Controlled Burn, page 9
“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” I remind them.
Kayleigh looks guilty, but Kason sits up, pulling the tablet into his lap as if refusing to give it up.
“We’re bored,” Kason says.
“You wouldn’t be if you were asleep,” I say, repeating something I heard my mother tell me a million times. We didn’t have these types of electronics when I was their age, but it wasn’t unheard of to be caught with a comic book and flashlight under my blanket as a child.
“It’s Friday,” Kason says. “We aren’t being loud, and we don’t have to get up for school in the morning.”
“Loud enough for me to hear you in the hallway.” And now I’m arguing with a seven-year-old. “You’re going to wake Knox up.”
“He’s a heavy sleeper,” Kayleigh says, as if she’s validating her right to be up when her mother wanted her asleep.
“Come on,” I tell them, swinging my arm into the hallway.
Kayleigh looks sad as she stands, looking back at her twin to say goodnight, but then Kason pops off the bed as well.
“We can watch YouTube in the living room instead.”
Since I have no idea what rights I have to force them to go to sleep, I just follow behind them, closing the door quietly so Knox doesn’t wake up. I’ve noticed the older two are more capable of entertaining themselves, but Knox only has two speeds—asleep and wild tornado. I think I like the sleeping speed better.
Kayleigh and Kason lie on the living room floor with the tablet in front of them, settling in for more YouTube videos.
I sit back in my recliner, and just watch them.
I don’t know how long it takes before my eyes close and I fall asleep, but it only feels like minutes before I hear, “And just what do you two think you’re doing?”
Startled and a little confused, I open my eyes and stand from the recliner in the same breath.
Kendall is standing on the edge of the living room, her glaring eyes darting between me and the two kids on the floor.
“Finnegan said we could watch YouTube all night,” Kason says, throwing me under the bus.
“Not exactly,” I mutter, my eyes sweeping to the clock on the wall.
It’s already three-thirty.
“Bed, now,” she snaps, her hands on her hips. Kason reaches for the tablet. “Leave it.”
They scurry away, but Kendall doesn’t move.
“Seriously?” she snaps, her voice tired as well as annoyed. “You let them stay up all night.”
I could argue that let is a very subjective word, considering what really happened, but she doesn’t look like she’d be amused by that statement.
“It’s Friday, and they don’t have school. I figured they’d sleep later tomorrow, and you could get more rest.” I added that last part of reasoning because she seems like she could use a few more hours of sleep.
“Kids that age don’t sleep later, Finnegan,” she hisses, still glued to the same spot she was standing in when I startled awake. “They get up at the same time, only they’re cranky as hell because they didn’t get enough sleep.”
I feel like a complete asshole when she walks away. I know I mentioned I didn’t know a damn thing about kids, and this just proved my point. So much for being helpful.
Chapter 15
Kendall
“You wanted to come to the park, Kason. Go play.”
Even my words are exhausted, but I try to give my son a smile of encouragement.
“I said I wanted to come because Knox wanted to come. I don’t even like the park.”
“Since when? You love the park.”
“I like the park by our old house. This park is dumb.”
I inhale deeply, trying to tamp down my agitation. What I told Finnegan was going to happen happened. Knox was up with the sun, and the other two not long after. Mere hours after lying down, I was back up. Coming to the park felt like the right thing at the time because if the kids wear themselves out enough, I may be able to convince them to take a nap this afternoon, and Lord knows I could use a few more hours of sleep before my shift tonight.
“This is a nice park.”
“They only have three swings,” he mutters, pulling at the grass in front of him.
“You only have one tush, so as long as a swing is available, and I see all three are, you should be good.”
He looks up at the swings, the seats swaying in the light breeze.
“They’re orange. The ones at the other park are red.”
“Kason,” I groan. “Swings are swings. Go play.”
“When will we move again?”
If only I had the answer to this question.
“Soon,” I tell him, realizing a little too late my mistake.
Soon to a seven-year-old isn’t the same soon to an adult.
“Good.”
“You don’t like where we’re at?”
He looks at me as if I’m crazy for even asking the question.
“It’s a nice place. You don’t have to share the same room with two girls.”
“I don’t like him,” he says.
“Him?” We were talking about the condo.
“The man we’re living with.”
I go on full alert, my mind racing to consider what in the world happened last night to make him dislike Finnegan so much.
My heart is pounding, threatening to beat right out of my chest when I ask, “Why? What happened?”
He shrugs as I try to remember the last time I had the stranger-danger talk with my kids.
“He tries too hard.”
“Tries too hard to do what?”
He’s silent for a long gut-wrenching moment before speaking again, and I watch, holding my breath as he twists a blade of grass until it breaks.
“He didn’t even tell us to go back to sleep last night. We walked right into the living room and started watching YouTube.”
“He didn’t tell you to watch YouTube?” I ask, my eyes narrowing.
Kason looks away, his cheeks heating for getting caught in the lie he told last night.
“He didn’t tell us not to,” he argues.
“And because you got to do what you wanted, you don’t like him?”
He shrugs. “He’s not Uncle Ezra.”
“No, he’s not,” I agree. “But it’s his condo, and he’s doing me a really big favor, so you need to be respectful. If I hear of you two being up when you’re supposed to be asleep again, you already know the consequences.”
“Okay,” he mutters, but the sound of his broken agreement makes my heart ache.
I just want to give them the perfect life. I never wanted my kids to see me struggle, to feel the weight of that like Ezra and I did when we were younger. I feel like I’m making all the same mistakes, no matter how hard I try.
“Go play. I’m going to need a nap this afternoon, and I can’t have you running all over the place while I sleep.”
He stands and bolts away, deciding that the orange swings aren’t that bad after all. I know that he’s just hoping I’ll forget about the stunt he pulled last night and won’t take his tablet away from him. That kid pushes every single boundary put in front of him.
My phone rings twenty minutes later, but after seeing my brother’s name flash on the screen, I send it to voicemail, an indication to him that I’m still mad for what he’s done.
I haven’t been miserable this week staying with Finnegan. If I can keep my head in the right place, understanding that the man is just really nice-looking eye candy, then I’m fine. The kids have everything they need, although they could use a little more space. We’re safe and have a roof over our heads.
But Ezra deserting us still makes me feel betrayed, and I’m no closer to speaking to him than I was days ago when I found the movers in his condo, dragging furniture out.
I imagine he’s calling because the condo owner refused to give him his deposit back, but I didn’t have enough time to fix the dented sheetrock in the living room or repaint the closet doors that Knox drew masterpieces on.
The kids play for another hour before starting to whine about being hungry, and I stand from the soft grassy, shaded area I’ve been sitting in this morning.
“We’ll get some groceries.”
“McDonald’s!” Knox squeals.
“Groceries,” I argue. “We’re saving money for a house, remember?”
“Chicken nuggets are gooder than a house,” Knox mumbles as we walk to the car.
“Better,” I correct. “Chicken nuggets are better than a house.”
He smiles wide, and I realize my mistake. “I was correcting your grammar, not agreeing.”
His face falls.
“We can get frozen chicken nuggets at the grocery store.”
He perks up a little at this, but the wide smile isn’t there any longer.
“That man can afford McDonald’s,” Kason says once we’re in the car and driving toward the store.
“Then he can have McDonald’s.”
“He can buy us McDonald’s.”
“No,” I tell him. “That’s not his responsibility. I’ll buy your food.”
Kason sours once more, and I can tell he likes Finnegan even less with my declaration.
The child is part of the instant gratification generation, and I can’t really fault him for that. Modern technology has changed all of us, but him picking and choosing how he’s going to allow Finnegan to be in our lives is ridiculous. I refuse to get him fast food just to make him like the guy a little more.
“I’m going to need your help today,” I tell them as we climb out of the car. “I want to get in and get out.”
“I’ll help!” Knox declares, jumping up and down with excitement. The child loves to help wherever he can, but I busy myself with grabbing a cart rather than reminding him that picking up after himself is the biggest help of all.
“I’m going to need you to keep an accurate count on the number of items in the cart,” I say as I lift him and settle him in the seat in the front. “You two are going to run and get things. I’m in desperate need of a nap.”
Both Kason and Kayleigh scrunch their noses at the word nap, but they should have thought of that before staying up all night and getting up with the sun.
“Let’s count,” Knox says excitedly, bouncing up and down in the seat. Getting him down for a nap is going to be the most difficult.
“Kason and Kayleigh, we need two boxes of mac and cheese.”
They nod before darting away to get the items.
“Two!” Knox says, holding up two little fingers.
“Count them once they’re in the cart,” I remind him.
I’m heading for the dairy section, knowing we need milk, when the twins return. I nod when each place two blue boxes in the cart. I learned long ago that I had to half my request because they were each going to bring the count I gave them.
“Two!”
“Four,” I tell Knox, pointing to the boxes in the cart.
His brows draw tight before nodding in understanding.
“Next,” Kason says, sounding like he’s just as ready to leave as I am.
“Two cans of raviolis.”
They dart away again. I grab the milk and sliced cheese, trying to remember what else we need. We were in desperate need of a grocery trip before we left Ezra’s apartment, and I just haven’t thought about it since. I know we’re just about out of everything, but at the same time, I can’t take up all the space in Finnegan’s cabinets either.
I’m heading toward the frozen food section, knowing I can’t forget nuggets when I realize the twins haven’t come back with the raviolis yet. I turn back around and head for the canned goods section, praying my kids aren’t having a knock-down drag-out fight in the middle of the grocery store.
Neither child is in that aisle, and I move to the next aisle, seeing Kason dart across the other end.
I whistle like I always do to get his attention, but he doesn’t hear me. I try to catch him on the next aisle, but the child is running. I’m not going to yell because the store is too crowded for that, so I move a little quicker.
“Momma!” Kason yells, coming up right behind me.
“Where’s your sister?” I ask after getting over being startled.
He shrugs.
“Kason,” I hiss. “You’re supposed to stay together.”
“She’s the one who stopped to talk to that man.”
“What?” I screech. “Where?”
He points, and I rush in that direction immediately.
My own mother got extremely paranoid in the beginning. It was one of the signs that something was wrong. I never wanted to be a helicopter parent, but my heart is racing by the time I make it to the end of the aisle to spot Kayleigh chatting with a guy in a leather jacket.
It’s been years since I’ve seen that jacket, and just the sight of it terrifies me.
“Kayleigh,” I snap, no longer concerned for those around me.
She angles her head to the side, looking around the man.
“Hi, Momma,” she says, completely oblivious to what it means to speak with this man.
“Kendall,” the guy says as he turns around. “Looking good as usual.”
I snap my fingers and point to my side, an indication to my daughter to get by my side immediately. Thankfully, she listens without argument.
“Brant,” I mutter, giving the man nothing else.
“Saw you walk inside. These must be Ty’s kids.” He attempts a smile, but it comes out as a sneer because of the jagged scar twisting up his top lip.
“These are my kids,” I snap. “And you have no business speaking to them.”
“That one there looks exactly like his daddy,” Brant says, pointing to Kason.
“Who is he, Momma?” Kayleigh asks, a tremble to her voice because the child is great at reading the emotions of others. Clearly, she can tell I’m not happy about this little run-in.
“I’m your daddy’s friend, little girl,” Brant says. “Do you know where he is?”
There’s only one reason this man would be looking for Ty after so long. My ex wasn’t exactly the greatest friend, and he’d screw anyone over if it meant coming out ahead himself.
“He’s a piece of shit who abandoned his responsibilities a long time ago,” Kayleigh says, and my eyes widen when an elderly lady gasps as she walks by.
“Kayleigh,” I hiss.
“What?” she says, her face a mask of confusion. “That’s what you told Uncle Ezra.”
Brant laughs as if hearing a seven-year-old child speak that way is hilarious.
I scowl at him.
“I don’t know where Ty is.”
I grab Knox out of the cart, wincing when his shoe gets stuck and falls to the ground, but Kason picks it up.
“Let’s go, kids.”
“Good seeing you, sweetheart. We’ll chat again soon.”
“What about the groceries?” Knox asks, looking over my shoulder at the deserted cart.
“We’ll shop some other time,” I say, trying for a smile, but I can’t even manage it.
“Where are we going?” Kason asks as we rush across the parking lot.
“McDonald’s,” I say, hoping it will ward off any questions they may have.
It doesn’t, and I spend the ten-minute drive to the fast-food place avoiding their questions when one of your father’s old friends isn’t enough.
Kason knows the guy isn’t a good one after witnessing how I responded to him, and since he’s the oldest, he’s always felt this responsibility to take care of the rest of us.
McDonald’s is packed, just like the grocery store was, but at least they can run around and play some more while I keep my eyes on the parking lot. If Brant is still wearing the same jacket, maybe he’s also still driving that same green car, and I calm a little when I don’t see it.
My hands have stopped shaking by the time the kids settle in to eat, and we’re able to leave not long after. The questions seem to have dried up as well.
I’m calmer, but I keep hearing Brant’s warning over and over in my head.
We’ll chat again soon.
It wasn’t a promise of catching up with an old friend.
It was a warning.
Brant didn’t even have to say anything. I know Ty screwed Brant over before he took off years ago, but that’s not the worst of it. Brant is only one bad guy in a group of many, and where Brant is, Adrian isn’t far behind. Adrian is the worst of them all. It just proves how unlucky I am. In a city of over three hundred thousand people, I happen to run into Brant Jesper, vice president of the Keres motorcycle club.
Chapter 16
Finnegan
In order to avoid the grumpiness Kendall mentioned last night, or early this morning, depending on how you wanted to look at it, I showered when she went to bed and headed to work. I wouldn’t get any sleep in my condo anyway, not while feeling like a total dick for letting her kids stay up all damn night.
The office was empty when I arrived, but it didn’t matter that it was Saturday. It didn’t take Brooks and Kit long to join me on the couch and start mainlining coffee instead of going home and getting some sleep.
We sit, silent and still for a long while, just enjoying each other’s company while waiting for the caffeine to kick in.
“You’re still on for this coming weekend, right?”
“Huh?” I ask because Kit asked the question while still staring at a spot on the floor rather than looking at whoever he’s directing the question to.
“My sister’s wedding,” Kit says. “You still coming?”
He must be talking to Brooks because this is the first I’ve heard of a wedding.
“I don’t know, man.”
Kit rolls his head on the sofa, and I feel just as drained.
“You promised, asshole.”
“That was months ago. Maybe I’m just not in the wedding kind of mood.”
“There’s cake,” Kit argues.
Brooks smiles, and I can tell he’s in a mood because it’s a devious smile. “Beth is so hot.”
Kit shrugs.
“Know who’s even hotter than your sister?”
Kit narrows his eyes, his brain finally catching up.
