Manny Get Your Guy
By Amy Lane
The Mannies
Starting over and falling in love.
Tino Robbins’s sister, Nica, and her husband, Jacob, are expecting their fifth child. Fortunately, Nica’s best friend, Taylor Cochran, is back in town, released from PT and in need of a job.
After years in the service and recovering from grave injury, Taylor has grown a lot from the callow troublemaker he’d been in high school. Now he’s hoping for a fresh start with Nica and her family.
Jacob’s cousin Brandon lives above the garage and thinks “Taylor the manny” is a bad idea. Taylor might be great at protecting civilians from a zombie apocalypse, but is he any good with kids?
Turns out Taylor’s a natural. As he tries to fit in, using common sense and dry wit, Brandon realizes that Taylor doesn’t just love their family—he’s desperate to be part of it. And just like that, Brandon wants Taylor to be part of his future.
Brandon leaned in and kissed him.
A brief brush of breath and tongue, and Taylor gasped just as Brandon was backing away.
“What in the hell—?”
Brandon’s eyes went to half-mast, and he licked his lips. “Nice,” he said. “I liked that. We should try that again.”
“No,” Taylor said again. “Bad idea. So bad.” He threw all his energy into wiping down the sink now that Brandon was setting the controls on the dishwasher. “Bad, bad, bad, bad—you don’t even like me!”
Dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb. He was not an ingénue.
“I think you’re hot,” Brandon said confidently. “Does that count?”
“No!” Oh, this must be what karma felt like—he was paying back for being an arrogant prick who thought all gay ass was his for the taking. “And I’m not hot. I’m….” He flailed with his left hand toward the scars on his face that the kid could see, and the scars on his shoulder, his hip, his thighs, his calf, that the kid couldn’t. “I’m wrecked, and you are way too young for me.”
Brandon’s flush returned with a vengeance. “You’re not even thirty!”
“Well, I feel thirty. Hell, I feel forty-five. And you need… young and horny. Not old and wrecked. Go away.”
Brandon cocked his head. “Go away?”
Also a dumb thing to say. “I didn’t mean, like, go away. I just meant find somebody your speed.”
“What is my speed?” Brandon asked like he was humoring Taylor, which was irritating in the extreme.
“Apparently zero to sexy in the time it takes to wash the dishes!”
To Mate and Mary, and always to the kids. And to Lynn who stayed up late with me and giggled through titles, until I woke up the next day and said, “Hey, I could do a series!”
And Baby Makes a Zillion
BRANDON admired his cousin Jacob more than Jacob would ever know.
For starters, Jacob had taken his love of cars and, with his wife’s business degree and drive, turned it into a thriving business. Three businesses, in fact.
And that was just the beginning. Jacob was a good husband and father, who coached his kids’ soccer team and did more than his share of the housework while his wife helped run the businesses, and who worked with her as an equal through tax audits, dance recitals, and soccer tournaments. Jacob knew how to be part of a winning team.
And he played with his family—he was a big goofball at heart who could coax a smile out of his wife or children after the worst, most stressful days. Jacob’s pure soul made him, head and shoulders, Brandon’s favorite relative.
Especially since Jacob had taken Brandon in for his last two years of college so he could go to Sac State without commuting all the way down from Truckee. That helped make Jacob and Nica Brandon’s most especial favorite relatives.
If not for one teeny tiny problem.
“For God’s sake, Jakey, get off of her!”
Jacob scrubbed his face with his hands. “I know!”
“I mean, dude! This is your fifth kid!”
Jacob lowered his head to the table and laced his fingers behind his neck. His dark blond hair stuck out in tufts, and his shadowed eyes were hidden against the wooden veneer. “I know!” he wailed.
“The oldest is only nine!”
“I had a vasectomy!” Jacob told him. “I was clear. There were no swimmers, I swear!”
“Oh, that’s a lie!” Nica muttered, stepping over two Barbies and a Lego fort on her way from the bathroom where she’d been throwing up. She looked like hell, but she was a pretty woman, so even looking like hell, she still outclassed Brandon’s goofy cousin. Nica was amazing—beautiful, smart, fun, devoted to her spouse. But Brandon had been Jacob’s favorite cousin and garage apartment freeloader since the fourth baby, and he knew the first two months of pregnancy made her—and rightly so—a bitter shrew with a thorn in her paw and a bug up her ass. “If he says his swimmers were dead, he’s lying. There are no dead swimmers. He could be a frickin’ zombie and one of his swimmers would wake up one day, crawl up my cooter, and knock me up!”
“I know!” Jacob groaned. “Monica Teresa Carol Gaudioso Robbins-Grayson, I’m so damned sorry!” He turned a genuinely contrite face to his wife, and she stuck out a full lower lip.
“Aw, Jakey—dammit….”
One side of his mouth pulled up in a lopsided smile. “I’ll be here—you know it. You and me know the drill by now, right?”
But Nica looked like she was going to cry.
“Jakey,” Brandon said, trying to keep that from happening, “man, look. Two things—first of all, you need a new room on the house.”
“Can you do that?” Nica asked, a frantic note of hope in her voice. The house could barely fit four kids and three adults, which it had held since Brandon took the over-the-garage apartment. But things were still tight, with two kids per room after they’d taken the crib out of Jacob and Nica’s room. One more kid—and all the accompanying stuff that kids brought with them—would send the roof of the house flying off, and the collective force of Legos, Barbies, baby dolls, Hot Wheels, and Disney/Pixar DVDs would spew across the county.
Another house would have been awesome, but Brandon knew how much they loved this particular house in Rocklin and how hard they’d worked to turn their star-thistle-y backyard into a kid-friendly zone, right down to the fenced-in pool patio.
Brandon had worked construction all the way through college, and he had some contacts. He was pretty sure they could draw up some plans for a kid suite where the back porch was now, and then, with some shuffling and some organizing, yeah. The whole family could fit.
“Yeah,” Brandon said. “Of course. Nica, anything for you guys. But Jakey—she can’t do this alone anymore when you’re at the shop. You know that, right?”
Jakey nodded and sent his wife a hopeful look. “Baby, how do you feel about a nanny?”
Nica’s lower lip wobbled. “But won’t the kids love her more?”
Jacob and Brandon chuckled softly, and Jacob pulled his still-slender wife into his lap. “Oh, baby—the kids couldn’t possibly love anybody more than you, okay?”
Nica nodded and rested her head on her husband’s shoulder and cried for no reason at all.
Brandon took that as his cue and stood up to clear the breakfast table and then start rounding up children for school.
He had his own job to go to, but he helped any way he could.
UNFORTUNATELY, helping meant he got to be at the family eat-and-kvetch that Sunday.
This week it was held at Nica’s brother’s house—which was probably the biggest of the family houses, and it had a bigger pool. Not that Brandon was a hedonist or anything, but the big pool with all those kids? That was a plus.
Dustin, the oldest at nine, could wrestle his own seatbelt, but the other three were still at the car-seat stage. Brandon got Conroy, the youngest at two, Jacob got Melly—age five—and Belinda—age seven—and Nica got the lasagna and manicotti pans because she didn’t trust anybody else to cook, not even her mother.
“Think Sammy’s here?” Dustin asked excitedly. Sammy played high school sports, and Dustin thought he was awesome.
“It is his house,” Jacob told him. “Keenan is probably here too.”
“Yeah, but Keenan’s Melly’s age—he can’t drive.”
“But he thinks you’re as awesome as you think Sammy is. Maybe don’t ditch him first thing, okay?”
Dustin moved forward, testing the boundaries of “being nice” with his father. How long was he required to play with his younger cousin? Did he need to stay for one game? For two? For three?
Brandon balanced a sleeping Conroy on his shoulder and poked Belinda to move forward. “Dad’s smart,” Belinda said with the brown-eyed awe every father dreamed of in a daughter.
“Yeah?” Brandon asked. “What makes him smart?”
“Dustin can be a real jerk when he’s trying to hang with Sammy. Dad just got him all set up to be nice.”
Brandon grinned at her and she grinned back, missing the requisite four teeth that most kids lost at this age. “You’re right. Your dad’s a good guy.”
Jacob apparently had ears like a bat. As he watched a car pull up the long driveway, he paused. “You’re about to see Dad be a real jerk,” he muttered. “Tino! Dammit! Could you open the door? Some of us are carrying—”
“You could have knocked.”
Nica’s brother, Tino, had Nica’s dark brown eyes and black curling hair. He was hands down one of the most attractive men Brandon had ever met—next to his husband, Channing, of course.
“You could have heard us yammering on your front porch.” Jacob jerked his chin in the direction of the beat-up Ford sedan. “Can we get in before he knows anyone is home?”
“I told him to come,” Tino said softly. He had a long oval face, olive-complected, and a lush, soft mouth. Brandon had needed to work really hard not to crush on him when he’d come to live with Nica and Jakey, and the result had been a decent, if reserved, rapport.
Right now Brandon could tell Tino was troubled, and so was Nica, because she was biting her lip the same way.
Jacob was more irritated than troubled. “Do we really have to have that arrogant, hand-grabby assclown—”
“That was high school. Now he’s a good man and a wounded veteran,” Nica said without backing down. “Now can we go inside?”
“You suck,” Jacob muttered, gesturing Dustin past Tino and following him through the house.
“She must do more than that if you keep knocking her up,” Tino said, mostly for Jacob’s ears, but Brandon heard and snickered.
“Whatever.” Jacob rolled his eyes, but he smiled too. “Tell me you’re not going to let him in.”
“We have to let him in,” Nica said. “He’s my best friend. Tino, could you…?”
Tino took one of the lasagna pans from her and led them through the hallway and into the main dining room, which opened onto the pool patio.
Tino and Channing had opened the doors, since the breeze in the evening cooled the place down. The kids were in the pool, playing under Sammy’s direct supervision. Belinda darted away immediately, dropping her summer dress in a puddle by the picnic table so she could jump into the pool in her swimsuit. Brandon waved to Sammy with one hand while jiggling Conroy with the other arm. “Conroy, buddy, wake up. You’re gonna miss swimming before Grandma gets here and we have to eat.”
Conroy yawned and frowned, and Brandon sighed. He walked over to Sammy, who was sitting at the edge of the pool, dangling his feet in the water.
At seventeen, Sammy was a younger, slightly more vulnerable edition of his blond, gray-eyed, square-chinned uncle, and just like Channing Lowell, Sammy had a square sense of responsibility on his shoulders. And one of his doted-upon cousins—this one Channing and Tino’s adopted daughter—in his arms.
“Letty,” he said softly. “Letty, honey, it’s time for everyone to wake up from their naps. Conroy is here.”
“Letty?” Conroy sat upright and then wriggled out of Brandon’s arms. “Letty, why din’ you tell me you were here?”
Letty regarded him soberly with brown eyes in a round, pale brown face. “I din’ know,” she said, pulling her thumb out of her mouth. “Sammy, can we swim?” She scowled at the pool when she saw her brother, water droplets clinging to his tightly kinked brown hair as he and Dustin started an impromptu game of pool volleyball. “Keenan’s in there already!”
“Yeah, princess. He was awake when everybody got here. Go in and play with Conroy, but stay on the steps.” He watched her go and turned hopefully to Brandon. “You gonna help me out here?”
Brandon looked to where the “grown-ups” were talking, Sammy’s uncle included. “I wish.” He pulled his hand through his hair, knowing it spiked up like weeds in an unkempt red garden when he did that. “Big adult powwow going on. I’ve got, you know, duties.”
Sammy pursed his lips regretfully. “Yeah.” His fathomless eyes tried to bore into Brandon’s soul. “Not a grown-up yet, am I?”
Ah… yeah. Jacob’s advice to Dustin about being kind to Keenan because he had a boy crush was well given. “Sorry, Sammy,” Brandon said, hoping his kindness—and genuine affection—for the boy came through. Five years wasn’t really that big of a gap—unless the younger party was barely seventeen.
Sammy shrugged. “Yeah, well. I’m going to prom with Cindy Cahill. Gonna see what this bi thing is all about.”
Seventeen—seemed like the other side of the world. “Let me know how that works out. It was never that way for me.” Nope. Although Brandon’s folks hadn’t gotten it, Jacob and Nica had. He’d been grateful—and a little envious of Sammy, who had grown up with his Uncle Channing and Tino falling in love and adopting children. He’d had a first-hand view showing him it could all turn out okay.
“Let me know about breasts,” Brandon added a little wistfully. “I mean, I always thought that would be the most interesting part about liking girls. I just wasn’t interested enough to find out.”
Sammy laughed like he was supposed to. “I promise to kiss and tell,” he said gravely, and then, “Dustin, stop dunking him! He hates that!”
“Sorry, Sammy,” Dustin said contritely, and Brandon glared at him too. “Sorry, Brandon,” Dustin said—but this time he meant it.
“You remember what your father said.”
Dustin nodded. “Yeah. Keenan, I promise I won’t do it again, okay?”
The boy wiped water from his face and sniffled. “Okay. Want to play some more?”
“Yeah, but we need to let Melly and Belinda play, okay?”
Brandon recognized the olive branch for what it was and stuck his thumb up. He turned back to where the grown-ups were talking and let out a low whistle.
“Who in the hell is that?” he asked, his eyes going wide.
“That?” Sammy glanced at him sharply. “You’ve never met Taylor Cochran?”
Brandon shook his head dumbly, although he’d heard the name. “The guy Nica’s always going to visit?” He remembered her words—wounded veteran.
He had not been expecting this guy.
Damn. Six foot tall if he was an inch, with a mane of dirty-blond hair hanging over his T-shirt collar, the man who had just slouched onto the patio next to Tino Robbins-Lowell looked like nothing Brandon had ever seen before.
His jaw was square and long, and his nose patrician and sharp like a knife. The left side of his face was as beautiful as anything Brandon had ever seen, showing off an almond-shaped blue eye, a high cheekbone, and a sardonic quirk to his full mouth. But the right side… Brandon suddenly understood Jacob’s frustration. Any sins this man had committed when the three of them were young had been paid for with the wounding that had scarred the right side of his face.
And, judging by the eye patch, had taken his eye as well.
“Why’d Tino invite him?” Brandon asked, pulse rate picking up. Taylor was smiling tightly, as though uncomfortable as hell, and nodding at Tino, Nica, and Jakey where they gathered by the patio door.
“I don’t know,” Sammy answered, “but after Nica called this afternoon, Tino and Channing had an argument—”
“They never argue!” Ever. Unlike Nica and Jacob, who made friendly bickering an art form, Tino and Channing bantered and laughed a lot, but they didn’t argue.
“Yeah, I know. And Channing was the one who finally apologized. It was weird.”
Unprecedented. “What could possibly make those two fight?”
Sammy shrugged. “Look, all I heard was the words ‘And I thought I couldn’t have a family and a job at the same time, remember?’ from Tino—and then they took it to their bedroom. Doh! I mean, you know what I mean!”
Brandon laughed. “Yeah, I know what you mean. You mean they don’t argue in public. Lucky you.” Brandon’s folks hadn’t argued so much as his father had laid down the law and his mother had simpered. Not a healthy dynamic, no—he’d learned a lot better from pretty much everyone in Nica’s family.
And right now he could tell by the set of Taylor Cochran’s shoulders that he was gradually relaxing, being made a part of the group. Channing said something dry and funny—because that’s what Channing did—and Taylor tilted his head back and laughed, the sound rumbling up from his stomach and booming through his wide chest.
Brandon’s mouth went dry.
“Damn,” he whispered hoarsely. That laugh—that was amazing, right there. Then Taylor Cochran, the only person who, in Brandon’s knowledge, could make Channing and Tino Robbins-Lowell argue, turned the burning heat of his one good eye toward Brandon.
Brandon took a quick gasp of air and licked his lips and tried to keep the world from swimming.
That hard, assessing stare shook him to his core.
“So why’s he here again?” he asked helplessly.
“I don’t know—something about helping Nica with childcare. Like I said, details not forthcoming.”
“Oh God,” Brandon muttered. “I’ve got to get over there.”
“Why—what’s so urgent?”
“This guy’s gonna be the manny, and I’m telling you right now, that doesn’t work for me at all!”
Reluctant Homecoming
OH God. Could this get any more awkward?
Taylor smiled greenly at Nica, his best friend through preschool, grade school, junior high, and high school, and tried hard not to hide his head in shame. She’d crushed on him through the end of high school, and he’d smiled and shined her on—
And had shameless empty sex with pretty much any gay guy in the area in a vain effort to prove he was a man.
He wasn’t proud of it—not anymore. Back then he’d been thinking maybe his old man would forgive him for the gay if only he had enough swagger, enough chutzpah, enough machismo in his step. If he was a man’s man, he could be with other men.
Dumbest reasoning in the world—but then, he’d been pretty dumb as a kid. And God… oh God… the way he’d treated Tino—right here at this house, coming on to him blatantly while Nica had been outside at the pool, dreaming about dating her best friend.
Coming back here had been a mistake.
But he’d been desperate.
“So,” Tino said, voice kind because dammit, that was just this family, “you’re planning to go to school again?”
Taylor grimaced. “Well, yeah. I’d like to, but getting my GI Bill app processed is taking….”
“Forever,” Tino said sympathetically. “Yeah, I’ve heard that. My mom was so surprised you called—and very impressed.”
Taylor grimaced. Mrs. Robbins had always been kind to him. Even after graduation, when he and Nica were barely on speaking terms, Nica’s mom had still made him care packages of warm bread when they’d carpooled to junior college. They’d had to carpool—the plans they’d made for their future included their friendship, and they’d both been too focused to let Taylor’s perfidy wreck their hopes for their future.
And that pragmatism had saved them, in the end.
Nica had been pregnant with her first, trying to help Jacob save money for his business and preparing for her wedding. Taylor might not have wanted to marry her, but he’d only ever wanted the best for her. He’d helped. He’d run errands for her wedding, gathered her homework when she’d been too sick to make it to school, and helped her formulate a business plan for Jacob.
Jacob might not have forgiven him for breaking Nica’s heart, but by the time Taylor had stood up on the bride’s side with her little sister and her big brother, Monica Teresa Carol Gaudioso Robbins loved Taylor like the friend he always should have been.
Loved him enough to be the only person to object when he signed up for the military to help him through the rest of school.
Loved him enough to be the only person he remembered seeing during recovery and rehab after an RPG had taken his eye and some of his mobility and a lot of his pride.
And apparently loved him enough to offer him a job when Taylor had gone crawling to her mother, hoping for a housekeeping position just to make ends meet on top of his assistance while he was waiting for his GI Bill benefits to come through
“I don’t know what she had to be impressed about,” Taylor said, trying to swallow his embarrassment along with his pride. “I feel like a heel begging for a job.”
“No.” Nica shook her head. “Mommy said you were humble and kind—said you’d grown up a lot from the boy I knew in high school.” Nica managed a snort. “I’m telling you, she doesn’t give me that kind of praise.”
“Maybe because you’re still getting knocked up.” Tino crossed his eyes at his baby sister.
“Then what’s your excuse?” Channing said dryly. “She still thinks you’re the guy who had to call his mom to see if new baby poop was green!”
Taylor threw back his head and laughed, because Tino was that anal-retentive and that panicky about doing the right thing. Nica and Jacob joined him, and for the first time that night, he felt at ease.
And then he felt it: the stare.
He turned his head slowly, like he was moving through gelatin, and saw the kid—the young man—who had come in carrying Nica and Jacob’s little boy.
The boy—man—was staring at Taylor in burning anger, and it had been long enough from his last relationship that Taylor could admit it—that look kind of turned him on.
He stood taller than Taylor, maybe six three, and from across the pool, Taylor could make out green eyes; a fair complexion, the kind that didn’t tan well; and a chest… Jesus. A chest as wide as a station wagon, and biceps as hard as steel shot. Who was this kid?
Irritation roiled in his gut under the weight of that judgmental glare. Yeah, kid, how often do you get to see a one-eyed freak? You gonna take a picture?
And then the guy licked his lips slowly, sinking slightly crooked white teeth into his lower lip in an unconscious gesture of provocation.
Oh. Taylor shifted a little, trying to rejoin the conversation. He paid attention just in time to see Tino blush and roll his eyes.
“Ha-ha—but we’re all forgetting Nica at Melly’s baptism and the diaper bag, aren’t we?”
General collective groans actually made him smile.
“What happened?” Taylor asked, trying to ignore the young man with the green-eyed glare who was walking toward them.
“It was the worst,” Nica complained. “We had no clean diapers, so we wrapped her in one of those flannel baby blankets like a diaper? And there we were at the font and….”
“Oh my God!” the stranger said, drawing even. “Is this Melly’s baptism?”
“Yeah,” Jacob muttered. “Good times.”
“Oh, says you,” the young man retorted. “I got to hold her, you know? And suddenly this kid—who looks like an angel? ’Cause she’s got Jake’s blue eyes and Nica’s cute cheeks—”
“Oh God, Brandon, shut up!” Nica laughed.
“No, seriously. She practically had a halo—”
“She didn’t have much of a halo while she was taking a world-class mustard poop all over the font,” Jacob said, a reluctant smile breaking at his lips.
The family broke into raucous laughter, and Taylor had to join them.
Little kids and poop—classic joke, right?
“Sounds like a laugh riot,” he said, smiling slightly. “Wish I’d been there.”
“Yeah, us too,” Tino said, and he nodded at Taylor like he meant it.
Taylor’s face heated and he stared past Tino’s ear. “Three years ago?” he asked, confirming the timing. Nica had been pregnant when she’d started visiting him, but she’d brought a toddler by the hand as well, who must have been Melly—after pooping all over the font, of course. She’d brought the baby boy as he’d been ready to get out of the hospital. He remembered holding Conroy one day for about an hour as Nica sat and told him about her insanely busy life. That baby had just stared at him with green eyes so big and wide, Taylor had been afraid of falling in.
That was the little boy currently playing by Sammy in the pool. He remembered Sammy as a fractious seven-year-old and oh Lord, how time flew.
“Yeah,” Nica was saying, nodding. “You were a little out of it back then, Tay. But that’s okay—you’re here now, and you can get to know them all this summer.”
Silence fell, and Taylor tried not to grimace.
“Nica, are you, uh, sure? I mean, I was asking your mom for a job as a housekeeper. I’m pretty sure I can’t fu—I mean, uh, mess that up. But these are your kids. Why would you want to put me in charge of your kids?”
“For one thing, it pays better!” Everybody turned to see Peter and Stacy Robbins walk through the dining room and set bowls and pots of food on the dining room table before they walked toward the patio.
“Mommy!” Nica chimed, going in for the hug.
“Baby machine!” Mrs. Robbins laughed, but she hugged her daughter tight when she said it. “When I told you to go out and live your life while you were making business happen, I didn’t mean you should get this busy.”
“Jakey’s fault,” Nica said, her voice muffled against her mother’s neck. “His swimmers won’t die.”
Nica’s mother laughed heartily and then walked to the center of their little group, hugging everybody, including the giant kid who’d been giving Taylor the eye. “Brandon! So good to see you all! So I take it we’ve all been briefed?”
Elena, her youngest daughter, slender as a willow wand and graceful as a ribbon in the breeze, snorted as she walked out on the patio behind her mother. “Yeah, Mommy—you called me this afternoon, remember?”
“Have we taken out an ad in the paper?” Jacob asked sourly. “They could have a debate on whether my swimmers are dead or undead. What do you think?”
“Ooh….” Nica’s eyes went wide and ingenuous. “I’m gonna have a baby vampire? That’s awesome! At least he’ll sleep during the day!”
The whole family groaned, and Mr. Robbins rolled his eyes. “Sure. A baby vampire. You finally have enough kids to make a basketball team, and you’re condemning one of them to an evil half life of blood-drinking and unforgiven sin?”
“Geez, Dad, take the fun out of it!”
More laughter, and the family circle expanded for the newcomers. “So,” said Mrs. Robbins, “Taylor, did you tell them you’d take the job?”
“Actually—” The green-eyed kid—Brandon—spoke up with a furtive glance at Taylor. “—Nica’s friend was just telling us why he wouldn’t be such a great pick for it.”
Taylor grimaced. “Yeah, well, those may or may not have been my exact words. Mrs. R—”
“Stacy,” she corrected, a gentle hand on Taylor’s elbow.
Taylor’s mouth made that twitching motion that passed for his smile these days. “Okay, Stacy. But I’m not a great bet—”
“That’s not true!” Stacy and her daughter Elena said at the same time.
“You were a great babysitter when we were younger,” Elena said with an encouraging nod. “You didn’t let me watch too much television, you played with me—you even played with the animals. You were awesome!”
Wonderful. He was the fun babysitter. He resisted the urge to ruffle her straight, fine dark hair from its perfect french braid, mostly because her mantle of composure would barely register the ruffle. She’d been supernaturally poised, even as a kid.
“There’s more to being a babysitter than fun.” Brandon was still glaring at Taylor, and Taylor resisted the impulse to ask what anti-Taylor snake crawled in through his sphincter and died.
“You have to admit, fun helps,” Channing told him soberly and then winked.
Brandon melted, because everybody melted around Channing, and Taylor was left at the family’s mercy once more.
He tried again. “Look,” he said squarely, “I’m just saying that all of you have this terrifying suburban agenda to raise super spawn locked down. I’m… I’m a sitcom nanny. I’m the guy who loses the baby and can’t get the cat out of the dishwasher. There’s a lot more to do with your kids than play with them in the pool for an hour!”
Jacob grunted, and Taylor didn’t even want to look at him. Taylor had been such a little asshole about Jacob, bitching about Tino’s best friend, the guy who couldn’t even get through college.
But Taylor had come out, breaking Nica’s heart, and Jacob had stepped right up. Apparently he’d been waiting for her to grow up a little before falling in love with her. Jacob and Nica had gotten together, produced this beautiful family, and pushed Nica through college, all while Taylor had been sorting out his copious emotional luggage.
Taylor wasn’t good enough to watch their children. Jacob was going to open his mouth and tell him to get bent.
“Just the fact that you recognize that gives you a leg up on idiots like us who jump off the deep end every time we have another one,” Jacob said seriously.
Taylor’s mouth fell open, and he couldn’t stop himself from staring. “Uh—”
“No, seriously.” Jacob looked at Tino and nodded. “Tino, when you proposed this idea, I thought you were nuts. Seriously—completely batshit crazy. But he seems to know exactly what the job entails. As long as we get him some help when he needs it and don’t get a cat, I think we’ll be okay.”
“Are you kidding?” Oh God, no. Taylor had come begging for a job—begging. He couldn’t turn this job away now because he was afraid of watching his friends’ kids.
“Jakey!” Apparently Brandon was scandalized as well. “You can’t do this! I mean, Nica won’t even let them eat nonorganic chicken nuggets!”
“Well, it’s not like he’s going to be doing the shopping!” Nica laughed. She looked rather sheepishly at her mother. “Uh, right?”
Stacy Robbins smiled sweetly. “No, my darling. I’ll have an employee out at your house tomorrow, taking your directions on shopping and housecleaning. I haven’t forgotten.”
And now Jacob was the one caught flat-footed. “Uh….” He looked at his wife and made little helpless hand gestures. “Nica? I thought you weren’t ever going to….”
Nica bit her lip. “Jakey, you’re staying up ’til twelve at night to wash the dishes. You spend all your day off trying to clean the bathroom and do laundry. I miss my husband, and my mother owns a maid service. It’s, you know—”
“Nepotism,” Jacob said darkly, looking hurt.
“Family help,” Nica’s mother said, her voice flinty. “Don’t be stubborn, Jacob. Nobody blames you for this situation—”
Tino snorted, and Mrs. Robbins narrowed her expressive brown eyes at her son.
“Most of us don’t blame you for this situation, but you need help. Taylor was a grown-up about asking for a job, and guess what? He got a job. Now be a grown-up about letting us help you with the housework. I should have just started sending a girl over after Melly was born, but I didn’t want to step on your toes.”
“Wait!” Brandon burst out, turning big green eyes on Taylor. “You’re not really going to hire him!”
“That was three decisions back,” Jacob muttered, clearly uncomfortable. “Keep up, Brandon. Apparently Nica’s uterus is in charge and the rest of us need to clear out.” He checked himself, panicked. “Not you, Brandon! I mean, no—you’re welcome to stay as long as you need to. Just… you know. Taylor’s the nanny, we’re getting a maid, and we’re contracting your boss’s company to build an addition to the house. Have I left anything out?”
“Beer,” Taylor muttered, not sure if it was even legal to drink with this many kids around. “I need a beer.”
“C’mon,” Channing said, gesturing with his chin toward the kitchen. “I’ve got some imports in the kitchen. I could use one too.”
“Me too?” Jacob asked, looking unhappily at his wife.
There were wistful noises from around the crowd, and Tino said, “I’ll go get the ice chest. Carrie’s going to be setting up dinner in a minute, and we can eat on the patio.”
Taylor was so grateful to get away from the whole “happy family” vibe that he didn’t even ask who Carrie was.
THE kitchen was cool and shaded, just like Taylor remembered from ten years ago, although the tile and cabinets had been updated. Channing apparently went for warm browns in the kitchen and blues and mauves in the living room. Taylor wasn’t much on decorating, but he approved. He’d forgotten how big the place was, and he was so busy looking around, he misjudged the placement of the doorframe and hit himself painfully as he walked through.
“Oof!”
Channing turned and grimaced. “You okay? You almost took off the moldings—that must have hurt.”
Taylor could feel the bruise forming, but it wasn’t his first, wouldn’t be his last. “Depth perception,” he muttered. “Sucks with one eye. Had to work my ass off to get my driver’s license—still not comfortable.”
“That’s good to know,” Channing said, unruffled. “Make sure to mention it to Jacob and Nica. You’ll be on for running the kids to different activities, but we can try to minimize some of that, and we can definitely schedule you home before dark.”
“Yeah, that’s when driving gets really tricky,” he muttered, hating to be a problem.
“Well, we still hope you can attend family gatherings. We’ll even drive you to them. They’re sort of a regular occurrence around here.”
“Witness.” Taylor made a circle with his chin, indicating the family gathering, and Channing winked.
“Witness,” he agreed, reaching into the refrigerator and coming out with a twelve-pack of assorted imported microbrews. He set it on the counter and selected two bottles, grabbed a magnet that doubled as a bottle opener, and popped the top before handing it over to Taylor.
Taylor was very careful to make sure his fingers closed around the bottle before allowing Channing to let go.
Oh, beer went down smooth on a hot summer’s day, even when you only got one.
“That’s good,” he said, enjoying the slight buzz of alcohol to warm his panic. He took a deep breath, and another. “I can do this,” he muttered, mostly to himself. Channing had popped his own beer and was watching him without judgment. “They’re only children.”
Channing’s deep, throaty laughter dropped Taylor’s heart to his groin. “Uh, no. They’re terrifying. They’re Nica’s children, for one. They’re smart, organized, and they will gang up on you. All except Conroy—he’s Tino all the way, the good boy.”
Taylor remembered that about Tino—it had been one of the things that had so turned Taylor’s key when they’d been growing up. Taylor the bad boy; Tino so very, very untouched.
Well, until Tino had come to live with Channing and be Sammy’s nanny, and then, hey, hello, being touched was apparently taken off Tino’s bucket list.
“Like Brandon, right?” Taylor muttered before taking another swallow of beer.
Channing did the slow-blink thing that indicated the question wasn’t what he expected. “Sure,” he said easily, gray eyes still large and surprised. “Jacob’s cousin? Yeah. Brandon’s a good boy. Conroy takes after him too.”
“So what’s his deal?” Taylor blurted before he could control himself. “Brandon, not the baby. The baby seemed cute enough. I’ll probably lose pounds chasing him through the house.”
“I lost ten chasing Keenan,” Channing confirmed. “Tino lost twenty, but he fusses more. Up the stairs, down the stairs—I used to time him, holding Keenan on my hip, waiting for Tino to figure out I had him.”
“Three seconds,” Tino said dryly, walking in with the ice chest. “There’s barely a flight of them. It was the laps around the two sitting rooms, the kitchen, and the dining room to make sure he hadn’t gotten out onto the patio somehow.”
He set the ice chest down, and he and Channing both shuddered.
“Thank God for Sammy,” they said in unison.
“He kept you sane?” In spite of Taylor’s misgivings, hearing the two of them talk about their problems raising children was actually reassuring. The prospect of being in charge of Jacob and Nica’s kids was still bloody terrifying, but the fact that Tino and Channing had been terrified too made him feel like not such a screwup.
“He kept us organized,” Tino said with feeling. “Here, Channing, I’ll do ice, you do bottles.”
“Course.”
The mildness in Channing’s voice told Taylor all he needed to know about who kept them organized. Channing Lowell was a world-class businessman, but apparently he didn’t let his ego get in the way of letting the expert run his household.
“He kept us grounded,” Channing said, setting the bottles in the ice chest while Tino pulled out a bag of ice and went to work. “It was important to remember, you know, we were doing it all because in the end, there was family.”
“So an end goal,” Taylor said thoughtfully. He’d been competent at that once. Good grades to get into college. Good looks to get laid. Good lies so his parents wouldn’t know. He’d gotten into the military with his AA under his belt, and his life had been reduced to much shorter-term goals. Get through this day so you could get through the next. Get through the next day so you could get through boot camp. Get through boot camp so you could get out in three years. Get through the first three years so you could re-up. Get out of the way of the shelling so you could stay alive to wake up and get out of the way again.
Well, he’d done his best. Most of that had happened.
“Yeah,” said a new voice. “What is your end goal?”
Brandon entered the kitchen, the width of his shoulders barely letting him through the doorway.
“Help Nica out until she finds someone better,” Taylor said promptly. “Keep my apartment until my VA grant clears and winter semester starts. Finish my degree and get my credential.”
“Credential in what?” Tino stood up, the limp remains of the ice bag crumpled in his hand. “I never did know what degree you were getting.”
Gratifying how Tino sounded absolutely confident that Taylor would finish what he started. Taylor remembered having that confidence—but he also remembered the chip on his own shoulder that came with it, and he was almost glad the confidence had gone in the same direction.
“History,” Taylor told him, trying not to pull the stiff muscles in his shoulders when he shrugged. “History teacher. Yeah, I know. Not what you expected, is it.”
“No,” Tino said simply, throwing the bag in the recycle bin. “Why history?”
Taylor took a sip of beer and tried to find words.
“Forget history—why you?” Brandon asked for the umpteenth time. “Seriously, the whole family just keeps assuming this is a done deal. I want to know why they think you can just move in and be a part of everybody here. You weren’t here for the kids being born, you weren’t here for them growing up—what right do you have to come around stirring shit up—”
“Brandon!” Tino barked.
Brandon glared at him with hurt green eyes. “What?”
“Look, I get it. You don’t know Taylor and you don’t understand why we trust him. Taylor was like you. Don’t you get that? He grew up with Nica and me—I changed his diapers, same as Jacob changed yours.”
“Oh God,” Taylor groaned, embarrassed.
“Yeah, well, big brothers. It’s a thing,” Tino shot back. “And I don’t know what you see in him that’s so scary, because I’m telling you right now, if you don’t think the eye patch is sexy, you weren’t watching the right movies as a kid!”
Channing laughed and held his fist up for the bump, and Tino gave him back. “Told ya,” Channing said softly, and Tino rolled his eyes.
“I don’t care if he’s hot,” Brandon muttered, undiscouraged. “He’s taking care of kids I care about—”
“I’m taking care of Nica’s kids,” Taylor said, voice gruff. “I know you don’t know who I am, but Nica cared for me when nobody else did. I hurt her once—bad—which is why Jacob hates me, but don’t worry. I’d rather die than hurt this family again.” His lips twisted, and he could feel when his scarred side resisted the muscle pull that would make a real smile. “And trust me, I know about being close to death. I’d rather face an M-16 without a flak jacket than piss off your cousin’s wife.”
“She’s not that scary,” Tino said into the tense silence.
“You’re scared of her.” Channing nodded seriously. “Because you’re not stupid.”
Taylor appreciated the backup, but he was too busy meeting Brandon glare for glare. The boy’s green eyes were snapping and passionate, and a flush had washed up his pale throat. His forearms were tanned darkly, but his face had the fair complexion of someone who needed sunblock, day in, day out, to keep from burning. A few bright pink spots on the back of his neck and his ears testified to that.
And he was apparently not buying a word Taylor said. He crossed arms that bulged with muscle across a barge-sized chest. “Just remember, I’m watching you. My summer job is helping to build the extension on the house. You screw up—bang the help, steal the silver, so much as let Conroy run around in a soiled diaper—and I’ll have you out of that house—”
“And panhandling on the street. I get it, kid. You’d rather see me at the grocery store with a sign and a bedroll than at your cousin’s house earning a living. I’m just a pariah, I’m not a moron.”
And with that he pivoted on his good leg and stalked away.
He wanted to stalk out of the house, into his car, and home to his tiny apartment in Rocklin, but Tino’s mom grabbed him on his way out.
She was helping a late-thirtyish woman in jeans and with a long brown braid set the table for a potluck. Before Taylor could so much as pass the dining room, she thrust a full plate of food at him and told him to go outside and sit.
“You’re scrawny,” she said critically, running a mom-eye up and down his body. “You need good food to heal, Taylor. There’s no better thing.”
Taylor looked guiltily at the food, remembering that Stacy Robbins had needed to go in for back surgery a couple of years ago, and here she was on her feet.
“You should take the food and let me help,” he told her. “I can, uh—”
“All done!” the woman—probably the mysterious Carrie—piped up. “I’m going to take my plate and run off to my room now. Do you think that’s okay?”
“You don’t want to join us?” Stacy asked kindly.
Carrie shrugged sheepishly. “I’m sort of studying for finals, Mrs. R.—Hope’s graduating from school next year, and I don’t need the flexible hours quite so much. I figured I’d see what a desk job is all about.”
“Well, you do that,” Stacy said, her face lighting up. “And as soon as you get your degree in…?”
“Accounting,” Carrie supplied.
“Good. As soon as you get that degree, come see me, and I’ll be your first client.”
Carrie squealed and threw her arms around Mrs. Robbins. “My kid’ll be so excited. She loves you—she hated the thought that I’d be working for anybody else.”
With that she scurried off, leaving Taylor holding a plate of food and looking nervously at the porch.
“You worried Jacob’s still mad?” Stacy asked softly.
“He was pissed at me pretty much until I shipped out.” Jacob never had understood that Taylor and Nica had made up.
“Yes, well, Nica needs you—”
“Needs a nanny,” Taylor corrected.
Stacy Robbins snorted. “That’s what she’s telling people, honey. You remember my daughter. I know it’s been years since you shipped out, Taylor Cochran, but do you for a moment believe that asking for help is any easier for my daughter than it is for you?”
Taylor thought about Monica Teresa Carol Gaudioso Robbins-Grayson—and how stubborn she’d been about accepting help from anybody outside of family. She’d once had the flu for two weeks and had gotten all of her papers in on time, even the ones she wasn’t there for when they were assigned.
Of course, that had been with Taylor’s help.
He sighed.
“Only family,” he told Stacy now, getting it.
“You still qualify,” she said gently. “Now go out and eat. Meet the kids. Dustin is the hardest to impress, Belinda is the bossiest, Melly is sneaky, and Conroy is so much like Tino it’s terrifying. Children that docile shouldn’t exist. It’s against nature.”
“True that.” He gave a quiet smile and ventured out onto the patio.
Nica promptly sat him at the kids’ table next to Dustin, who, along with the rest of the cousins, stared at Taylor’s left side with wide, story-hungry eyes.
“You know,” Taylor said after a few moments of tense silence, “my old boyfriend used to stare at me like that.”
He couldn’t see Dustin’s face, but he could hear the audible gulp. “What happened to him?”
Taylor swung his head around and pinned the boy with his one good eye. “They never found the body.”
Then he winked.
The kids all gasped in appropriate horror—but the teenager burst into raucous laughter.
Taylor grinned at him, glad to have an ally. “Don’t believe me, Sammy?”
“Nope!” Sammy grinned unrepentantly and took a bite of hot dog. “You were my friend for two summers, Taylor. I don’t remember any bodies in the garden or skeletons in the closet.”
“He coulda put them in the b-b-b-athtub,” the blue-eyed waif next to Dustin lisped before eating the top layer of her lasagna off with her fingers.
“That’s good, Melly. He could douse them with acid!” her older sister said, the idea obviously catching fire.
“Oooh….” Tino and Channing’s son—Keenan?—was obviously excited about the idea. “Then all that would be left would be people soup!”
“Which tastes icky,” Melly finished up.
The two babies in booster seats at the end of the table began to squeal. “Icky! Icky! Letty, Melly said is icky!”
“Icky soup!”
“Oh dear God.” Sammy was trying so hard not to laugh, Taylor thought he might choke. It was time to put an end to this.
“Enough!” he barked sharply. “All dead bodies are off the table!”
Sammy spit milk out his nose, and Taylor ignored him. The rest of the kids were wide-eyed and staring his way, and this might be his one chance to establish any sort of authority whatsoever.
“My name is Taylor Cochran, and for, uh”—he blanked on names and began pointing specifically to Nica’s kids—“you, you, you, and you, I’m going to be your breakfast maker, lunch maker, dresser, and taxi service for the next two to five months. And my very first order of business is—”
“Not to stare at your scary eye patch?” the oldest boy—Dustin, dammit!—offered.
“You can stare at my scary eye patch all you want,” Taylor shot back. “Jesus, kid, I can’t see you when you’re on my left side; what do I care? No, first order of business is to not talk about dead bodies on the table. I mean at the table. We’re eating lasagna and spaghetti, and frankly? I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in months. Don’t ruin it for me. Talk about swimming or school or the book you read last week or potty training—”
“Conroy and Letty are the only ones not potty-trained,” the next oldest—Belinda! Oh thank God, her name was Belinda!—told him.
“Great,” Taylor said, hoping it really was. “I’m sure they have lots to talk about. Do we have anything else to dis—”
Splat.
Taylor swiveled his head all the way to his left again and caught Dustin putting down the fork he’d just used to catapult lasagna onto Taylor’s face.
“What?” Dustin asked, throwing attitude.
Taylor stuck out his index finger and pointed it up under the boy’s chin, raising his hand slowly while Dustin scrambled to stand up so Taylor didn’t poke him.
“Nica!” Taylor called and then turned his head just enough to give her a full view of the lasagna sliding down his cheek.
“You told my mother?” Dustin asked, horrified.
Taylor made sure the boy could see his one good eye. It was important that they understood each other in this matter. “Kid, as far as I’m concerned, your mother is the voice of God. Do you hear me? Anything you don’t want her to know about? You need to make sure I don’t ever catch you doing it. Are we clear?”
“Dustin!” Nica scrambled up and stalked over to them, horrified. “Oh my God. Kid, you had better have a good excuse for this, and you had better have it now.”
“He said he couldn’t see!” Dustin whined, and Taylor thought Nica’s head was going to pop off.
“Not acceptable. I don’t care if he can feel it or not, he’s an adult and he’s my friend and he’s part of this family. You do not disrespect an adult who has done nothing to you but sit down next to you for dinner. Now you go wash your hands and sit in the living room without television, and you think about what you did and how you’re going to treat Mr. Cochran better in the future. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life!”
Nica’s voice faded as she frog-marched Dustin past the other adults—who were all trying to hold on to their judgey faces, Taylor could tell—and Taylor looked back across the table of little miscreants to see what they thought.
“Wow,” Belinda said, looking from where Dustin had disappeared and back to Taylor again. “You’re not afraid of Mama.”
Taylor grabbed a couple of Dustin’s napkins and started to wipe the lasagna off his cheek and eye patch. “First thing you learn in the military, kiddo. You respect the chain of command, and the chain of command will respect you.” He didn’t add that this lesson only worked when your CO had your back, but he figured that was for another day. Right now he knew Nica had his back, and the kids knew he respected the powers that be. It was enough.
“Well done,” Sammy said quietly. “What are you going to do when Nica’s not there?”
Taylor grimaced. “Well, for starters I’m going to ask you to help me remember their goddamned names.”
“I can do that.” He looked out at the table. “Okay, guys, I’m going to play a game. I’m going to say your name, and you’re going to say a word that sounds like your name. So I say ‘Taylor,’ and he says…?”
“Sailor,” Taylor said promptly. The kids giggled, and he winked. “Next one!”
It worked.
By the time they got from Taylor the Sailor to Melly Belly, Keenan Meanie, Letty Spaghetti, Conroy Little Boy, and Splenda Belinda, Taylor had every kid’s name firmly implanted in his head.
He finished his lasagna feeling slightly better able to cope.
“Uh, ’scuse us.”
Someone tapped his shoulder, and Taylor looked up to see Jacob doing the chin thing toward the table.
“Dessert?” he asked hopefully, because damn, he just didn’t want another heart-to-heart.
“Humble pie,” Jacob told him dryly.
Taylor had to laugh. He and Tino’s best friend had always gotten along—right up until Taylor had come out and Jacob had moved in on Nica. Well, they were adults now, right?
“I’d rather have ice cream,” he said, and Jacob grinned. He sported a few more wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and his blond hair was closer to brown these days, but still. Bam! Right there. Taylor remembered that smile from when they were kids, remembered Tino and Jacob hanging out with Tino’s little sisters and their geeky friend. Takeout, trips to the movies, trips to the lake—a thousand things that had made this man as much a part of Taylor’s childhood as the rest of the family.
“Me too,” Jacob said. “C’mon, let’s go raid Tino’s garage. I know where he keeps the butterscotch gelato.”
Taylor’s mouth watered, and he swallowed back a whimper. “Butterscotch?” he asked wistfully. Back when he and Nica had truly been kids, before Taylor had decided he had to “prove he was a man” by banging every man that moved, Taylor had pissed off the old man in a truly epic way. When he’d gone over to Nica’s that weekend with bruises on his face and his arm in a sling from “slipping in the bathroom,” Tino and Jacob had offered to go get him anything he wanted from the store.
Nobody else in Taylor’s house liked butterscotch. Not his mom, not his older brothers, not his old man. He’d been hurt—not just from the beating, but because he’d realized why his father had beaten him. It had nothing to do with Taylor being a good boy or a bad boy and everything to do with him flirting shyly with the guy who’d been landscaping their backyard.
Tino and Jacob had come back with butterscotch turtle pie and butterscotch ice cream, and Taylor had….
Well, he hadn’t eaten butterscotch since.
Not because he hadn’t loved it and not because he’d made himself sick, because he’d always been smarter than that.
But because he’d never been sure if he could recreate that feeling, that moment, of being cared for unconditionally by people he respected and admired.
And loved.
“Yeah,” Jacob said, standing back so Taylor could get up and taking Taylor’s plate before Taylor could object. “I think you need butterscotch tonight.”
Taylor swallowed. It wasn’t an olive branch. It was a life raft made out of olive branches, with a mattress and a blanket and a minifridge full of butterscotch gelato.
“Yeah,” Taylor said, pushing himself to his feet and surreptitiously stretching out his game leg. “I think so too.”
Monocular Vision
BRANDON had never been so mortified at his own behavior.
Taylor stalked past him and out of the kitchen, and he struggled with six ways to say “I’m sorry, I was an ass,” and not a thing came out of his mouth.
They all heard Tino’s mom talking to Taylor in the dining room, and Brandon muttered, “Fuuuuu-ck” and thunked his head back against the doorframe, fully expecting to get called out by Nica’s family.
Of course Tino, being Tino, ignored the emotion and worked on the practical. “Channing, could you take the ice chest out?”
“Sure.” Channing pecked Tino on the cheek and hefted the bottle-stuffed ice chest like it was a shoebox. Brandon made way to let him out and took a deep, bitter breath before he followed.
Tino stopped him. “You remind me so much of him, you know.”
Brandon’s mouth swung open in shock. It was the only response he had.
“Both so confident,” Tino mused. “Arrogant too.” He smiled, the expression whole and unfettered, a contrast to the cynical grimace that had twisted Taylor’s lips, and made sure Brandon was looking at him. “Wounded.”
Brandon swallowed. Tino would know. Nica surely had told him how Brandon had come to live with them. There were worse stories, sure, but Brandon’s parents would never be comfortable with him.
“Nobody beat me,” he said, hating to feel pitied.
“Taylor can’t say the same.”
Brandon swallowed and wondered if shame could actually open a fissure in the earth to eat him in one gulp. “Awesome.” Self-loathing added power to the word.
“We didn’t know at first, but later, when he came out to Nica, came out to his family, we put some things together. He had this….” Tino laughed a little. “He had this power to him. Still does. But now it’s like he knows his flaws, and he’s comfortable with them. Doesn’t have anything to prove, you know?”
“I noticed,” Brandon said reluctantly. It had been one of the things that had rubbed him the rawest, actually—that self-possession. Like Taylor knew the score, would be totally capable in any situation. Yeah, sure, some of that was military, but some of it?
Some of it was just blatant chutzpah, and Brandon knew it.
“He just….” Oh, this sounded stupid. A child’s last refuge when they’d done something wrong. “He just doesn’t seem like he’ll fit in very well at Nica and Jakey’s, you know?”
“’Cause of the scars?” Tino asked, looking disappointed. “Brandon, that’s beneath you.”
“No!” He rubbed the back of his neck where he knew his flush would show the brightest. “You’re right, you know, the eye patch is dead sexy. But he’s…. I mean, if we were defending our home from zombie hordes, I’d want him on my side in a heartbeat. But finding Conroy’s woobie and making sure Melly ties her shoes?”
“Nica uses Velcro for a reason,” Tino said, completely serious.
Brandon had to laugh. “Yeah, I know. So, yeah, that’s asking the impossible. But you know what I mean.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that you don’t look particularly domestic yourself?”
Brandon cocked his head, not sure where that came from. “Uh, no?”
To his surprise, Tino burst into cackles of glee. “Oh my God. Oh… oh hell. Oh my great giddy aunt!” Still laughing, Tino strolled out the door, not pausing to explain or anything. “Oh damn! Wait until I tell Jacob—wait until I tell Channing. Oh, that’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long time. Jeeeeeebus.”
Brandon followed him out, genuinely puzzled, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to get any answers at the moment, and dammit, he was hungry.
HE missed what Dustin did to get banished to the living room, but it must have been pretty heinous, because Nica was usually a stickler for the kids eating as a family. He got to the patio just in time to see Jakey and Taylor disappear around the house, probably heading for the garage.
He didn’t see them again until it was time to leave. Tino and Channing were convincing Taylor to sleep in one of their guest rooms as they left, and Jakey was definitely a little the worse for wear.
“Really?” Nica said as she slid behind the wheel. “The first thing you do when I can’t have a beer is go and have six?”
Jacob belched. “Your friend, Taylor?” he said, eyes at half-mast as they pulled away. “The one we’re trusting with our children?”
“I know him, Jake,” Nica said dryly, belting in and starting the car.
“He’s a good kid. I’d forgotten that, you know? He came out and hurt your feelings, and I hated him. And you guys made up, and I was jealous. But we’re okay now.”
“You’re okay now?”
The three littler kids were almost asleep in the back of the minivan, and Brandon was sitting in the middle row with Dustin. Dustin, still taciturn and pouty after whatever he’d done, stared out the window, emanating a black cloud of nine-year-old mood-funk—but something told Brandon he was listening as hard as Brandon was.
“Better’n okay,” Jacob said, leaning his head back. “He’s a good guy. I mean, he was an obnoxious little shit, but he was a good friend to you at the same time. And he’s gonna help you and he’s grown up and it’s okay.”
“That’s wise, honey.” She patted his knee. “I’m glad the truth was in the bottom of a twelve-pack.”
“Six-pack,” Jacob informed her. “I’m a lightweight. And don’t forget the gelato.”
“Oh God. Butterscotch?”
Jacob belched again. “Yup.”
“Jacob Alexander Grayson, you had better tell me when it’s time for you to puke. I need some warning before I pull the car over.” With that she turned right onto Hazel, probably planning to cut through Sierra Gardens to get them back to Rocklin. Brandon recognized it as the route most conducive to screeching to a halt on the side of the road.
“‘When’?” Brandon asked, pitching his voice to carry.
“Butterscotch makes him puke every time.”
“Then why’d you eat it?” Because, hell, the last thing they needed was another human being at the mercy of bladder, bowel, or gag reflex. Four kids and a pregnant woman weren’t enough?
“’Cause I’m gonna have five babies.” Only a drunk could sound that smug. “And my wife’s gonna have her BFF back. And Brandon’s gonna build us an extension on the house. And we’re gonna get a dog!”
Suddenly all the kids were awake.
“A dog?”
“Daddy said we’ll get a dog!”
“Dad, really, can we get a dog?”
“I want a dog!”
“Doggy doggy doggy!”
“Enough!” Nica barked. “All of you, pretend to be asleep again! Jacob, I hope you have a plan—”
Jacob’s next belch had some heat in it. “Yup,” he said, sounding not so boozy anymore. “You’re going to pull over after this stoplight, and I’m going to throw up in the bushes. Brandon, get me some water.”
Nica swerved the minivan to the right almost before he stopped speaking. Brandon hopped out the side door just as Jacob made it to the pavement and got violently ill.
Brandon ran around to open the back end and came back with a towel and two bottles of water, then waited patiently until Jacob was done. He reached weakly for a bottle of water, and Brandon handed it over.
“You know, Jakey, as plans go, this one sort of sucks.”
“It’ll be better with a dog.” Jacob rinsed and spat. “I promise.”
“I hope so. Throwing up in the gutter is sort of a sucky start.”
“It comes with the butterscotch,” Jacob told him with dignity. “Not the beer.”
He rinsed off some more, and Brandon gave him a hand up. “You really okay with Taylor?” he asked, the question burning in his gut almost as badly as Jacob’s butterscotch.
The perceptive gaze that met Brandon’s was stone-cold sober. “With my wife and family. And you might want to think about cutting the guy some slack.”
Oh great. Well, they’d gotten drunk together, after all. “I need to apologize,” Brandon admitted.
“He doesn’t need it.” With a grunt and a sigh, Jacob opened the car door. “Just a little help if things get hairy.”
With four kids? “I’ll be there with a beard trimmer,” Brandon told him brightly.
Jacob chuckled, and they got in the car and went home.
THE next day was business as usual.
Brandon got up in the morning while Nica was managing the pre-school-bus chaos. He helped with shoes and lost backpacks and Jacob’s bleary-eyed hunt for Advil, and left after Jacob did. He had to leave after Jacob—his truck was trapped behind Jacob’s car. Jacob pulled out of the driveway. They had to repeat the car dance when Brandon got home from school.
Late.
He had night classes—and while night classes meant Jacob had to park on a side street until Brandon got home so they could make all their cars fit, it also meant he could maybe get done with college with a minimum of student debt while working for Sowers Construction.
His boss, Wally Sowers, was a perpetually sunburned fiftyish man who spoke maybe five words a day. Wally’s foreman, Garland MacFarland—and boy, did he catch shit for that name—did most of Wally’s talking for him.
Garland—married, fit, average as a pair of brown shoes, size nine—was probably one of the nicest men Brandon had ever met. He had two kids who had been in middle school when Brandon started working for Sowers four years ago, and Garland spent most of his time worrying about how to get them through college. Brandon’d had Tino look over his accounts to see if he could wring some money out of a stone, and Tino had given him some suggestions for investments. Garland’s kids were in high school now, looking at colleges, and he’d probably let Brandon leave at twelve every day, he was so grateful for Brandon’s help.
Brandon had asked Garland if they could bump the spare room up on the roster so it would be done by the end of summer vacation, and Garland had been happy to do it.
Today, in the on-site trailer on Sunrise Boulevard in Citrus Heights, they looked at plans—basic ones—so they could begin the work next week.
“Two stories, you think?” Garland asked, and Brandon grunted.
“They have to stay within the bid, Gar—this is their fifth kid.”
“God help us, yes. If the dimensions are what you said, we could probably add a room over the porch and one over the living room—so a whole upstairs level, to match your garage apartment. It’ll work. Let me run the plans by my architect and do the calculations—”
“It’s got to be solid, Gar. We can’t have kids crashing through the ceiling or anything.”
“They wouldn’t crash through the ceiling, Brandon. They’d fall through the floor.”
Brandon glared at Gar, and Gar looked back mildly. Brandon broke first, smirking, and conceded gracefully. “Yes, you know what you’re doing, and I basically swing the hammer,” he said, telling nothing but the truth.
“That’s ’cause you’re studying to make the big bucks later,” Garland assured him. “And you’re taking a team to do this.”
Brandon nodded. It was, in essence, a small job for Sowers Construction, and they were doing it at cost. Garland got the real jobs—Brandon could follow the plans and give the guys orders on smaller jobs, just like he’d followed orders when he’d started.
“I’m ready,” he said with a slight smile.
Garland frowned in return. “Brandon, I didn’t want to bring this up, but have you spoken to your parents lately?”
Brandon looked at him guardedly. “Whenever they call me.” He made his shrug overcasual. “You know.”
Garland did know. He and Brandon’s dad had been friends since college. Garland had, in fact, reached out to Brandon after Brandon had moved away from home. Garland’s father had complained bitterly about Brandon’s “decision” to be gay, but Garland hadn’t cared—and had been happy to act as Brandon’s boss and mentor as he worked for the company through school.
But they didn’t talk about Brandon’s parents. They hadn’t for two years.
Now Garland nodded. “I do know,” he said softly. “And you handled yourself well. But your dad’s… well, you know.”
“Stubborn? Closed-minded? Bigoted?”
“Old.”
That stopped Brandon’s rant right quick. “Is he doing okay?”
“Mm….” Garland’s shrug was way too neutral. “I don’t know. He’s put on a little weight in the last few years.”
“I’d noticed in the Christmas letters,” Brandon conceded. His mom blew off the once-a-month phone call, but Jacob got the Christmas letters—usually about Brandon’s brothers and their families and places his mom and dad had visited in the year.
Not a thing about Brandon—not in two years.
“Well, I went to visit, and he was… he got flushed getting up and walking around the house, Brandon. And your mom is worried sick, and he won’t go to the doctor.”
“And he’ll listen to me?” Brandon rubbed his stomach. “Doubtful. It’s doubtful he’ll listen to me.”
Garland sighed. “Yeah, but at this point you’re the only family member who hasn’t tried.”
“Really? I really have to—?” Brandon made vague gestures in the air.
“Be the bigger man and take the first step and tell your parents you love them?”
“They don’t want to hear it,” Brandon said, scowling. “They want to hear I’m engaged to a nice girl and we’re going to have babies.”
“Well, it would help if you were dating anybody,” Garland told him, shaking his head in frustration. “I mean, I get dedicating yourself to school, Brandon, but I was sort of hoping you’d be… you know, more out with your out. It would shake these guys up to watch you make out with your über-hot boyfriend, you know?”
Unbidden, the image of Taylor Cochran floated in front of Brandon’s eyes. Tough as nails, battered and grim, with raw sexual energy emanating from his body like heat waves off pavement.
“I’ll keep looking for a guy to make that work for you,” Brandon said, winking. “So far nobody here is interested in grabbing my ass.”
Garland just looked at him, in loco parentis at its finest.
“I have high standards,” Brandon conceded after an uncomfortable, fidgety moment. “I watch, you know, Nica and Jakey, Tino and Channing, Mr. and Mrs. Robbins—it has to look like that, you know?”
“Not your own parents?” Garland asked quietly.
Well, Garland knew them. “I’m sure their friends think they’re perfectly nice people,” Brandon said, trying to keep his voice neutral.
“A lot of us weren’t all that happy that they asked you to leave.” Garland bowed his head. Neither of them stated the obvious—Brandon had been living at Jacob and Nica’s for exactly two days when Garland had called to offer him a job.
“But they always have each other.” Brandon didn’t say love, because their relationship really wasn’t about that. But together? Yes. They were together.
“That they have. I’m not saying you have to fix the world, kid—just maybe call and say you were worried. If nothing else, they may actually remember that they raised you to be a good kid.”
Brandon posed. “They did. I am a good kid.”
“You’re a good kid getting paid for sitting on his ass. Go clean up and pick out your crew. You and five guys—two weeks. Maybe three. If you can keep the kids from being underfoot, that would be spectacular.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll do my best, but they’ve got this new… manny. Nica’s going to be working at the shop in the mornings instead of her home office. Jacob has a couch where she can rest. They’re leaving a friend of the family in charge of the kids. Drop-off, pickup, breakfast and lunch—”
“Not dinner?”
Brandon stared at him. “And Nica doesn’t cook? Are you kidding me?”
Garland held up his hands, obviously aware now of the terrible wrong he’d just perpetrated. “Of course. Silly me. So she’s getting help? Good. Thank God, in fact. She’s needed it.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
Ugh. “It’s just this… this guy. I mean, they’ve got family history and shit, and everybody seems to think he deserves a chance. I mean, he’s a veteran, you know? And he seems to love Nica, and Jakey trusts him, and everybody loves him, but….” Brandon remembered the look Taylor Cochran had leveled at him the day before, the searing presence of the man, his acerbic tongue and unapologetic presence, and his rant stopped with his breath.
Garland was looking at him, waiting for him to finish the sentence. “But?”
“But….” Eye patch. Sardonic smile. Quick tongue. How quick would his tongue be? Would his tongue be quick along Brandon’s throat? Down his collarbone? Along his ribs? Would that quick tongue be extra quick beneath the waistband of Brandon’s jeans?
Brandon shivered. “Uh….”
Garland’s eyes-wide-open expression told Brandon everything he’d tried not to say had just been said, loud and clear. “So it’s like that, is it?”
Brandon hid his face in his hands. “He has an eye patch,” he mumbled. “And a really clear blue eye. With dark lashes. And blond hair. And… these stringy muscles and….” Oh God. “Oh hell!”
Garland’s laughter was even more mortifying than Brandon’s inadvertent confession. “And to think I was worried! Well, is he single? Could he be interested?”
“Yes, he’s single, yes, he’s gay, and no, he’s not interested because I was a complete and total asshole to him. Jacob felt compelled to go get drunk with him after dinner—and he ate butterscotch, which means he really wants the guy to fit in.”
“Why? What’s so bad about butterscotch?”
Brandon manfully refrained from gagging. “It makes Jakey puke like a machine. It’s uncanny. Nica says he can’t so much as smell butterscotch candy. The kids don’t even know it’s a flavor.”
“Now that’s a crime. And so is letting this opportunity to date a guy you’re actually interested in pass you by.”
“Date him?” Grope him, be ravished by him, devour him, bend over and beg for him, make him scream with need, bang him like a screen door in a hurricane—yes.
“You don’t want to date him?” Garland was still amused.
“Uh, sure.” That amused silence battered at Brandon until he was compelled to add, “It’s just sort of a tame word.”
Garland’s rich laughter rang throughout the little trailer. “Oohkay. I think we have successfully answered the question of why Brandon didn’t like the new nanny, and it has nothing to do with whether or not he fits in.”
Brandon closed his eyes and tried to ignore Gar, the little trailer, and his treacherous thoughts about Taylor Cochran all at once. “Shut up.”
“Sparks, my friend. They’re as exciting as hell, but they’re not always comfortable when they jump down your pants.”
Brandon turned abruptly. “I’m gonna go find my crew, Gar.”
“Don’t ignore your own signals, junior!”
“You’ve been a lot of help! You can shut up now!” he said, putting his hand on the doorknob and not looking back.
“You think this is uncomfortable, you should try blue balls.”
Brandon groaned, remembering his sleepless, achy, restless, horny night before. “Been there, done that,” he said, shoulders slumping in defeat.
“Do something about that.”
“I hear you.”
“And don’t take all my best guys. I’m trying to run a business here.”
“Hear that too.” Brandon turned around as he stepped through the open door. “And thanks, Gar.”
“Yeah, call your parents. That’s thanks enough.”
Brandon stepped into site cleanup and his first chance to be the foreman of his own show.
IT was gratifying to pick the guys he wanted to work with and not have any of them turn down the job. The hard part was pulling Cooper Hoskins aside and telling him why Brandon wasn’t going to take him. Not this time.
“Coop, you got a second?”
Coop was barely nineteen. When he’d applied for the job the year before, he’d been two weeks shy of his eighteenth birthday, and Brandon had talked Garland—who had talked Wally—into waiting to hire him. In the meantime he’d made money mowing the lawns of everybody Brandon knew.
There was something fine about Cooper—and something damaged. Brandon had seen him looking at shirtless, muscled men, and there’d been both yearning and terror in the expression.
The only person on Coop’s reference sheet had been a foster parent, who had vaguely confirmed that Cooper had lived there but left the day he aged out.
He’d proved to be a good worker—smart, agile, able to both take directions and think for himself—if not particularly big or strong. Brandon normally loved working with him, which was good, because he’d earned the nickname Spooky Cooper from the rest of the guys. Too quiet, too secretive, too prone to glances that skittered away before they landed. And he moved like being seen was a crime.
But Cooper was just about to learn drywalling on this next job—Garland had set him up as an apprentice for the next couple of months. It was a solid part of contract work, and it would ensure he’d be able to find a job wherever he needed one. Brandon didn’t want him to miss the opportunity, that was all.
He had to make sure Coop saw it that way.
“You don’t want me to come with you? I mean, uh, sure. That’s fine. I don’t, uh… I mean, I’m not a baby who needs you to watch over me and all. It’s cool.” Cooper was a handsome kid—olive skin, with cheekbones and chin in a perfect diamond formation in spite of arresting, slightly asymmetrical brown eyes. Unfortunately truthfulness was not his strong point, and neither was eye contact.
“Cooper.” Brandon’s voice sliced through the bullshit. “I’m not abandoning you. And I still like working with you. But drywalling pays decent, and the training could set you up with any contractor in the state. I want you to have security, do you understand me?” Because Brandon was pretty sure Cooper had been living in his beat-up Chevy Impala when he’d first shown up on Sowers’s doorstep, begging for a job. His clothing had been worn, and his ribs had practically shown through the holes, and he hadn’t smelled great either.
Brandon didn’t ever want to see him in that state again.
Cooper nodded and darted a glance at Brandon’s face. Brandon caught his eyes and made sure the look stuck. “I’m being honest here, Coop. I like you. I want you to work here as long as you want. But you need to learn as many skills as you can. I was going to hook you up with Anthony—”
“The electrician?”
“Yeah, him. As soon as you’re done learning drywalling. The more you know, the more hireable you are. The more choices you have. You understand me?”
This time Brandon believed Cooper when he nodded quietly and said, “Yeah, sure. You’re looking out for me. I appreciate it.”
“You’d better,” Brandon said with a wink, and Cooper actually grinned, which was not an expression they saw often.
Brandon got back to work with a good heart, mostly.
The expression on Cooper’s face as he’d realized, finally, that Brandon wasn’t kicking him to the curb—there was something familiar about it. Something haunting.
Something that reminded him a lot of Taylor Cochran as he’d nuked Brandon’s surliness out of the water with cold hard facts and then stalked away.
BRANDON finished his second final of the day with relief and dragged his tired ass up the wooden stairs to his apartment. Jacob knocked on the door while he was unlacing his boots.
He came with a wrapped plate of meatloaf and vegetables—which was totally unnecessary and very welcome—and with an update.
“Taylor’s starting next week.” He set the plate on the small counter by the refrigerator that marked Brandon’s kitchenette and kept speaking as he walked into the “cozy” white-painted living room. “We figure you’ll be done with finals and concentrating mostly on the extension by then. I know you’ll be busy, but I also know you’ll be keeping an eye out for the kids in case they get out of Taylor’s control, and if Taylor needs help, he can go to you.”
Brandon made an uncomfortable noise, and Jacob held up his hand. “I get it,” he said. “You are not expected to pick up Taylor’s slack—that’s two jobs nobody could do at the same time. We’re just saying we know you’ll take safety seriously while you’re working. I mean, you met Taylor—unless he was really in need, do you think he’d bother you?”
I wish he would. “No. I hear you. I’ll be backup if he needs it.”
“Yeah. And, of course, Nica and I are just a couple of miles away. He’ll be fine.”
Brandon nodded and toed off his second boot, then leaned back and closed his eyes.
“Long day?”
“Two finals and a site cleanup. I’ll be glad to get home at five tomorrow.”
“Well, we’ll try not to be too nuts for you. I think Taylor’s coming over to have dinner with the kids to get to know them and the routine—feel free to stop by. Teamwork, yo?”
“Yo.” Oh God. If he could only take a nap, he might make it off the couch and into the shower and—“Hey!”
The plate of meatloaf was hot as Jacob set it on his lap.
“Gotta eat,” Jacob said. He grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned the station to cable reruns of something with no storyline and lots of explosions while Brandon took his first bite. Unbidden, he saw the look on Taylor’s face before he’d left the kitchen.
“Jakey?”
“Yeah?”
“I said something awful to Taylor last night. Think he’s going to listen to me?”
Jacob snorted. “Dustin threw lasagna at his face last night. If the guy’s coming back after that, I think he can survive you being an asshole.”
Fortified, Brandon took another bite of meatloaf, his entire body waking up at the thought of apologizing to Taylor Cochran—and maybe seeing one of those sardonic smiles again.