Hold You Close Page 7

  Truth—Ian broke my heart.

  Truth—Ian is the man I’ve never gotten over.

  Fact—Ian is a selfish player who doesn’t give a shit about me.

  Fact—I want to rip his clothes off and fuck his brains out.

  Those four things combined equals a disastrous outcome. But my best friend was a romantic at heart. She believed love conquered everything. She was a fool when it came to that line of thinking.

  Ian raises his chin. “Or maybe it was bound to happen. Maybe we’ve been fighting it for so long we finally snapped. Maybe I’ve wanted to kiss you for—”

  “Oh my God!” Morgan’s voice breaks the moment. “You guys kissed?”

  “Great,” Ian groans.

  “I knew it! I knew you liked her! Is that what took you guys so long? I was coming to find you because Chris thought maybe you got lost, but instead you were kissing. Are you guys like, together now?”

  Oh, to be twelve again. However, I don’t miss the key thing she said. “You like me?”

  Morgan snorts. “Of course he does. You know how stupid boys are. They’re only mean to girls they like. Since you guys can’t seem to be nice to each other at all, it’s obvious.”

  “Go inside before I ground you or whatever it is adults do,” Ian instructs her.

  “Telling the truth is always best, Uncle Ian,” Morgan tosses back at him.

  “The women in my life are going to drive me to drink,” he says as the screen door shuts. “It’s no wonder men die first. We can’t wait to get away from you all!”

  I laugh. “Yeah, because men are such a treat.”

  “I am. I can’t speak for anyone else,” Ian says as we walk in.

  “Right.”

  When we get in the house the sight before me brings tears to my eyes. Christopher is asleep with Ruby on his chest. She has her thumb in her mouth, and is passed out. He looks like his father right now. Ruby’s other hand is gripping his shirt, holding on to her brother.

  “Should we move her?” I ask.

  He nods. “I’ll put her to bed.”

  Ian lifts her effortlessly into his arms, and she stirs a little, but settles. Chris sits up straight. “It’s okay, honey,” I whisper. “Why don’t you head up and get some sleep?”

  Chris gets up, shuffling his feet. I head into the kitchen and clean up a bit, as well as start a list of . . . well, real food.

  I open the fridge again and then compose the list.

  Milk

  Fruit

  Vegetables

  Juice

  Cheese

  Just buy the damn store since you have nothing.

  How the hell does he function? Seriously, there’s nothing here that’s actually edible. I give up on the list and head upstairs to check on the kids. Morgan is in her room, her earbuds in, as she lies on the bed. I knock softly on the open door, and she sits up.

  “Hey,” I say as I enter. “You doing okay?”

  She shrugs. “I’m not sure.”

  “I get that.” I move to her bed and sit beside her. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not much to say. My mom and dad are dead. I’m living in Uncle Ian’s funhouse, which is what Mom called it, and I just wish I could go back in time.”

  That one sentence holds so much weight. “You know you’re not alone, right? I’m here, your uncle is here, and we love you.”

  Looking at Morgan hurts a little. We used to joke that she was her mother’s clone. They have the same eyes, hair color, and the dimple on her chin. More than that, she sees the world the way her mother did.

  She scoots over on the bed, and I lie down next to her.

  “I just wish things were different.”

  “I know, and I wish I could go back in time and change it for you.” There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to ease her pain.

  “It sucks.”

  It really does. “It’ll get better, honey. Day by day, hour by hour, we’ll all get through it.”

  “Do you promise?” she asks.

  I take her hand in mine, and I swear I’m sixteen again.

  * * *

  “Why do you even like my brother?” Sabrina asks.

  “Umm, because he’s cute.”

  Seriously, everyone likes Ian. He’s funny, hot, and really smart. He’s the total package, but more than that, he looks at me like I’m special. I know I’m his little sister’s annoying best friend, but when she’s not around, I’m just London. Can’t he see that?

  “He’s gross.”

  “Maybe to you.” To my sixteen-year-old self, he’s perfect.

  Sabrina flops down on the pillow and turns toward me. “Promise me,” she says, then stops.

  “Promise you what?”

  “Promise you’ll always be my best friend. Even if he’s a jerkface and is mean.”

  I roll over and wait for her to laugh, but she doesn’t. “You’re serious?”

  She nods. “Do you promise?”

  I don’t know why she thinks anything would ever happen. Ian likes girls who are pretty, skinny, and don’t have braces on. I’m definitely not his type. He’s with Jamie Hardgrave who is the captain of the cheerleading squad, homecoming queen, and pretty much every teenage boy’s fantasy. “I promise because I will never be with Ian.”

  Sabrina rolls back over. “I bet you one day he’ll try to date you and then you’ll be all, ‘oh Ian . . .’” She clutches her chest. “I love you, Ian, even if you’re an idiot.”

  I nearly choke on my laughter. “You’re so stupid.”

  “I’m serious, London. Watch.”

  She says that like it’s a bad thing, when it’s everything I want. “Whatever.”

  “You’re my best friend in the world,” Sabrina says.

  “And you’re mine.”

  “At least if you guys get married, we’d be sisters.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself! It’s never going to happen, anyway. He’s going to marry Jamie and have two kids and a dog.”

  She scoffs. “Yeah right. He’s only dating her because Chad wanted her. I heard him say something on the phone about breaking up with her. Boys are so dumb.”

  I try to keep myself in check, but the idea is swirling around now. Ian and me . . . together.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “So dumb. Thank God we have Jason Priestley and Luke Perry to dream about.”

  Sabrina lets out a dramatic sigh. “Right. I want to find a man like one of them.”

  * * *

  The memory fades, and I open my eyes. Morgan is breathing deeply and steadily next to me, sound asleep. I kiss the top of her head and snuggle closer to her. That’s when I notice the mirror on the ceiling.

  Fucking Ian.

  Sighing, I carefully slip off Morgan’s bed and exit the room. But there’s no sense in being angry with him. He is who he is, and he never planned on being a father to these kids. Or any kids, as far as I know. He’s going to need me, and he knows it.

  Part of me likes that a little too much.

  Seven

  Ian

  I carry a sleeping Ruby up to the room she chose—refusing to look in the corner that previously housed the sex swing—and lay her down on the bed. However, she’s still dressed. Do I leave her in her clothing? Try to get her into her pajamas? Wake her up to change?

  I stand there for a moment, scratching my head and staring down at this poor little thing whose heart is so broken about the loss of her parents that she’s lost her voice. And where did London say I had to drive her? Was it dance class? And Morgan . . . something about a science project? And Christopher—he plays basketball. That I know for sure because I’ve been to plenty of his games, but I’m going to have to be better at keeping track of all their activities. I’m all they’ve got now.

  Feeling overwhelmed, I sit down on the edge of the bed.

  I’m going to need London. There is no question; I can’t get along without her. I can learn and I can try—and I will—but all this nurturing stuff com
es so naturally to her.

  I wonder why she never got married and had her own kids since she loves these three so much. Is it because of her career? That has to be it. She’s always been so driven to succeed. How could she possibly have thought she would have been happy giving up her full ride to Northwestern just to stay here and fuck around with me?

  I remember the night she told me about it. I was home from UNLV for the weekend, and Sabrina begged me to drag them along to a party I was going to. I said okay, though I was sure they were just going to bug me all night, and I’d spend the entire time ignoring them. But I couldn’t get over how different London seemed that night—so confident and sexy. She had just been offered the full ride to Northwestern, and was also considering offers from like seven other fantastic schools. I remember looking at her and thinking how hot it was that this beautiful girl was so smart and driven. The kind of girl who was too good for me or any other jackass at that party.

  And she liked me. I knew she did because Sabrina had hinted at it before, but I had never cared. That night, I looked at her differently. I kissed her out in someone’s backyard behind a giant palm tree. I wanted to do more, but I told myself not to be a dick to her. She wasn’t just some sorority girl at a party—she was my sister’s best friend, and she trusted me.

  Beside me, Ruby stirs in her sleep, rolling on to her side. She seems a little uncomfortable in her clothes, so I decide to try getting her into her pajamas. Her suitcase is open on the floor, and I switch on the lamp before pawing through it. Locating what I think is a nightgown, I bring it over to the bed. Then I take a deep breath and get started.

  First, I peel off Ruby’s little white socks. She doesn’t even move. Congratulating myself, I move on to her shorts. It takes some effort to slide them down her legs, but I go slow and eventually manage to get them off. I’m totally sweating. Wiping my forehead with my forearm, I figure I probably need to get her into a sitting position to get her T-shirt off. I sit down on the bed, reach beneath her arms and bring her toward me. Immediately she flops forward with her head on my shoulder. Somehow, God knows how, I manage to get the shirt off one arm at a time and then over her head.

  She wakes up. “Daddy?” she says, confused as she sits up and looks at me in the semi-dark.

  “No, sweetie. It’s Uncle Ian.” Quickly I reach for the nightgown and put it over her head. She gets her arms in the sleeves and tips over backward as soon as it’s on. I tug it down and cover her with the blankets before leaning over to kiss her forehead. Her panda bear—what was it? Ed? Fred?—has fallen to the floor, so I pick it up and tuck it in beside her. Then I switch off the lamp and turn toward the door.

  And stop.

  London is in the doorway, backlit by the light from the hall. She’s leaning on the frame, arms crossed, and it’s clear she’s just watched the entire bedtime routine like a show.

  “Bravo,” she whispers as I get closer. “I’m impressed.”

  “I’m sweating,” I admit as she moves aside so I can get by.

  She laughs a little, following me into the hall. “The trick is to get her into her jammies before she’s asleep.”

  “So I gathered. The other kids asleep?”

  “Morgan is. Christopher might still be awake but he’s in bed.”

  “I’ll just check on them real quick.”

  “Okay. I’ll wait downstairs.”

  “It’s late, and it’s been a long day. You don’t have to stay.”

  She’s already heading down the steps, but she looks up at me, and for a second I see the eighteen-year-old girl she used to be. The one I gave up. “I don’t mind,” she whispers. “And we should set up a schedule. Kids need routine.”

  I nod. “Right. Okay, I’ll be down in a minute.”

  At the end of the hall is the room Christopher chose, and by the time I look in on him, he’s sound asleep. I pull the door shut behind me and peek into Morgan’s room, cringing at the mirror on the ceiling, but glad to see she’s sleeping peacefully as well.

  I switch off the hall light and head downstairs, where I find London sitting at the kitchen table with a pad of paper and a pen. She looks up at me. “All good?”

  “All good.” I take the seat diagonal from her, at the head of the table.

  “So, tomorrow is Thursday. School day.”

  “Do they have to go?”

  She gives me a look. “Yes, Ian. It’s the law. They’ve been out for two weeks already. They need the routine and distraction. Now, over at my house I have the schedule that Sabrina gave me before she left for Hawaii.” Her voice catches, her eyes closing. “Sorry. Need a second.”

  I reach over and touch her forearm, forgetting for a moment that I’m annoyed with her for being bossy. “It’s okay. We’re all going to need time.”

  After a couple deep breaths, she opens her eyes and goes on. “I’ll get you a copy of that schedule, which has everything on it.”

  “Thanks.” I take my hand back.

  “But I thought maybe we could try to work out a plan for when you’ll need me.”

  “Easy. Nights and weekends.”

  Another give-me-a-break look. “Ian. No. You cannot be gone every single night and every weekend.”

  “It’s my job, London. Sabrina knew that.”

  “Maybe she thought you’d change your lifestyle if something happened to her.”

  I shrug. “Well, I can’t. How did she think I was going to support the kids if I don’t work? I run a club. That means nights and weekends.”

  London exhales like she’s trying to be really patient with me. It’s aggravating as fuck. “Work with me here, please. What nights would you be willing to take off? I would be willing to commit to being here Tuesdays and Thursdays and Saturdays for now. Can you handle the other nights?”

  “No fucking way.” I sit back and cross my arms. “That’s four nights a week away from the club, including Fridays.”

  “So what nights are you willing to give up at the club?”

  In the spirit of cooperation, which I’m trying to have, I give it some thought. “Mondays.” The club was closed that night anyway.

  She waits for me to go on. “And?”

  “That’s it. Mondays. Every other night is busy.”

  “Come on, Ian. Surely someone else can pour shots and gawk at fake tits at least one other night during the week.”

  “Fuck you, London.” And fuck the spirit of cooperation. “Is that what you think I do?”

  She shrugs.

  “Running a club is hard work, and I have a hand in every facet of the operation—the finances, the licenses, the hiring and firing, stocking the bar, keeping the lights on, booking music, managing crowds. I have to deal with investors, the government, the health and fire department, the police, fucking temperamental DJs, and drunk-ass customers harassing my staff and each other. I don’t just sit around on my ass and doodle numbers all day.” I’m sick and tired of people thinking my job isn’t work.

  London slams the pen down on the table, her face flaming with anger. “Screw you. I work my ass off every single day, ten times harder than any man would have to in my position.”

  “Which is what again?” I know exactly what she does, I just want to piss her off. “Aren’t you some kind of accountant?”

  “I’m a revenue analyst." If looks could kill. “In a forty-billion-dollar industry.”

  “Oh. Well, good for you. But that sounds like a nice nine-to-five job that doesn’t require you to be on site until four in the morning. Now, I can maybe swing Mondays and Wednesdays. But I need you the other nights. Your cat will just have to get along without you.”

  I’m ready for the explosion, but she doesn’t blow up at me. Instead she sits back in her chair, closes her eyes, and takes a breath. “Ian. We have to stop this.”

  She’s right, which only adds to the list of things about her irritating me right now. I shift in my chair. “Fine.”

  “You’re going to have to hire a manager. Even if
I have the kids those other nights.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.” But in my gut, I know she’s likely right about that as well. I won’t be able to work the hours I have been and give the kids what they need. It has to be my idea, though, not her bossing me into it.

  “Fine.” She pushes back from the table and stands up. “I’m exhausted, and I have to work tomorrow. I’m going home. I’ll drop the schedule in your mailbox in the morning.”

  I can’t resist. “I’ll be sure to memorize it. Will there be a quiz on Friday?”

  Shaking her head, she walks toward the sliding door. “I’ll be here by six tomorrow night. Good night, Ian.”

  “London, wait.”

  She pauses halfway there but doesn’t turn to look at me.

  “Look. I’m exhausted too, and sad, and worried about the kids, and overwhelmed at the thought of being a parent, and frankly just as surprised as you are that Sabrina chose me.”

  That makes her turn and face me. “You are? That’s not what you said—”

  “I know what I said.” We keep looking at each other, the attraction between us simmering just beneath the antagonism, like it always has. “But she must have had her reasons, and I want to live up to them. It’s just going to take me some time. Can I count on your help?”

  “Of course you can. It’s what she would have wanted me to do.”

  I get the message loud and clear. I’m doing this for her, not for you. And maybe I deserve it after the way I’ve treated her over the years, but dammit, she didn’t leave me any choice. If I couldn’t have her, I had to hate her. It was the only way I could get over her.

  But as I sit here and watch her leave my house, I know that deep down, I never did.

  The next morning, I’m awakened by the sound of high-pitched voices and clanking dishes. The master suite is on the first floor, just down the hall from the kitchen, and I left my bedroom door open last night just in case one of the kids woke up and called for me. This seemed very big of me at the time, but now I regret it.