Fix You (22 page)

             
Chris wished he’d hit Dylan more than once.

             
“Why is he such a stupid asshole?” he clarified, and thought her eyes cut toward him, silver and bright with the moonlight.

             
He waited for a tirade against the man. What he got was a tired, sober admission: “Because I’m a cold, heartless bitch who doesn’t make him feel like a man.”

             
How, he wondered, could anyone have his hands on gorgeous
her
and not feel like a man?

             
“I don’t believe that,” he said.

             
Jess was silent.

             
“You do a real good job pretending, but you’re not cold and heartless, sweetheart.”
And you can find a guy with some balls
, he added silently.

             
She straightened away from the truck, pushed her hands back through her hair, and he knew the moment was dissipating.

             
He didn’t want it to, though. “Jess - ”

             
“Please,” she said, folding her arms across her chest again, “don’t feel like you have to stroke my ego.” She forced a soft, humorless chuckle. “I couldn’t afford you if I had to pay you for compliments too.”

             
Chris fought the urge to grind his teeth. She’d misinterpreted him. And he guessed she’d done so on purpose. Heaven forbid she get out of her own damn way and let him be chivalrous for one freaking second.

             
“I’m glad Ellie’s okay,” he said as she started to turn away from him.

             
She nodded, hair shifting against the front of her white t-shirt. “Me too.” She watched the shadowy yard a moment – he wondered if she was searching for her mystery creeper – then started for the house. “Night,” she said over her shoulder.

             
He watched her go, not willing to get in the truck until she was safely inside and he’d watched her turn the deadbolt through the window. She needed some blinds, he decided. And a night to let him prove just how cold she wasn’t.

**

             
The girls
.

She’d been dreaming of fathomless black stretches of empty air – a dream devoid of all thought – when Ellie became suddenly aware of her own mind. Of her own body. Of the sudden blast of cold and pain and consciousness that ripped
her out of sweet oblivion and propelled her into a panicked state in which she wasn’t awake or asleep. As her brain went slamming back into her skull, as her strained, abused body started to howl, she thought of only one thing; there was only one reason she forced her eyes open a crack and let light invade them: her girls.

             
She had a sudden, sharp memory of Jane: pink and bloody and screaming as the nurse lifted her away. But Lizzy had been…She remembered the scream that had left her lungs, the blaring of monitors, the shouts…and then the blackness had come.

             
My girls!

             
Opening her eyes and blinking back the soft glow of lamplight felt like the hardest thing she’d done in her life. But she did it. And as the film over her eyes began to dissolve, as the room around her began to take shape, her panic tripled. Beneath the dulling effects of drugs, she could sense a pounding, hollow ache low in her belly; they’d cut her open. Her muscles had strained and strained, and then been sliced clean. She tried to lift her arm and it wouldn’t respond. She had to get up! She had to find her girls! And her body was traitorous. With tears filling her eyes, she managed to roll her head on the pillow…

             
“Jordie,” she said, and didn’t recognize her own voice. Her dry throat had formed only the barest of sounds, but Jordan, slumped down in a vinyl chair, heard.

             
He was on his feet in an instant, leaning down over the bed, a hand braced on the mattress beside her. She looked up into his face – the beloved, narrow lines of it – and noticed the most absurd things: the shadows the lamplight picked out beneath his eyes and around his mouth, the stress tweaking his features; the luminous, shiny blue-green circles of his eyes, red-rimmed and wet; the way his hair was getting too long and falling across his forehead.

             
She wet her lips, but her tongue was like parchment and it didn’t do any good. “The girls?” she asked, again in the strange, hoarse voice she didn’t identify as hers. She blinked hard and felt tears streaking from the corners of her eyes. She was so afraid…so desperate to know… “Are they…?”

             
A smile touched the corners of his mouth; she felt his palm against the crown of her head as he smoothed her hair back. “They’re right here,” he said in a soft, choked voice.

             
Ellie drew in a deep breath that sent pain spearing through her torso. She blinked away more tears. “Are they okay?”

             
His smile stretched and wavered; she wondered if he’d been crying, but the idea was too absurd to believe. Jordan was nothing if not stoic. His older brothers had inherited all their father’s size and strength, while those same traits had manifested internally for Jordan. He
hadn’t
been crying, she knew.

             
“You wanna see them?” he asked.

             
“Please.”

             
Her eyes tracked him as he went to the bassinets on the far side of her bed. Her gut a stew of blazing pain and churning emotions, she still smiled as he struggled to oh-so-carefully pick up both babies and juggle them one in each arm. Tears were pouring down her face as he sat down on the edge of the bed, holding their identical daughters.

             
“This is Jane,” he said, shifting the bundle in his left arm. “And this is Lizzy.”

             
She wanted to gather both of them up, smell the tops of their heads and hold them. But she needed to get stronger first. So she lifted an arm that felt like lead and reached for Lizzy, since she was closer, passed the pad of her finger along her tiny cheek. The baby’s eyes were open, her little red face drawn up like she wanted to cry.

             
Ellie swallowed the lump in her throat. “I can’t believe we had two.”

             
Jordan watched her a moment. “My aunt Julia was a twin.”

             
Her hand stilled, fingers against the soft cotton of Lizzy’s pink beanie hat. “You never said …”

             
“Her sister died when they were born,” he said, half-smile grim. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

             
She tried to wet her lips again.

             
“They’re perfectly healthy,” he told her. “And so,” he took a deep breath, eyes boring into hers, “are you.”

             
And that, she realized with a fresh wave of tears, was more important to him than anything.

15

             
M
onday was Tyler’s meet-and-greet with his new teacher. He had still not accepted the fact that he would no longer be attending his old school – the high-dollar private school she could no longer afford – and was in rare form that afternoon.

             
“Ty,” she said firmly, “put your shoes on. I won’t tell you again.”

             
He was sitting in the floor in the middle of his bedroom – the hardwood needed refinishing; the walls needed a second coat of blue paint; the single-pane window needed to be replaced; the water stains on the ceiling needed to be bleached – ignoring her as he continued to add wings to his green army man bunker with blocks.

             
“
Tyler
.”

             
He tipped his head back and shot her a mutinous glare. “I’m not going.”

             
“Mrs. Craig is going to think you don’t have any manners.”

             
“I
don’t
care.”

             
“Shoes. Have them on when I come back.”

             
Fastening her earrings, she clipped around the corner and across the hall to the dining room where Chris and his electrician were attempting to rectify a dangerous wiring situation in the ceiling. Chris was at the base of the ladder and he turned toward her at the sound of her heels on the hardwood, eyes doing an uncensored sweep of her that started at her pumps, lingered in the middle, and ended at her eyes.

             
“You’re all dressed up,” he observed, and Arturo the electrician looked at her too.

             
Her white cotton tank top dress was summery and casual; she’d cinched it at the smallest point of her waist with an old braided belt and snatched up the first pair of brown shoes she’d come across in the Rubbermaid tub that was serving as her closet until she could put shelves up in her own. Her hair hadn’t had enough time to dry and set that morning, and it was as wavy as her sister’s. Makeup hadn’t disguised the dark circles under her eyes. She was convinced she looked like hell, but Chris was looking at her…

             
She didn’t want to think about the way he was looking at her.

             
“I have to take Tyler to meet his teacher,” she reminded him with a sigh she couldn’t stifle.

             
“And I take it that’s not a good thing,” he observed.

             
“He doesn’t want to change schools. And,” she said with a wince, “he’s making sure I know it.”

             
Arturo had resumed wiring, but Chris continued to stare.
Didn’t your mother ever tell you that was rude?
she wanted to ask him. Instead, she checked the time on her cell phone. “I’ve gotta go. By the time we have the shoes-on argument again, we’ll be late.”

             
“Let me talk to him,” Chris said, and she felt her brows launch up her forehead.

             
“What?”

             
He stepped away from the ladder, tool belt jangling. “Do you care if I go talk to him?”

             
Yes,
was her immediate reaction. She did care. Now was not the time to allow relative strangers to wield influence over her son.

             
But as soon as that thought crossed her mind, a pang of guilt twisted her gut. She was denying Tyler access to his father and was therefore taking away the only real male influence he’d ever known. He had his uncles, sure, and he had her – he wasn’t alone. But he was hurting. And he thought Chris was, quote, “Super cool.” What could it hurt – since she was already gritting her teeth in frustration – to let Chris take a crack at the shoe situation?

             
“Sure,” she shrugged. “Have at it.”

             
As he left the room, he passed too close to her, their arms brushing, the handle of the hammer hooked through his tool belt touching her thigh. He smelled faintly of sawdust and damp plaster and the deodorant he always wore. A little shiver went down her spine as he moved on, his booted footfalls thumping across the floor.

             
Stop
, she told herself. “How bad is it?” she asked Arturo so she didn’t think too hard about how she was coming to like the smell of damp plaster.

             
Heavyset, Mexican, with a wide, dark face that was usually smiling, he worked hard and, unlike his boss, wasn’t prone to inappropriate staring. He spared her a frown over his shoulder before he titled his head and continued examining the bundle of cords he’d pulled down from the overhead beams. “It’s not good,” he told her. “Whoever put in the chandelier really fu…really messed some stuff up.”

             
“Sorry.”

             
He chuckled. “I’m the one who should be saying that; you’re paying for it.”

             
“Thanks for the reminder.”

             
He slanted her a grin. “Don’t mention it.”

             
Chris came up behind her, heralded by more boot thumping, and she turned, a little disappointed he’d been swayed so easily by her six-year-old…

             
Then her eyes fell over Tyler who stood at Chris’s side, shoes very much
on
.

             
Jess grinned before she could catch herself. She looked at Tyler, at his resigned expression, and then up at Chris, who seemed impassive save the victory sparkling in his brown eyes. For a moment, looking at their dark hair and dark eyes, she had the absurd thought that they could have been father and son. She chased the notion away, but kept smiling.

             
Rather than mention the shoes, she beamed at Tyler and asked, “You ready to go?”

             
His nod was reluctant.

             
“Go hop in the car and I’ll be out in a minute.”

             
When he was gone, she met Chris in the threshold and lingered. Her hand lifted and she managed to halt its progress before she laid it on his forearm and embarrassed herself. But the smile she couldn’t get rid of. She was inexplicably happy that someone – even if he was just her contractor – was getting through to her son. And she was thankful. And feeling generous.

             
“Remember,” she said, self-conscious under the gaze he poured down over her, “how I owe you one?”

             
“Vividly.”

             
Friday, out on the moon-drenched driveway, something had changed – for her, anyway. She hadn’t wanted him to see it, but what he’d said to her – the way he’d assured her she wasn’t cold, his frank insistence about it – had applied leverage to a soft spot and left her head spinning. Tired and too emotional after the ordeal with Ellie, she’d been more vulnerable than she normally allowed herself to be, and he’d said just the right, blunt things. Had pried at her divorce in a way that should have been offensive…but had left her almost giddy instead. Chris had punched Dylan, and maybe just to defend his pride, but it felt like more than that. It felt like she was being defended. And Friday, near tears and exhausted, she’d wanted to be defended. Dylan had never done that. No one ever had, save her family.

             
Now, she didn’t know what to make of the man standing in front of her. He was still infuriating…but she was glad he was here, too. She wanted to thank him properly. For watching her kid, for being sweet to her kid…for being sweet to
her
…

             
“Jo and Tam are going out with Mike and Delta tonight,” she said in a rush, before she could change her mind. “It’ll just be Tyler and me for dinner and I was going to cook. If you’d like to stay after work, I’m making - ”

             
“Yes.”

             
She swallowed, pulse thumping beneath her skin. “You don’t even know what I’m making. What if it’s Brussels sprouts and broccoli?” she joked, but her voice fell flat.

             
His fast, white grin was the same one he’d always given her, but today, it turned her stomach over. In a good way. “Yes anyway.”

             
She needed to leave. She was running late. She didn’t want him to think that she was softening toward him. But she stayed rooted in place, staring up at him and his devastating smile. “What did you say to him?” she asked.

             
“I told him it was a man’s job to be good to the women in his life. That for him, taking care of you meant putting his shoes on like a grown up and behaving himself.”

             
Jess bit back a chuckle. “That’s not what you said.”

             
His smile twitched in a guilty way. “Actually, I promised he could work the table saw.”

             
“You did not!”

             
“Never underestimate the power of bribery on menfolk,” he teased, then sobered. “And I won’t let him get hurt. You know that.”

             
For some reason, another shiver went rippling beneath her skin at those words. Her smile started to fall away. “I know.”

             
“So…dinner?”

             
“Dinner.”

**

              Jess was gone longer than he’d expected. Arturo and the guys had already left and the afternoon had turned to molten gold, the shadows long and thin across the shaggy lawn, before dust stirring at the final crest of the drive signaled her return. Chris watched through the kitchen window as the Tahoe pulled up behind his truck, died, and emptied its passengers. There was a definite sulkiness about Tyler as he kicked at the gravel and sent it flying, his head bowed. Jess closed her door and then stretched, graceful arms reaching over her head, spine arching, breasts and hips and ass doing wicked things to the white cotton dress plastered her to body. When she went around to the back and opened the hatch, he went out the back door and down the steps. If the evening was headed in the direction he hoped, then he wasn’t going to make her lug her own groceries inside.

             
“Hey, dude,” he greeted Tyler as he passed him, tousling his dark hair.

             
“Hey,” was his lackluster answer.

             
Chris halted. “Things didn’t go great at school?”

             
“No,” Tyler said to the toes of his sneakers. “And Mama made us go see the
lawyer
.” He said the word like a curse.

             
Frowning and curious, he moved on, to where Jess was hooking plastic Kroger bags over her wrists. “How’d it go?” he asked, and took all the bags she’d gathered into his own hands, leaving her to carry all that remained: a bottle of white wine.

             
She picked it up, gave him a reprimanding look for taking charge, and pulled down the Tahoe’s rear hatch. “His teacher is lovely,” she said. “What happened afterward wasn’t.”

             
Chris fell into step beside her as they followed Tyler up to the house. “What?”

             
She lowered her voice. “Amanda – my attorney – called. You were right about Dylan; he’s stirring up a custody disagreement that I can’t even
speak about
it’s so ludicrous.”

             
He felt a quick stab of guilt. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

             
She made a sound of disagreement. “It’s my fault for leaving Tyler – no offense to you – in, quote, ‘incapable hands.’ I knew the bastard was making things difficult and I never should have…” she trailed off, jaw clenched tight, lips pressed together.

             
So much for his plans; venting about her ex wasn’t the way to kick off the night.

             
“Can I do anything to help?”

             
She shot him a glance from the corner of her eye as they hit the back steps, calculating and distant. “Yes,” she said. “You can hit him harder next time.”

             
Chris snorted. “I might break his pretty little face.”

             
“
Good
.”

             
He followed her into her brand spanking new kitchen and set the bags on the counter where she indicated. Watching her rifle through them, tucking a stray lock of wavy, honey hair behind her ear, he traced the delicate, flawless lines of her profile with his eyes and became suddenly aware that he was still a dirty, grimy, sweaty mess and that she was decidedly not.