Week one was uneventful. In every aspect. Iain had fallen into a three-hour routine of eating and sleeping. Three hours wasn’t bad, but it was exhausting. As were Carter’s efforts ‘to do right by me.’ What should’ve come naturally, felt contrived and overacted.
I needed some fresh air.
Freshly showered, I sat on the edge of my bed and laced up my running shoes. I wasn’t allowed to lift any weight, but I could walk. Standing, I waited for the rush of blood to subside, and then walked to the mirror. I’d braided my hair to the side, and slipped a skull cap over my head. It was the best I could do without cutting it off. I only had to put up with it another week.
In the reflection, I saw Carter stop at my door and lean against the jamb. “What’re you doing?”
“Taking the baby f-f-for a walk.”
“The decorator’s coming to go over the plans for the bedroom. She’ll be here in an hour.” Of course she would. I always had something to do. It was like he was purposely keeping my schedule full with trivial activities when I wasn’t napping. We were either doing puzzles, playing games, watching movies, or anything else that kept me from stepping foot outside.
“That’s plenty of t-time. I’m only going around the block.”
Carter opened his mouth to object, but changed his mind when he noted the determination in my stance. “I’ll come with you. Give me a minute to dress.”
I didn’t mention that he was still on crutches. It’d piss him off royally. In hindsight, perhaps it was the reason he didn’t want to venture outdoors. It’d piss him off even more if I backed out now. “I’ll get the stroller out.”
“Fine.” As he stepped into the bathroom, he pulled his phone from his pocket and began punching at the screen. He didn’t even object over the excessive weight of the stroller. Odd.
Whatever. I pulled the door closed behind me as I walked out. Quickly, I stepped across the hall and lifted Iain from his crib. He barely stirred as I rested him on my shoulder. Brutus, however, whined in complaint over the eviction of his bedmate. He’d taken to sleeping beside Iain, which was fine, because it meant keeping him on schedule as well. One week and we were nearly accident free. Through the night, at least. Housetraining was going well. Not spotless. No pun intended. But relatively smooth by my book.
Grabbing Brutus in my other hand, I trotted down the stairs. Just as I reached the back door it rumbled with a knock. I pulled back the curtain, peeked through the pain of pitted glass. Matthew. Behind him was Taylor. I tugged the door open and stepped back to let them in. “Your timing is impeccable.”
“We were in the neighborhood. Thought we’d stop by and see how everyone was doing. I see you survived your first week.”
“I’m going stir crazy, actually. I was just going out f-f-for a walk.” Making my way back into the living room, I placed Iain in the car seat and buckled him in. Brutus curled up on his lap, but kept a curious eye on our visitors.
“Let me get that for you,” said Matthew, reaching for the car seat. Lifting it to his waist, he peered inside. Brutus flattened his ears, cowered down over Iain. Matthew blinked in surprise. “What the hell is that?”
“Brutus. He’s a gift f-f-from Jess,” I explained. “She says no f-family’s complete without a dog.”
“I don’t think he counts.”
“He counts.” They followed me back through the kitchen and into the mudroom where I unfolded the stroller. Matthew lowered the car seat and locked it into place. “Someday he’ll prove his worth, won’t you Brutus?” Brutus blinked back at me unassumingly.
“His ferocity is unnerving.”
“He’s fine as long as you don’t feed him past midnight,” Carter warned, joining us. He leaned against the counter for support while he tugged a t-shirt over his head, hiding the trail of hair traveling southward from his navel.
“What, is he going to turn into a little green goblin?” Matthew asked, tearing me from my blatant staring.
“No,” Carter snorted. “He’ll go on a shit fest all over the house. A shit shit here. A shit shit there. Here a shit. There a shit. Everywhere a shit shit.”
I scowled, the proud mama. “He only pooped in the house once.”
“He does it again, I’m gonna stick a cork in his ass.”
Unable to restrain myself, I laughed. “He was in the middle of pooping on the f-floor,” I explained, “when Carter spotted him and started shouting.”
“I was being assertive. He was shitting on the floor. My kid is gonna crawl across that carpet someday. I don’t want him resting his face where that little fucker took a shit.”
“I’m not condoning that he pooped in the house; I’m just pointing out that by yelling, you scared the shit out of him. Literally. He left a trail across the f-floor as he was running away.”
“Look at it this way,” Matthew reasoned. “You could have one of Em’s dogs to clean up after. They shit the weight of your dog. Each. Twice a day. Regularly.”
“I like my dog, thank you. Not t-to mention, I already have Carter t-to clean up after.” He was leaving jagged little pieces of my heart everywhere.
“She meant Iain,” Carter told the others. “Everywhere he goes, there’s a trail of diapers and burp clothes.”
As I eased the stroller through the door, he followed me on his crutches. “I meant you,” I threw over my shoulder. “Everywhere you go, there’s a t-trail of dishes. You never stop eating.”
“I told you, I’m healing.”
“You had chocolate cake f-f-for breakfast.”
“It’s no worse than a donut or éclair.”
“Your logic amazes me.” I don’t know how he didn’t weight fifteen hundred pounds. Meanwhile, I had an egg white omelet with spinach and mushrooms.
I approached the stairs with caution, stared down the small flight with consternation. Carter eased around me, going down first. Then reached up and grasped the front of the stroller. “Bring it down slowly.”
I lifted the stroller and carried it down one step at a time. When I reached the bottom, I realized I made another grating error. Gram’s driveway wasn’t paved. The crushed stone wasn’t going to make for a smooth ride. The narrow path stretched out before me like a bad joke.
Arriving at the same conclusion, Carter lifted the car seat from the base and began lugging it down the driveway, while I watched with remorse as he struggled with his crutch. The padded brace wobbled beneath his armpit, sure to cause bruises.
After much ado, I pushed the stroller across the gravel, following him. “I'm seriously getting this paved.”
“Your gram liked the quaintness of the gravel.”
“She didn't have to deal with strollers.”
“We can turn around,” Carter suggested. “We’re not there yet.” I made no response. I wasn't ready to throw in the towel. As we reached the curb, however, Carter was. “Are you sure this can't wait another week or two when I have my leg back?”
“I just want to go around the block.”
“I won’t be able to keep up.”
My eyes narrowed. Carter would never admit weakness, not where his leg was concerned. He was up to something. “The doctor said I shouldn’t lift over t-twenty pounds,” I objected. “He never said anything about walking.”
Abandoning the ruse of his own disability, he dropped his head, pushed a hand through his hair.
“I’ll take her,” Matthew offered. “I won’t let her out of my sight. Taylor can stay here with you and the baby.”
“Fine,” Carter said, after much contemplation. “Watch the time. We have an appointment—”
“In f-forty-five minutes,” I interjected, glancing at my watch. “I could do a f-few miles in that time. I’m only walking a block.” Or two.
“Just…be careful.” Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. It was flat and chaste and platonic. My heart withered just a little. Just as it had each day for the past week.
“I might have a speech impediment, but I think I can manage placing one f-foot in f-front of the other.” With a pout, I turned and strode off, my annoyance visible in my gait.
I walked three blocks before I slowed, another three before my annoyance waned. Matthew had barely broken a sweat. I was dripping. I had no idea how’d I’d gotten those few blocks. I didn’t remember crossing the first street, let alone the second or third. Matthew could tell me, I supposed, seeing that his head was pivoting back and forth, scanning our surroundings.
“For someone who knows adversity,” I observed, “he’s being awfully smothering”
“He’s worried about you.”
“That’s such a typical response. It wasn’t even an attempt at consolation. It was a weak pat on the back without the ‘there there.’”
Matthew grinned contritely. “Sorry for my lack of a better reply.”
Returning my focus to the path, I picked up my pace. I didn’t want to burden him with my problems. He’d only offered to babysit me as a favor to Carter. Being a man, I thought perhaps he could provide a different perspective, but I guess I’d thought wrong.
I needed the girls.
I needed a plan of attack.
Em was right. I’d disarmed Carter once. I could do it again. The plot was already taking shape in my mind. My armor…a sexy red negligée. My sword…an aged bottle of bourbon. My shield…to blind him with shock and awe. This time, he’d see me coming. And I’d render him unable to resist. I was about to shed the ridiculous illusion of innocence once and for all.
Pulling me from my machinations, Matthew began herding me toward the inside of the sidewalk, his body brushing mine. I began to slow, averse to falling. Another head injury is the last thing I needed. The next thing I knew, his hand encompassed my arm, pulling me to a stop.
“What are you doing?” I objected, yanking my arm from his grip. The idiot wasn’t even looking at me. His head was turned, watching a blue sedan. The driver was staring back at us, stretching his neck as he coasted slowly by. He blew a wolf whistle before punching the gas and speeding off.
Matthew placed his hand on my shoulder, gave it a consolatory squeeze. “Sorry.”
“What was all that about?”
“Habit.” He tapped his temple, flashing a rueful smile. “We’re trained to be on alert at all times.”
“You’re not on duty.”
“While the bands on tour, we’re on duty twenty-four seven. It’s a hard habit to shake. You can’t just turn it on and off.”
“As much as I appreciate your concern, you’re wasting your t-time. If I had a quarter f-for every t-time some guy looked in my direction, I’d have more money than the entire band combined.”
Stepping around him, I continued around the block and headed toward home. I had plans to make, starting with the master bedroom. If I was supposed to seduce Carter again, it wasn’t going to happen in my childhood bedroom. The place was a sexual deterrent. Too many memories lay within the walls to remind him of the past, of the little girl, Jake’s sister.
Said object of my attention sat on the porch step, evidentially awaiting my return. He stood as he spotted me coming up the driveway, relief palpable on his face. “I thought you were going around the block.”
“I did, and then I went around a f-few more.”
Carter made a noise in the back of his throat, as if I’d committed a felony.
“Relax. The only danger I encountered was when some random stranger drove past. Matthew f-f-felt the need to jump in the line of f-f-fire to deflect a wolf whistle.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Actually, it was f-flattering.” At least I knew someone found me attractive. Sliding past Carter and Taylor, I jogged up the steps and headed toward the door. “I’m going t-to get cleaned up before the decorator gets here.”
Upstairs, I tugged my tank top over my head and started the shower. My muscles burned deliciously after weeks of shuffling around in my hospital gown. I felt invigorated, alive. Later, I’d likely crash, and crash hard, but I was all for living in the moment. Almost dying had that effect on you. For now, I could find appreciation in something as simple as a bendy straw.
Stretching my arms behind my back, I unhooked my bra and let it fall to the floor. My underwear followed. I stepped out of the two threads of Lycra and plucked them from the floor.
“Angel?” Carter knocked lightly before opening the door. He didn’t see me right way, due to the angle of the dresser, but as expected, his breath caught and he muttered an imprecation under his breath. Then turned to leave and walked straight into the door jamb. “Fuck me!”
“Somehow, I doubt that’s an offer.” Might’ve been the way he was still shielding his eyes with his hand like some adolescent at a horror movie.
“Jesus, Angel, you could’ve warned me!”
“You can look, you know.”
“Tempting, but we have company downstairs. The decorator’s here.” Hastily, he wobbled through the door on his crutches. “I’m going to see if I can get her anything while you dress.”
Before I could reply, he was gone, the door closed firmly between us. He tucked tail and ran. Again. Well, he was right. Fuck him.
♪ ♫ ♪ ♫
Not a quarter hour later, I descended the stairs of the second floor. Feminine laughter rang from the master bedroom. I followed the sound down the hall, ignoring the curdling in my gut the best I could. It was difficult, seeing that he was entertaining another woman in my abode. Maybe I was being petulant. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t care. It was my house.
He, on the other hand, wasn’t my man.
He couldn’t even look at me.
He was making her laugh.
The ugly green bitch reared her head. I stood in the hall, just outside the door, hoping to recover a semblance of maturity. It was all I could do to keep from going inside and making a scene. I had no reason to be jealous. I was angry and blowing things out of proportion.
“I don’t usually go for younger men,” the woman cooed, “but for you, I’d make an exception. You’re simply irresistible. Mmm, I’m just going to start right here and eat you from the bottom to the top.” A surfeit of lip smacking and moaning ensued. I died. Fucking died. A million hideous deaths. What the actual fuck. This had to be a horrible, horrible joke.
“Oh shit!” Carter gasped, sounding truly alarmed. “Ooh…ah…let me get something to clean that up.” There was a rustle of clothing. The padding of bare feet on the wood floor. “I’m really sorry. It’s been awhile since—”
“That’s going to stain, isn’t it?”
“Sorry about that. I’ll pay to have it cleaned.”
“No need to apologize. It comes with the territory.”
“Seltzer water!” Carter exclaimed. “That’s what they used to use in the old movies. I’ll go see if we have some.”
I scrambled, first left, then right. There was nowhere to hide. Knocking into the side table didn’t help my escape. The vase teetered in a circle, an alarm bell to my eavesdropping.
“Angel?”
I froze, stared up at Carter. Guilt surged through me, and then accusation. My eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”
“Iain puked all over the decorator.”
“He wha…?”
“She was eating his toes and he just puked. Spit up streamed out of him like a bottle of champagne.” Leaning closer in, he glanced askance, and then stared me in the eye. “That’s not even the worst…” He paused, rubbed his face, trying to erase the thought from his mind. “There was this drop on her bottom lip. It was either a reaction or she didn’t know it was there, because she ran her tongue across and…Jesus, I think I’m going to get sick.”
I bit my lip, trying to stifle a laugh.
“It’s not funny!” Carter snapped, completely aghast.
“I’m sorry. It’s just so much better than the alternative.”
“Alternative to what—a towel?” Shaking his head, he headed into the kitchen for a bottle of seltzer. “I don’t know what’s with all you women wanting to eat their fingers and toes, anyhow. It’s weird. Just weird. So fucking weird.”
The alternative was much seedier than a towel.
I was glad I was mistaken.
To boot, the whole farce had diffused my anger enough that I could think clearly. I was no longer a homicidal maniac, bent on murdering the woman making moves on my man. I was merely the jealous girl, striving for the full attention of the man she loved. And failing.
I had to try harder.
Step one in my plans was about to be set in motion.
Staging the bedroom.
Words couldn’t describe how relieved I was to meet the decorator. She was nothing like I’d pictured, judging by the sound of her voice. It, her voice, was Ginger Grant. Her appearance was Mrs. Poole. Carter’s fidelity, if there was such a thing, was safe. For the time being.
Dimples didn’t accurately describe the craters in her cheeks. I’d imagine, in anger, they’d remain immovable, a gross contradiction to her emotions. Her auburn hair was meticulously coiffed, each curl teased to perfection. She wore a black pant suit. Several white stains soiled the lapel. Despite her recent bout with Iain’s digestive upset, she managed a smile.
“I’m Doris. You must be Mattie.”
“It’s nice t-to meet you, Doris. I’m sorry about the…” I gestured to her jacket. “I can t-take him if you’d like.”
Her expression faltered fleetingly at my stutter. She was quick to recover herself. “It’s no trouble. He’s just precious. Though, it might be necessary so I can show you the plans I’ve drawn up.” She passed Iain back to me, and grasped my arm once I had him settled comfortably against my shoulder. “My condolences. I’m so, so sorry to hear about your grandmother. She was a wonderful woman.”
“Thank you.”
Once she was sure I wasn’t going to break out in tears, she retrieved her portfolio from beside the door. “She showed me the house, gave me an idea for your style. I pulled some inspiration from your bedroom, and I did another drawing based off the rest of the house. You can pull elements from one or both. Whichever you prefer.”
I nodded for her to go on.
“Your bedroom is distinctly New Hampton, so I pulled in lots of white with accents of grays and a little black. The walls are pale gray, leaning toward the warm side. We can pull in another accent color, but based off your bedroom, I stuck with neutrals. The furniture is discretionary. I’ve pulled in pieces that are in stock. However, I have several auction houses that I visit weekly if you’d like something aged or unique. I know a great carpenter who’s phenomenal with refinishing. Though, it’ll add time to the schedule. Do you have a target date?”
“As soon as possible.” Like next week. “Have you ever worked a miracle?”
Doris flashed a smile, up for the challenge. “On occasion.”
“Great.”
“Let me show you the other design. Then we’ll talk strategy.” From her portfolio, she pulled a second drawing. “This one is more in line with the rest of the house. Your grandmother leaned toward Craftsman, so I used more wood tones in the furniture, and went a little heavier with the color—”
“While I love it, especially the f-first, I think I need t-to go in a different direction with this room,” I interjected. “I need it t-to be male. Something Carter’s not afraid t-to sleep in. Maybe a textured accent wall in a darker color, while keeping the bedding minimalist. A leather chair; age married with modernization. Maybe some stainless accents.”
“I think I can handle that.”
“How soon?”
“How often do I have you at my disposal?”
“Every waking moment.”
Doris laughed, placed her drawings back into her portfolio. “I’ll send some options for the accent wall tonight. That’ll be our largest time constraint.”
“I’m willing t-to sacrifice perfection f-for t-time.”
“Oh, honey, I’m not.”
“Money then,” I amended. “I’ll pay whatever it t-takes t-to get it done as quickly as possible.”
“Magic to my ears,” Doris chimed. “I’ll be in touch.”
We passed Carter on the way out. He was holding a bottle of Perrier. “Are you finished already? That was quick.”
“I have work to do. Your wife wants her room, post haste.”
“She’s not my—we’re not,” Cater flubbed, tripping over his words. Glancing at me, he realized his gaffe. His color sapped, turned sallow.
“Thank you, Doris,” I said, before we made a spectacle. “I’ll keep my phone close.”
Doris tore her eyes from Carter, her expression one of pity. “Congratulations on the baby, Mattie. I’m glad that you’re recovering well.”
“Thank you.” I closed the door behind her, pausing a moment until I was sure I wouldn’t say anything rash.
“So, which did you decide on?” Carter asked.
“Neither.”
“Why? They both looked fine to me.”
“You’re not the one sleeping in it.” Whoops. So I slipped. He wasn’t the only one that could mask his grievances with wit. Stepping around him, I headed for the stairs.
“Are you mad at me?” Carter asked. “Is this because of the wife thing?”
“It’s my bed. I decide when you get t-to sleep in my bed.”
“She’s mad,” he said to himself, and then raised his voice. “I didn’t mean anything by it, you know.”
Not consciously, no. Yet, it revealed so much.