"Olivia likes attention and if she doesn't get it, she wants other shit to make up for it and that other shit costs money, lots of it, far more than I made. She also isn't real big on bein' a Mom so bearin' the brunt of raising two sons was not her favorite pastime and she regards it as a pastime, no joke. So she wasn't doin' cartwheels that she didn't have a man dancing attendance on her and she didn't have what she felt was restitution for being denied that."
Oh man. This didn't sound good. Any of it but especially the part about Olivia not big on being a Mom.
"But what you do is important," I whispered.
"Yeah," he agreed.
"And dangerous," I added and his arm gave me a squeeze.
"Yeah," he repeated.
I tipped my head down and pressed my cheek against his chest processing the fact that he had a job which meant he might disappear and wondering if I'd be like Olivia, not too happy about that, acting out when it happened and thinking, uncomfortably, since I knew from experience I'd miss him if was gone, I might.
"Lease is up on this place next month and I'm already lookin'," he announced into my thoughts and my head tipped back again.
"Sorry?"
"Things are hot for me here, last job before the Heller gig exposed me to some folks I don't wanna know where I work but now they know where I work. This cripples what I do for the DEA which means deskwork which means, since I'm a field man and deskwork would be like certain death, I put in for a job with the DPD, interviewed, got it and resigned from the DEA three weeks ago. I start at the DPD in the homicide unit in a week. This means more stability, total exposure and if some slimeball follows me home and home happens to be a decent place, they won't ask questions. So, I'm lookin' for a new place."
I was blinking and processing this new information but having difficulty with it.
Therefore, the only word I could force out was, "Really?"
His voice again held a smile when he replied, "Really. Which means, after years of livin'
with one foot in the underbelly of Denver, I step outta that into a stable day-to-day with that underbelly leaking in in a controlled way not being what I breathe twenty-four, seven, my woman hightailing her ass to Kentucky would not be good."
"I'm currently reconsidering my plans to hightail my ass to Kentucky," I informed him and received an arm squeeze and a chuckle then he capped it with his lips touching my forehead before he settled back into the pillows.
Then he said, "Tomorrow, before putting my towels outta their misery, job one for you is callin' your real estate agent and gettin' that fuckin' sign outta your front yard."
"Okay," I agreed instantly, got another arm squeeze and chuckle but, alas, no kiss on the forehead.
I pressed my cheek to his chest again thinking stupidly but hopefully and oh so pleasantly that Ellie would look cute in a pink flower girl dress.
"Sweetness?" he called into my replete gathering drowsiness.
"Mm?"
His hand slid from my head down my neck and then down the silk at my spine. "You got anymore nighties like this?"
"Uh, no and I have to sell a hundred and fifty cupcakes to afford another one."
"Jesus," he muttered.
"It was worth it," I muttered back.
"Damn straight," he agreed, still muttering.
I let out a soft giggle.
His hand kept sliding down, rounded my waist and settled curled around my hip against the bed so he was holding me tucked super close to his warm, hard body.
Then he murmured, "Sleep, baby."
"All right, honey. 'Night."
"'Night, Tess."
I drew in breath then let it go. Then I pressed my cheek deep and held tight to Brock.
Then my body relaxed and I fell asleep.
Chapter Ten.
You Baked a Cake?
One month later...
"Uh... aren't we just gonna eat that?" Joel asked and I looked from piping a border of cream cheese frosting on the cinnamon carrot cake I was decorating to him and his brother sitting at their Dad's bar.
Update: The last month had been busy.
Firstly, Brock had made two moves.
The first was from his job at the DEA to his job at the DPD.
The second was from his shabby, somewhat scary, definitely taking your life in your hands to ascend the outside staircase apartment to a very not shabby, not at all scary, having no outside staircase rented condo. It was in a small, well-landscaped, quiet, L-shaped layout of condos. The only drawback was he had two parking spaces and the entire complex of twelve units had only three visitor spots which were around the bend of the L from Brock's place. So, if his family were around, which was somewhat often considering he was available, they were close-knit and still in the throes of emotional turmoil, parking could become a problem.
The rest of it was awesome. A fenced in front patio that was a sun trap and thus, if the sun was shining (as it had a tendency to do a lot in Denver) the minute you opened the wooden gate, you entered warmth even though it was November. Inside the front door was a big living room with fireplace and two story slanted ceiling. Up a short-ish flight of stairs to the right, a humungous master bedroom with bath. In that was a new king-sized bed with new sheets and comforter.
The bed Brock bought; the sheets and comforter I picked out not with Brock who flatly refused to go shopping for sheets and bought the first bed he laid eyes on which, luckily, was a nice one. But instead I went with Elvira, Gwen and Martha, the former two throwing themselves into this errand with scary abandon and the latter doing it under obvious protest for she still was waiting for Brock to expose the dickhead within.
In his condo, next to the up flight was a down flight that led to the door to another flight of stairs that took you to a full basement with laundry. The lower level above the basement had two smaller rooms separated by a full bath. Beyond the up and down staircase was another short staircase, this only five steps that led you to an elevated kitchen that had a railing facing the living room then a small dining area then a bar that separated a somewhat compact but modern and relatively luxurious (for a rental) kitchen.
As threatened, I had bought Brock new towels and dishtowels and when he moved I added more sets for the boys' bathroom.
As I would learn considering they were more meddling, nosy and intrusive then even Elvira, one day, without his knowledge and using the key he'd given his mother, Fern, Laura and Brock's other sister Jill commandeered his ratty-assed furniture, delivered it to places unknown that were so covert even a DEA agent couldn't track them down (and he tried) then they filled the space with a large fantastic, masculine, comfortable sectional, new square coffee table, a handsome upright chest that held his flat-screen TV, stereo, DVD player, PS3 (for the boys) and DVDs, shelves that held CDs and books and a new dining room set.
Oh, and three new standing lamps and coasters for the living room as well as placemats and an unusual but appealing wrought iron, fat candleholder (with candles scented in "ocean") to sit on his dining room table.
Unfortunately, they were not finished illicitly rearranging Brock's new decor and even more unfortunately I was with him when he walked into his new space, he took one look at it and the air in the room went abrasive as he lost his ever lovin' mind.
Also unfortunately, all members, even the female ones of the Lucas family shared the trait of their mood invading the room, these three women had attitude, knew Brock since his life began (except Laura, who was five years younger than him), were not afraid of him and gave back as good as they got.
Thus began a shouting match which was loud, long, surprising, intriguing but also a little scary.
I could see that Brock was a man, all man, and his space was his space, his shit was his shit and he did not appreciate the intrusion and that intrusion signifying a trio of women taking care of a forty-five year old man.
And that was all I could see because even though I kept my mouth shut and hung in the kitchen while they shouted it out (though his new furniture was awesome), I agreed with Brock that they were out of line.
This went on for awhile and when I say that I mean a long while and I had the sense they did this not because of new furniture and unwelcome intrusions but more deep-seated issues all of them were dancing around. It got to the point where I feared things that could not be unsaid would be said and therefore I was going to have to step outside my status of new girlfriend and therefore person who really shouldn't get involved and wade in when Fern pulled out the big (and arguably emotionally manipulative) guns as it was my experience that mothers on the whole had the wont to do.
"If we all haven't learned something with what's happening with Cob, Slim, then we're in trouble!" she shouted and I watched with some despair as Brock's torso jerked like he'd been struck and the stony look he had froze on his face. "Life is too darned short. Too darned short. I'm a year younger than your father and it is not lost on me that I'm next. So, I've decided that my kids are gonna enjoy me and what I can give them while I can watch. Jill and Laura kicked in a little but most of this is from me. This means you won't get a big inheritance but you weren't going to get that anyway. It also means I can see my grandsons lazing around on nice furniture in a decent place and I know you don't think that's important, but I do. That's what I want and that's what I'm going to have."
She stopped speaking and when no one broke the silence she went on but did it quieter however the words she delivered next packed an even bigger punch.
"My girl endured a nightmare," she said, my body got tense, Brock's eyes sliced to his sister then to me then back to his mother when she kept speaking. "I know you pulled in every favor owed to you and I know you ended up owing more than you pulled to make sure that man paid for what he did to my girl. I saw what that did to her and I saw it eat at you, you and my other babies. But you were the only one in the position to do something about it and you did and you didn't rest until that was done for her. I watched my son exhaust himself to make it so his sister could have some peace after that nightmare and if she wants to say thank you for that and I want to say thank you for it then, Slim, you're damn well going to let us say thank you and keep your mouth shut about it."
These words, regrettably, had as profound an effect on me, learning this about Brock, as they had on the familial combatants in the living room. 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 them, into and through Brock's bedroom to his bathroom where I closed the door, 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 that 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, if Brock and I survived 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 but 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 and seeing them earlier, I noted on arrival they seemed wound up and when I say this I mean tight. Jumpy. Hyper-attentive. 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) and this was followed by hot fudge sundaes with my homemade hot fudge sauce.
And 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.
And 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 and 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.