froze at the sound of Hugo’s shocked exclamation.

Heart lodged in his throat, Solomon gently took his partially decorated cast away from Barry and got to his feet. “Happy birthday again, Hugo.”

Surprise.

He had his shirt balled up in his hand, his smooth, muscular chest bare as he stood in the doorway of the large kitchen. It took every ounce of willpower Solomon had not to go to him. Touch him.

The longer Hugo stared, the more uncomfortable the silence became. 

Jesus, he’d been right. This had been a mistake. No matter how charming the Wayne family was, or how much he’d been enjoying himself, in the end this was about Hugo. He looked around the room, wondering how he could slip out unnoticed when Bronte stepped in front of Hugo, drawing his stunned gaze.

“Before he left the hospital, I invited him over for dinner.” Her words held layers of meaning Solomon knew he wasn’t meant to understand. But Hugo did.

“You…” He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it. “Of course you invited him. That’s good. The more the merrier.” He looked away and spoke to his family over his shoulder. “I need to wash up and change my shirt before dinner.”

The instant he was gone, everyone looked Solomon’s way as if he could explain Hugo’s reaction. Even the three men who’d followed Hugo up from the basement looked curious.

One of them is Hugo’s father.

He pushed his hair back behind his ears, finally giving in to the urge to tug on his collar before Cassandra Wayne stepped over to him, quietly brushing his hand aside to readjust his tie. “Did my son call you Younger?”

She was so kind, he marveled, nodding. “I’m named after my father but I…my family calls me Younger. I prefer it, to be honest.”

Her smile softened, as intriguing and mysterious as the Mona Lisa’s. “I like it, too. I think that’s what we’ll call you from now on.”