Wild Man Read online

  I tried to pull myself together, promptly failed, began to lose it, and found my feet rushing out of the kitchen, down the short flight of stairs with my mouth mumbling a trembling, “Excuse me,” as I raced to the other flight, up, into, and through Brock’s bedroom to his bathroom where I closed the door.

  I pressed my back against the wall, slid down, shoved my face in my knees, and burst into tears.

  I would learn later that Brock had not shared my ordeal with his family. And considering my dramatic reaction, even though Brock was in that bathroom with me about a nanosecond after my ass hit the floor, his mom and sisters were so worried, they didn’t leave until after Brock calmed me down and left me curled on his bed while he went down to explain and get them gone.

  Luckily, thus ended the fight, though Brock didn’t give up. He just quit shouting about it. However, when he couldn’t find his furniture, he gave up and gave in.

  Weirdly (or maybe not), this elevated my new girlfriend status, seeing as they’d found out I hadn’t been with Brock for a few weeks like they thought but instead quite a bit longer. They sensed there was seriousness to our relationship. I shared a tragic circumstance the like of which had been visited on their family, which clearly moved them. And, although I couldn’t explain how they did it or all the reasons why, I knew I’d been welcomed wholeheartedly into the family fold.

  Brock, seeing as he missed little (or possibly nothing), couldn’t have missed this and he had no reaction to it whatsoever except for settling naturally and casually into it.

  It was safe to say I really liked Brock but I’d also spent a number of years huddling in my own space as a defense mechanism and a big, loud, interfering family kind of freaked me out.

  I kept this to myself, thinking that if Brock and I survived for the long haul, I’d get used to it mainly because I wouldn’t have a choice.

  The other big thing that happened was I met Rex and Joel. In fact, the Friday after Brock and I got back together heralded his next weekend with them. He picked them up from school and three hours later I met them at Beau Jo’s for pizza.

  Brock was not wrong. His genes were dominant. I didn’t know what Olivia looked like but both her boys looked like miniature Brocks. Joel had Fern’s blue eyes; Rex had someone else’s nose but other than that, features, body shape, everything was so like Brock it was uncanny. It was different, unique to them but still somehow the same.

  And he was also not wrong about something else. They were good kids. Polite. Soft spoken. Attentive. Well-behaved.

  Maybe too much for kids their age, considering they weren’t much older than Grady and they had none of the exuberant little kid-ness of their cousins.

  I saw Brock every night (and therefore every morning) but when Brock had his boys, these were the only times he and I spent blocks of time being apart. He explained this to me as being an attempt to introduce me slowly into their lives rather than shove me in their faces and force them to spend time with someone they didn’t know too well. So, after our first Friday night dinner together, I didn’t see Brock until Sunday night. And the next time Brock had them I saw them again on Friday night and then didn’t see Brock until Sunday.

  But it was the next time I would get it about his boys’ good behavior. Because we didn’t meet for Beau Jo’s for pizza. I brought cupcakes and Brock cooked spaghetti at his old pad, where we were going to eat dinner and watch a movie. But I was at his place when they got there in late afternoon and didn’t leave until they were in their twin beds in Brock’s second bedroom.

  Spending more time with them, I noted on arrival they seemed wound up and when I say this I mean tight. Jumpy. Hyperattentive. Anxious. And Rex once actually looked fearful and this was when he spilled his glass of pop on the coffee table. His wide, terrified eyes shot to his father. His face paled right under my gaze and his body grew visibly solid.

  I also saw this make Brock’s mouth get tight. Not because of the spill but because of his son’s reaction to doing it. He quickly hid his reaction and cautiously and gently dealt with the spill while assuring his son (who, with effort, allowed himself to be assured but clearly didn’t commit to it) that it was in no way a big deal.

  It didn’t take a child psychologist to see, if Rex spilled pop at his mom’s, the reaction he got from his dad was not even close to what he’d get at his mother’s.

  I had never been with a man with children and I decided to bide my time and let Brock discuss it with me when and if he wanted. This was not a game. This was me giving my man space. We were still getting to know each other and he didn’t need me nosing into his business with his boys and his ex.

  So I didn’t.

  But this weekend Brock decided would be different. He talked to me about it, asked me if I was comfortable with it. I wasn’t (exactly) and told him so. But also told him I’d give it a shot.

  So Friday night was his with his boys. So was Saturday. But Saturday night, I came over and made (at Brock’s request, since he wolfed down three-quarters of it when I made it for him) my Mexican tortilla casserole (though, obviously, since Brock liked it so much, I doubled it). This was followed by hot fudge sundaes with my homemade hot fudge sauce.

  After, I spent the night.

  It was a compliment when the boys dug into my food with the same relish as their father.

  And it was a relief when they took my spending the night in stride.

  Now it was Sunday. The kids were being picked up by their mother at five and Brock told me that Olivia had long since informed him she wanted the kids returned to her fed and watered so we were going to have a big late lunch after which I was serving homemade carrot cake.

  A cake I was decorating at that present moment even though it was just for us.

  This was something I had to do. It was a compulsion. Every cake deserved to be pretty, even if the decoration was simple.

  And considering the thousands of baked goods I’d decorated, it took me the same amount of time to decorate a cake as it did for most people simply to frost them, so it really didn’t matter.

  So I smiled into Joel’s blue eyes and answered his question with, “Yeah.”

  He looked at his brother. Rex looked at him then they looked back at me.

  Then Rex asked, “Do you do cakes like The Cake Boss?”

  I shook my head and went back to piping while explaining, “My shop is small. I only have two girls who help me with the baking and decorating. I’m not set up for that kind of operation and my cake mission doesn’t include extravagance, just the drive to make every cake I bake pretty.”

  “Cakes don’t need to be pretty. They just need to taste good,” Joel informed me as his dad moved up the steps.

  My eyes went from Brock to his son, whereupon I shared, “In order to decorate a cake, you have to make more frosting, which means the cake has more frosting, which means the eater gets to eat more frosting. So, agreed, cakes need to taste good but decorated cakes, being decorated with loads of extra frosting, taste even better.”

  Brock circled Joel’s chest with an arm, tugged him playful-rough back into his torso, and muttered, “Can’t argue with that, Joey.”

  “Nope,” Joel agreed, his eyes on the cake, and looking into their hungry depths I knew my work was done as clearly his horizons had been expanded.

  At that point there came a knock on the door. I looked to Brock, saw his brows draw together and his head turn in that direction then he let his son go and sauntered away. I went back to piping.

  “Carrot cake’s my favorite,” Rex shared, his voice not hiding his anticipation and the sound of it made me grin.

  I knew this. It was his father’s favorite too. This was why a homemade one was sitting on the counter.

  “Good,” I muttered.

  “What the fuck?” I heard Brock growl.

  My head went up and both boys’ necks twisted to look toward the door.

  “Nice,” I heard a woman say, then go on, “I’ve got to get the boys early. C
an you get their stuff together? I’ll be waiting in the car.”

  “Come again?” Brock asked.

  “I have to get the boys early,” she repeated. “I’ll be waiting in the car. Tell them to hurry.”

  “Olivia, you don’t get them until five,” Brock stated.

  Already tense at the knowledge my mind was refusing to believe, that Brock’s ex was at the door sounding like the bitch I suspected she was from what I’d learned from Brock (and Fern and Laura and Jill), I went tenser when this was irrevocably confirmed. It was then I noticed both the boys were frozen to the point of looking calcified on their stools.

  “I know that, Slim, but today I need to pick them up early,” she retorted.

  “You need to pick them up early, you tell me you need to pick them up early. We discuss it and make plans. You don’t show at my fuckin’ door and tell me to get them packed.”

  “Oh for God’s sake!” she snapped. “It isn’t a big deal. Why do you make everything a big deal? It’s only two hours. Just get them to get their shit packed and I’ll be waiting in the car.”

  “Woman, I get four days a month with my boys, two hours shaved off that is a big deal,” Brock returned on a dangerous rumble.

  “There you go, making it a big deal,” she shot back.

  “They haven’t eaten,” Brock told her.

  “Dade will take them out to get some burgers or something later,” she replied.

  “No, Dade won’t. We got plans. You’ll come back in two hours or I’ll drop them at your house at five or whatever the fuck time you’ll be home to look after your sons.”

  “You can do whatever you have planned next time you see them. I’m here now, I went out of my way to come and get them, and I don’t have time to discuss this.”

  “You went out of your way to come and get your boys?” Brock asked, his dangerous rumble getting more dangerous.

  “Jesus, Slim, just tell them to get packed.”

  “All right, you are not hearing me and you need to listen. We have plans. The cake’s baked and the boys are lookin’ forward to it. They’re gonna eat it and they’ll go back when it’s time for them to go back.”

  “The cake’s baked?”

  Uh-oh.

  Brock didn’t answer that question. Instead, he ordered, “Go, I’ll bring the boys to your place at seven.”

  “What cake’s baked?” she asked. “You baked a cake?” This was incredulous.

  Apparently, Rex nor Joel had shared about me.

  I looked back at the boys at the same time their heads in unison slowly turned to me.

  They looked terrified.

  Oh man.

  “Olivia, Christ, step back,” Brock growled.

  Oh man!

  “What cake, Slim?” she asked, her voice rising as well as getting closer, then on a shout, “What cake?”

  There was a moment of silence, a muttered, “Fuck,” from Brock and my eyes went to the living room half a second before a woman appeared at the foot of the stairs to the kitchen.

  And one look at her was like a sock to the stomach.

  She was utterly, top-to-toe, the definition of beautiful.

  Shining, healthy, long blonde hair. Fabulous bone structure. Perfectly symmetrical features. Intriguingly shaped bedroom eyes. Cheekbones to die for. Tall and rake thin. Slim-fitting, stylish sweater, two-hundred-dollar jeans, seven-hundred-dollar boots and fifteen-hundred-dollar handbag.

  And she had extraordinarily beautiful hands tipped with perfect, crimson fingernails.

  She looked like she walked out of the pages of a celebrity magazine.

  And she was Brock’s ex-wife.

  Her striking, angry, venom-spewing eyes leveled on me and she demanded to know, “Who are you?”

  I opened my mouth to answer but Brock entered my vision and he spoke before me.

  “This is Tess, Olivia, and seriously, this is not fuckin’ cool,” he snarled.

  “Tess?” she asked, eyes on me then they cut to Brock. “Tess?”

  “Maybe you’ll do me a favor and go outside for your tantrum instead of havin’ it in front of my boys and my woman.”

  Wrong, wrong, wrong thing to say.

  I knew this when she hissed, “Your woman?”

  “Jesus, Olivia, can we fuckin’ go outside?” Brock asked.

  “No we fucking can’t!” she shrieked.

  And that was it for me.

  “Okay, boys,” I said softly, putting down my pastry bag, “do me a favor and get your coats. Let’s take a walk around the block.”

  “Don’t you take my sons anywhere,” Olivia lashed out, her arm coming up so she could jab a finger at me.

  “Take them, Tess,” Brock growled.

  “Up boys, let’s go,” I whispered as they seemed planted to their stools.

  “Don’t you dare walk out of this house with my children!” Olivia shouted.

  “Go, Tess,” Brock barked.

  “Guys,” I called, rounding the counter, “up. Let’s go.”

  “We have problems if that woman takes my sons out of this house,” Olivia threatened Brock.

  “You steppin’ into my house, we already had problems, Olivia,” Brock fired back.

  “What’s going on?” I heard and Olivia and Brock both looked to the door as I tried to place the voice that was vaguely familiar and couldn’t until Joel spoke.

  “Grandpa,” he whispered.

  Boy, Cob Lucas had interesting timing.

  “What’s going on, Cob, is that I’m here to pick up my sons and Slim won’t release them,” Olivia informed her ex-father-in-law at the same time she crossed her arms on her chest, hitched a hip, and put out a foot.

  “Well, I’ll be,” the invisible Cob replied. “I musta got somethin’ messed up. I thought you picked the boys up at five. That’s why I stopped by, to see my grandsons. Did I lose two hours somewhere?”

  I watched Rex look at his brother. Joel gave him a small grin then they both finally moved to jump off their stools and race down the steps.

  “Hey, Grandpa!” I heard Joel shout.

  “Hey, Gramps!” Rex shouted after him.

  “Joey, Rex, come give your Granddad a hug,” Cob ordered.

  Olivia glared at proceedings I couldn’t see. Brock scowled at his boots.

  “Tess baked us a cake!” I heard Rex say excitedly. “Carrot. My favorite and Dad’s!”

  “And mine, boy,” Cob added. “Is it someone’s birthday?”

  “Naw,” Joel answered. “She does it all the time. We had cupcakes last time we visited Dad. She bakes cakes for a living.”

  “She bakes cakes for a living,” Olivia whispered disdainfully.

  I felt my back go straight but watched Brock’s head snap up and neck twist, whereupon he aimed a look so vicious at his ex-wife that it made me, not even the recipient of the look, quake a little.

  “You should see her decorate it, Gramps,” Rex said. “She goes so fast, you can’t see her hands move. It’s like those people on TV.”

  That made me feel better, and when I say that I mean that made me feel downright smug. But I aimed my smug grin at my feet.

  “This I gotta see,” Cob muttered.

  “You gotta hurry. She’s almost done,” Rex told him.

  “All right then, how about me and my grandsons watch Tess decorate this cake and you two go on out to the parking lot and finish your talk,” Cob suggested. “Does that sound like a plan?”

  I looked from my feet to the living room to see Olivia glare at Cob. She transferred her glare to Brock then moved her eyes to shoot daggers at me.

  Her eyes traveled the length of me and back and she asked me, “Why am I not surprised you bake cakes?”

  “Maybe ’cause she’s got a real woman’s body that a real man enjoys”—pause, then a pointedly emphasized kill shot of—“a lot, rather than a body full of points and ridges that, newsflash, Olivia, really doesn’t feel all that fuckin’ good?”

  Brock asked this as
her gaze snapped to him and it was clear by his look, the mood that hadn’t shifted out of the room, and the fact he didn’t shut up that he wasn’t done.

  “You should watch Tess decorate her cake too. Probably would be fascinating, seeing as having talent of any kind is foreign to you.”

  He’d already delivered ouch, but with that he twisted the knife deep. But he still wasn’t done.

  “I’ll make sure the kids wrap a couple of pieces up to take home. You taste it, you might learn life can be sweet rather than bitter. Dade tastes it, he might remember that there are women out there who know how to take care of a man rather than expend all their energy suckin’ the marrow out of his bones.”

  “Slim,” Cob said softly, moving into my vision and giving his son a gentle look that, albeit gentle, clearly said that Brock had made his point. He moved up the stairs. When his eyes hit me, he said softly, “Heya, Tess. Good to see you again.”

  “Hey,” I said softly back.

  “Have the children at my house by five,” I heard Olivia hiss at Brock.

  “I’ll have them back at seven so Dad can have a good visit,”

  I moved back behind the counter but glanced at the living room as Cob and the boys gathered at the bar and I saw her pinched face now staring daggers at Brock.

  And Ellie was not wrong. She did have a pinchy face. After the initial impact of her looks, her words, attitude, anger, and inappropriateness colored those looks and she was not nearly as beautiful as I’d thought.

  “Fine,” she bit out, then started stomping to the door.

  I picked up the pastry bag and went back to decorating even as I listened hard.

  Therefore, I heard Brock rumble low, “You cool down, you reflect on this, Olivia. You do this shit one more time, and I mean any of it, from you showin’ two hours early to take my boys to you throwin’ a shit fit in front of them and my woman, I warn you, I’ll take action.”

  “Go fuck yourself, Slim,” was her hissed retort.

  “Jesus,” was Brock’s muttered reply.

  My eyes slid to Cob to see his mouth tight, his jaw hard, and his eyes aimed at the counter. He must have felt my look because his head came up. His gaze caught mine, he schooled his features into a smile that did not reach his concerned yet angry eyes then he released my gaze and reached out to wrap a big hand around Rex’s head and pull him into his side.