Hold You Close Page 4

  I want to scream at him about once again being a selfish asshole, but I won’t do that in front of Chris.

  Ian touches his shoulder. “Go get your sisters ready, we’ll be out in a minute.”

  As soon as Chris is gone, Ian’s anger is directed back at me.

  “Don’t do that to them,” he warns.

  “Do what?”

  “Make them assurances you can’t give.”

  “I didn’t!”

  “So you’re agreeing to watch them at night and on the weekends?”

  “Umm . . . ” My eyes widen. “Who said that?”

  “Well, you love those kids, and you just said . . .” He puts his fingers up to make air quotes. “We’ll find a way.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I never said I would become their babysitter.”

  “Why not? I figure you’re never busy at night or on a weekend.” He shrugs.

  “That doesn’t mean I’m your new nanny!”

  Ian takes a step back, pursing his lips. “True, but you said you’d help. You said you wanted to be there for them. What better way than working out some kind of shared custody? You can be there and I can work. We both win.”

  “Wait, you want me to share the kids as though we have some kind of custody arrangement?”

  He lifts his palms. “You suggested it, I’m merely coming up with an agreement. When the will was read, you seemed pissed that Sabrina didn’t leave you the kids, since you’re so responsible and I’m not, in your mind.”

  “You’re twisting my words.”

  “I’m just glad you offered to help.”

  Ugh. “I didn’t! I have a life, I can’t watch them every weekend. How is that fair? I would be willing to help, but not every weekend.” Is he out of his mind?

  Ian smirks. “I’m sure your cat won’t mind. And it’s not like there’s ever a man around, so the kids don’t have to worry about your dating life. Seems like a perfect solution.”

  My jaw drops. “You are such an asshole.”

  “So you’d rather I hire someone the kids don’t know? What if Ruby cries? Or Morgan can’t do her homework? You’re fine with a stranger coming into their life?” Ian tosses back.

  Once again, he’s reminded me why I loathe him. This is what we are. We fight. Claw, scratch, and tear each other apart. He’s an asshole and I’m a bitch. We bring out the worst in each other. It’s been this way since . . . I let him in.

  One mistake.

  One night.

  One thing that will never happen again.

  “You can’t bully me into this,” I say. “You can’t push your way to getting what you want. I’m doing the right thing for them, not you. It’s no wonder Jolene left you, because you’re selfish! God forbid you don’t get your way. God forbid you have to think of anyone but yourself. God forbid you love. God forbid—”

  Before I can say another word, Ian’s lips are pressed against mine. I lock up completely. I don’t breathe or move, in total shock. His hands are holding my face, refusing to let me get away. I couldn’t if I wanted to because our lips are touching.

  After a few seconds, Ian releases me. I stand there, unsure what the hell just happened. Ian kissed me. He just grabbed me and kissed me. I used to dream of his mouth on mine. So many nights I wished he would come to me, tell me he felt something, say he was sorry, kiss me again, love me, but he never did. Each day that passed my heart sank deeper into despair. Each week that went by I hardened myself to him. Each year it grew into a hate so deep we couldn’t even be in the same room. But I’ve refused to let him see the damage he’s done.

  He just took that from me. With one touch of our lips, the pain returned with a vengeance. Without thinking, I lift my hand, and slap him across the face.

  Four

  Ian

  “What the fuck?” I scowl at London as if I can’t understand why she hit me. The truth is, I know exactly why my cheek is stinging right now.

  What I don’t know is why I fucking kissed her in the first place. One second I was standing there listening to her go off about what a terrible person I am, listing all my faults and flaws, digging at me where it hurts the most, and the next second I had the uncontrollable impulse to crush my mouth against hers like I was nineteen again.

  “What the fuck?” Her face is all fiery outrage. Her hands are clenched into fists. “You argue with me, you insult me, you take me down a notch in front the kids, and then out of nowhere you kiss me, and you have the nerve to ask me ‘what the fuck?’ I should be asking you that question, Ian! So what the fuck?”

  “I didn’t take you down a notch.” I straighten my tie, although it was perfectly straight. “I was putting the kids first, like we’re supposed to. It’s obvious to me the kids don’t want to live in a house that reminds them of their parents.”

  “And it’s obvious to me you’re just as self-centered as you ever were. Some things never change.” Her icy green eyes narrow, and she jerks her chin at me. “Now why did you kiss me? I deserve an answer.”

  Since the whole truth isn’t an option, I give her a partial one, retreating into the role of Insensitive Asshole, which is what she thinks I am anyway. “To shut you up.”

  Her jaw drops, and she puts a hand on her chest. “To shut me up? Did those words really just come out of your mouth? Because that’s a new low even for you.”

  “It worked, didn’t it?” I shrug. “Told you I’m a smart guy.”

  “You are unfuckingbelievable.”

  “You know, I believe I’ve heard that from a woman before. Of course, she was wearing much less clothing than you are . . .” Just to be an even bigger jerk, I drop my eyes from her face down to her black high heels and slowwwwly bring my gaze up again. “But I’m pretty sure those were her exact words.”

  She parks her hands on her hips. “See? This is exactly why you are not fit to raise those kids. I cannot imagine what your sister was thinking.”

  That pisses me off. “Maybe she was thinking that she knows what’s best for her children—to be raised by a blood relative who loves them, who can give them every advantage, and who will teach them not to be condescending, judgmental assholes that think they know everything.” A little harsh, maybe, but I’m sick and tired of her treating me like dog shit on the bottom of her shoe. Just because I don’t reveal my feelings very often doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

  She’s taken aback, and for a second I think she might hit me again. I don’t back away. Let her do it if she wants to.

  But she doesn’t. She drops her arms to her sides, gathers herself up and takes a deep breath. When she speaks, her voice is calm. “I am going to be the grown-up in the room and stop fighting with you. You want to move the kids into your house? Fine. You think they’ll be happy to leave the only home they’ve ever known? Fine. You think your lifestyle is suitable for children? Fine.”

  “As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I think. So you can just turn around, and walk your little grown-up ass right on out of here.” I gesture toward the door. “I don’t need you to tell me how to raise my nieces and nephew. And I don’t need your help.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “You don’t think you need my help?” Her expression is almost amused, which pisses me off even more.

  “No. I don’t.” I stand up a little taller. “You can see them whenever you want to, but I’ve changed my mind about sharing them. Sabrina and David left them to me. And the last thing I need is you in my face all the time, telling me I’m doing things wrong. They’re my blood, my family, my responsibility.”

  Tossing her head back, she laughs. “I didn’t even know you knew the meaning of that word. Good for you.” She turns, grabs her purse from beneath the conference table, and heads for the door. I can’t help but look at her ass, and I hate that it’s fantastic. I don’t want to want her like that. How many more fucking years will I have to fight it?

  When she reaches the door, she looks over her shoulder at me. “In case you’re wo
ndering, I’ll find another ride home. Oh, and make sure the kids buckle their seatbelts. I’d forgotten what a reckless driver you are.”

  She’s gone before I can bite back.

  Damn it.

  I rub my face with both hands, feeling the days-old scruff against my palms. I need a shave. I need a haircut. I need a grip on my life.

  I stare out the window without seeing anything as reality sinks in. Ten days ago I was on top of the world and loving every second of it. Rich. Single. Fearless. Old enough to know better, but young enough to do it anyway.

  Now I’m a divorced “father” of three. Clueless. Sad. Scared.

  Defeated, I sink into the chair at the head of the conference table and pinch the bridge of my nose. What am I going to do now? In the past when I needed advice, I went to my sister. I can’t do that anymore.

  My throat closes up, and I swallow hard, squeezing my eyes shut. “What were you thinking, Sab?” I whisper. “I wish you were here to tell me. I need you.”

  But the room stays silent except for the quiet whoosh of the central air conditioning and the tick of a clock on the wall.

  Sabrina would argue with me, wouldn’t she? She was always on my side unless London was involved. She’d tell me my ego was too big, my attitude was shitty, and my pride was getting in the way of moving forward. She’d be furious that I was being a dick to London, but goddammit, she deserved it. Calling me selfish, accusing me of being a bully, bringing up Jolene. London’s hatred of me has nothing to do with Jolene and she knows it. She’s just bitter about the past, as if there’s anything I can do about it now. She doesn’t even know why I did what I did, and she has no idea I did it for her. She should thank me. But no—to do that would mean listening to my side, and she’s made it perfectly clear she’s not the least bit interested in that.

  I wish I hadn’t kissed her just now. All it did was stir up feelings in me that were better left buried in the past.

  “Ian?”

  Startled, I jump up from the chair to see my mother coming through the door of the conference room. Her eyes are red and puffy, her complexion ashen, and she looks older than her sixty-six years.

  “Yeah?” My voice is scratchy.

  “Daddy and I are leaving. We’re going to take the kids back to their house so they can pack up some things. Chris says they’re moving in with you?” She studies me carefully, and I feel as if all the cracks in my armor are showing.

  I clear my throat and speak firmly. “Yes. My house is bigger, they love the pool, and . . . London will be close by.”

  My mother tilts her head. “I hear you told her you didn’t need her help.”

  Fucking London! “Maybe I don’t need her help,” I say defensively, running a hand through my hair. “Maybe I can handle them on my own. Sabrina seemed to think so.”

  She crosses her arms. “Ian. Being a parent is hard enough when there are two of them in the house. Being a single parent is even tougher, and you have your hands full. Chris is trying to keep it together for the girls, but he’s struggling. Morgan is a mess—she hasn’t stopped crying, barely comes out of her room, and hardly eats. And did you notice that Ruby has stopped talking?”

  “What?”

  “She won’t talk. Not at all to me or Daddy, scarcely a word to Chris and Morgan.” She glances over her shoulder out the door. “But I just heard her telling London she didn’t want her to go.”

  A vise closes around my heart.

  “You’re going to need her help,” my mother says, slowly and firmly. “You should apologize.”

  No fucking way. “Apologize! For what?”

  “For whatever it is you said to her. She tried to hide it, but she was in tears when she walked out of here, and it was clearly because of you.” My mother sniffled, and touched at her eyes with a white handkerchief. “I don’t understand why you two can’t get along. She was Sabrina’s best friend. Practically family. Why can’t you be civil to each other?”

  “I don’t know,” I lied.

  “Well, you’d better figure it out. Those kids are going to need both of you.” Her voice softens and her eyes fill again. “Your sister trusted you, Ian. Don’t let her down.”

  “Jesus, Mom. Enough.” Overwhelmed by guilt and grief and fear and the feeling that the ground is giving way under my feet, I walk to the door and shoulder past her before she can make me feel worse.

  On my way home, I call Drea. “Hey,” I say when she picks up her cell. “I can’t come in tonight.”

  She groans. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t give you shit today of all days, but you said you could be there.”

  “I thought I could. Look, it’s a Wednesday night. We won’t be that busy.”

  “That’s what you said last time you didn’t come in on a weekday night, and there were two fights in line.”

  I frown and change lanes without signaling. You’re a reckless driver, I hear in my head. “You’ll have to handle it, Drea. I’ve got family issues.”

  She sighs. “Okay. I’ll see if I can get a second bouncer for the door tonight. Maybe another one for inside, too.”

  “Fine.”

  A pause. “The service was beautiful.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Are you . . . okay?”

  “I’m fine. Call me if there’s an emergency.” I end the call before she can even reply.

  I’m not okay. I’m so far from okay I can’t even see where the line for okay begins. I’m livid, hurt, confused, and if I’m honest, I’m scared out of my fucking mind. Three kids. I am now responsible for three kids. And I have to be good at it, because that’s what my sister wanted.

  It will be a huge lifestyle change for me, but for those kids, I’ll do it.

  What I won’t do is pretend I’m not very upset at said sister. First, she goes and dies on me--I know that’s not the most mature way to look at it, but I’m a broken man. Then, she leaves everyone under the fucking sun a goodbye letter except me. Why?

  Of all the people who needed one, I needed it the most.

  London gets one.

  The kids, of course, get one.

  Hell, even our parents, who we only see at Christmas, get one.

  But not her brother, the one she decided should be in charge of raising her kids. Nope. I’m just the low man on the totem pole.

  When I get home, I go upstairs and look into all the bedrooms. Needless to say, they are not suitable for children. One has a freestanding sex swing in the corner, which I hurriedly disassemble and hide in the loft of my three-car garage. One has a collection of toys under the bed—and I’m not talking about the kind from Fisher Price. I gather them all up and stuff them into a suitcase, then shove the suitcase in the attic. The last one might be okay except there’s a mirror on the ceiling. I cringe. How the fuck am I going to explain that? I only have three spare rooms, so if the girls don’t want to share, one of the kids will end up in here. There’s no time to remove it, so I decide to move the damn bed and claim it was here when I moved in.

  My very discreet housekeeper changes the bedding any time I have guests, and she always keeps the rooms clean and the bathrooms stocked with fresh towels, but I double-check it all anyway. I want to feel as prepared as possible.

  Downstairs, I look around at my kitchen and living room. What else would the kids need besides a place to sleep and put their clothes?

  Food?

  Shit. That could be a problem. My housekeeper grocery shops for me, but I’m not much of a cook.

  I walk over to my fridge and open it. A bunch of takeout boxes. Eggs. Bacon. A few apples. Ketchup and mustard. In the freezer are a few bottles of booze, trays of ice cubes, a frozen pizza, some chicken breasts, and a mystery container, probably full of something Sabrina made and brought me, but has been in here so long I forgot about it. I take out the pizza box and stare at it, but it’s not enough to feed four people. Six if my parents come. Seven if I break down and include London.

  Sticking the box back in the free
zer, I walk over to the sliding glass door that leads out to the pool and look across the back yard. She’s outside—I can see her standing on her deck, holding a glass of wine in one hand. She’s changed out of the black suit into a tank top and shorts, and her hair is down.

  When I bought this house two years ago, I had no idea the yard backed up to hers. When Sabrina realized it and told me, I had a good laugh about how furious it was going to make London to live so close to me. To be unable to ignore my existence like she’d been so hell-bent on doing for the previous fifteen years. To be forced to see and hear me enjoying life while she’s over there drinking wine and talking to her cat.

  She turns in my direction, but I know she can’t see me. My windows are mirrored glass, so I can see out, but you can’t even see a shadow from the other side. I like my privacy. She takes a sip from her glass, and I think how easy it would be for me to walk out there and call to her. Invite her over. Tell her I could use a drink too. Tell her I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to be such a dick today, but my best friend is gone and my life is upside down and I don’t want anyone to know I feel so fucking alone I could cry.

  But she’d only say I told you so. That’s what women do. You show them any sign of weakness and they fucking move in for the kill. Those moments today when she pretended she wanted to get along with me so we could give the kids hope were just bullshit. She only wanted to use this as another opportunity to prove I’m an irresponsible jackass, unfit to take care of the kids. One more fuck you for what you did to me, Ian, as if I haven’t already paid the price.

  After giving her one last glare, I move away from the window, pick up my phone off the counter, and call my mom to find out what time she’ll be over with the kids and what they like on their pizza.

  “I don’t want to watch Captain America, Chris,” Morgan says as she rips the remote from his hand. “I want to watch Gilmore Girls. You don’t get to hog the remote!”

  “Well, you’re not the boss!” He grabs it back. “I’m older, so I get to decide. Brat!”