Extraordinarily Yours: Collection 1 (An Extraordinarily Yours Romance Book 8)

by J. Kenner

  “Very pleased to meet you,” Jason answered. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “I’d say the same,” Aaron suggested, “except I don’t know who you are.”

  “Ah,” Lane spoke up, leaning forward to interrupt. “About that. Um . . .” She squinted at Jason. “Go check on Davy, okay?”

  “But—”

  “Go,” she insisted, pointing toward their son’s room.

  Thank goodness he went, though he didn’t look happy. She wasn’t in much of a position to argue; certainly she wasn’t going to drag him bodily to the other room.

  Aaron watched Jason go, his jaw firmly set.

  “Can you step back outside for a second?” Lane asked.

  “Lane . . .” His voice held a hint of warning.

  “Please?” She needed a moment to get the room, and her head, in order.

  “Maybe I should just shut the door behind me and leave,” he said, his curt words like a slap.

  She shook her head, blinking back tears and a wave of guilt-induced nausea. “No, please. We need to talk. But I need a moment.” She met his eyes, sure hers were as full of guilt as his were of ice. “Aaron, please.”

  His shoulders sagged just slightly and he nodded. Stepping onto the walkway outside, he pulled the door shut.

  Lane moved quickly, tossing the bedsheets into the middle of the couch. She grabbed the sofa bed and shoved it back together, then replaced its cushions.

  Stepping back, she gave the living room an appraising glance. Jason’s T-shirt hung over a chair, and she grabbed it, ran to Davy’s room, opened the door, and tossed it in.

  Inside, she caught a glimpse of Jason, with Elmer on his lap and Davy on the floor.

  She held up a finger in response to his open mouth. “Not yet,” she said. “Just stay.” She blew Davy a quick kiss, then scurried backward, pulling the door closed.

  She headed for the door, a little mantra—I don’t need this; I really, really don’t need this—echoing in her head.

  Pausing at the threshold, she clutched the front door’s knob and took three deep breaths. Finally feeling ready to confront the reality that was her life, she tugged open the door.

  Taylor.

  No Aaron? Instead, her brother—George Bailey Taylor—filled the doorway. Lane blinked, wondering when she’d stepped out of the real world and into Bizarroland.

  He grabbed and tugged her into a bear hug. He gave her one long squeeze, then another—and then one more for good measure before he finally stopped and held her by her shoulders, looking her over.

  His face was lined with fear and exhaustion. The exhaustion probably had something to do with the time change. The fear she attributed to the escapades of herself and her son.

  “What the hell is going on?” he asked. “And where’s Davy?”

  “Davy’s fine,” she said. Squinting, she peered over his shoulder, but she couldn’t find any sign of Aaron. She wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or not. She owed the man an explanation, that much was certain. But his timing wasn’t exactly great, so maybe she should just thank Fate or whoever that he’d decided to skip out on her. She could, after all, track him down later.

  “Lane?” Taylor prompted. “Where’s my nephew?”

  “Uncle Taylor!” Davy’s door flew open, and then the boy raced from the room. “Uncle Taylor! I got kidnapped, but I got away, and I’m fine now, and the tennis shoes you bought me helped.”

  Taylor caught the boy on the fly and swung him around. “Hey there, sport. I heard you had an adventure. Pretty impressive for a little squirt.” His eye caught Lane’s, and she knew he still didn’t have—but desperately wanted—the whole story.

  Jason headed into the room, looking slightly frazzled. Lane stifled a smile. Less than ten minutes in a room with Davy and the boy’s father was already experiencing overload. “I’m sorry, Lane. He heard George’s voice and boom.” He nodded toward Taylor. “It’s good to see you again, George.”

  “I’m going by Taylor these days,” her brother said, his face impassive.

  The knot in Lane’s stomach tightened.

  Taylor deposited Davy back onto the floor. “Can you go back in your room for a sec, Squirt? I want to talk to Jason and your mother,” he said. “When I’m done in here, I’ll join you and you can show me those shoes.”

  Davy nodded, then scampered off. The very second the boy’s door clicked into place, Taylor’s formerly blank face erupted with anger. His shoulder shifted, and then—before Lane could even yelp—his fist shot out and connected with Jason’s jaw.

  Jason was knocked back, but he didn’t go down.

  Taylor, on the other hand, grabbed his hand and howled. “What the hell? Do you have some special superhero jaw?”

  “You know about that?” Lane asked, surprised.

  Taylor rubbed his hand. “Zoe told me,” he said.

  “She told you to hit me?” Jason asked, incredulous.

  “Even after he got Davy off that island?” Lane added.

  Taylor shook his head. “No.” He looked Jason in the eye. “You get a thank-you for rescuing Davy,” he said. “The punch was an old debt.”

  Lane stepped forward, positioning herself between the men, just in case Jason decided to respond in kind.

  “It’s okay,” he said, reading her movement. “Taylor’s got his reasons.”

  She shook her head. “No, he doesn’t. You didn’t mean to stay away. And hitting doesn’t solve anything,” she added, aiming a glare at her brother.

  “Made me feel better,” Taylor said. “That punch has been seven years coming.”

  “I’m okay with it,” Jason added sheepishly. “Like you said, I may not have meant to stay away, but I did leave in the first place.”

  Lane blinked, still firmly grounded in the land of the bizarre, and looked from one to the other. “Are you guys serious?”

  Taylor shrugged. “Hell, yes.” He stepped past her and clapped Jason on the shoulder. “And I was serious about the thank-you, too. I was worried sick when Zoe first called me. I’m glad you got Davy away.”

  “You and me both,” Jason agreed. “But Davy is the one to applaud. A real trooper. You should go in and let him tell you about it. He’ll make you proud.”

  Lane just stood there, staring from one man to the other. Less than a minute ago, her brother had punched Jason in the face; now they were deep into the guy-talk thing. Men. She’d never understand them. Not in a million years.

  “Lane?” Taylor asked, taking a step toward the door.

  “Go ahead.” She waved toward Davy’s room. “He’ll be thrilled to tell you.”

  Taylor didn’t quite make it, though. The clatter of footsteps came from the front porch, then Zoe and Deena, both breathless, burst through the door. They were followed in short order by Boreas, who hadn’t even worked up a sweat.

  “Taylor!” Zoe cried, flinging herself into her husband’s arms.

  He gave her a quick kiss, then pushed her gently away, his intense gaze looking her up and down. “You look winded,” he said, surprise lacing his voice. “Are you okay?” He pressed a hand against her forehead, but she just ducked away.

  “A little breathless,” she admitted, “but only because I’m excited to see you.”

  “Zo—”

  She put a finger to his lips to quiet him. “I’m fine.” She turned to Lane, and real fear flashed across her face. “Is Davy okay?”

  Lane’s heart picked up tempo. “Of course. He’s in his room. What’s wrong?” She held up a finger, cutting off Zoe’s answer. “Wait,” she said. And even though she knew it was silly, she raced to Davy’s room and poked her head in. Her son looked up, a ripped tennis shoe on the floor before him.

  “I’m, uh, playing neurosurgeon,” he said.

  “Right,” she said, ducking her head back out and closing the door. She trotted back to Zoe. “He’s fine. What’s wrong?”

  “Hopefully nothing,” Zoe admitted. “But Prigg swears that he’s a
bad guy.” She aimed an accusing finger at Jason.

  “Oh, come on,” he said. “We’ve already been through this. I . . . did . . . not . . . kidnap . . . Davy. I’m the one who saved him.”

  “Look,” Zoe explained. “I want to go with you on this one. I really do. But give me more to work with.”

  “More than rescuing my son?”

  Zoe half-shrugged. “Prigg’s convinced it’s all part of an act, that you’re just trying to get in good with us. That everything that’s happened is somehow part of your father’s plan.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, Jason,” she said. “But you did neglect to mention that little bit about your parentage. It doesn’t look good.”

  “Wait,” Lane said. “Back up.” She turned to Jason. “Father?” she asked, a sick feeling rising in the pit of her stomach.

  “Tell her,” Zoe said to Jason. “Tell her who your father is.” Jason frowned as Lane and Taylor exchanged a glance. Apparently, Taylor was as out of the loop as she.

  “For Hera’s sake, Jason,” Zoe said, exasperation lacing her voice. “You owe us an explanation.”

  “Please!” Lane said, holding up her hand. “Somebody tell me what’s going on.”

  “Hieronymous,” Zoe explained, the single word quieting the room. “Jason’s father is Hieronymous.”

  Lane balked, certain she must have heard wrong. She was about to ask, but she never got the chance.

  “Hierony-who?” Aaron said, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

  Zoe spun around. “Oh. Aaron. Hi. I, uh, didn’t see you there.”

  The lawyer paused in the threshold, five pairs of eyes glued on him. His throat moved as he swallowed, and he gestured toward the door. “It was slightly open,” he said. His eyes met Lane’s. “And you said to give you a minute. If you really want to talk, then I’ll listen.”

  “Talk,” she repeated dizzily, fighting the cotton that was taking over her brain. “Yeah. Suddenly, I’ve got lots to talk about.” A doozy of a headache had begun, and she moved to sit on the couch. What had started out as a pretty good morning was fast disintegrating into the second worst day of her life.

  “I planned on just leaving,” Aaron explained. “I even got to my car. But you mean too much to me to do that. You said you wanted to talk to me. If you still do, I want to listen.” He looked around at the others self-consciously.

  Lane held up a finger, her head spinning. “Yes. Okay. Good. Hold that thought.” She turned to Jason. “Is she right?” She pointed at Zoe.

  He stepped forward, his hand held out, imploring. “I was going to tell you. I just—”

  “So it is true.” She took a deep breath. “Hieronymous is your father.”

  “Who the hell is Hieronymous?” Behind her, Aaron had whispered the question, aiming it in Zoe’s direction.

  “So what?” Jason said. “That doesn’t mean I’m like him. I don’t even know him. He didn’t raise me. He didn’t even know I existed for most of my life.”

  “Yes, but . . .” Lane trailed off. Even if everything he said was true, it didn’t make the situation any better. They were talking about Hieronymous, after all. Hieronymous. Head evil bad guy. And now to find out he was Davy’s grandfather? She stifled a shiver, anger and fear and general loathing overwhelming her.

  But Jason was right. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. After all, Hieronymous was Zoe’s uncle, and that didn’t make her evil and weird. So, why should Jason be persecuted for it?

  He shouldn’t. Jason was who Jason was. He wasn’t his father anymore than Lane was the mother she’d never met, the woman who’d abandoned her at a day-care center and never looked back.

  But somehow that didn’t make her feel better.

  Her gaze shifted from Jason to Aaron, and she nibbled on her lower lip, her insides all twisted up.

  “Lane,” Jason said, “listen to me. Hieronymous is the one who kept me away. Hell, he’s the one who blocked every path in my life, even before I knew he was my father.” He met her eyes, and his gaze was cold. “And I will get retribution. You can’t hold who he is against me.”

  Lane licked her lips, tears pooling in her eyes. Jason had promised to keep no more secrets, and he’d made that promise knowing he still hadn’t shared the biggest one of all. Who his father was might not matter. That he had kept it from her? That mattered a lot.

  Worse, any illusion she might have been clutching that she and Davy would be first on Jason’s priority list slipped through her fingers and smashed into a million pieces on the floor. She could see it in his eyes—they weren’t his priority. They never would be.

  Jason’s priority was revenge.

  Part of Jason wanted to scream, part of him wanted to hold Lane close until she trusted him again, and part of him just wanted to head back to Sea World and spend a day or two eating raw fish and frolicking with his true friends.

  A big part of him, too, wanted to slug Boreas.

  The door pushed open farther and Hoop walked in. Jason groaned. He liked the guy just fine, but he was getting further and further away from his fantasy of having Lane alone in a room where she would listen to him.

  “Damn,” Hoop said. He pulled a package of Twinkies from a plastic sack and started to tear apart the cellophane wrapper. “I leave for five minutes to go to the corner store and you guys decide to throw a party.” He held out the confection. “Twinkie, anyone?”

  Only Deena answered, moving forward and closing her hand around his wrist. “It’s not exactly a party,” she said. “You see, it turns out that Jason is Hieronymous’s son.”

  “No kidding?” Hoop gestured toward Aaron. “So whose son is this? Zephron’s?”

  “No. He’s here because I need to talk to him,” Lane spoke up. “But I really don’t think now is a good time.”

  “Who’s Zephron?” Aaron asked.

  “Zephron is who we all need to talk to,” Jason said, turning his back on Aaron and getting to the point. “I’m not working for Hieronymous,” he added, aiming his words at Zoe. “So quit looking at me like I’m the spawn of Satan.”

  “Who is Hieronymous?” Aaron asked again, stressing each word, though speaking to no one in particular.

  Zoe got right in Jason’s face. He sighed. Apparently she felt the need to overcompensate for her wonky powers. “Why didn’t you tell us Hieronymous is your father? Come on, Jason. Even if you’re innocent, you must know where we’re coming from. It looks like you were covering for him. And Prigg thinks you’re working with him.”

  “With him? Are you nuts? I would have killed him if I had the chance. Instead, he almost killed me.”

  “That’s what I said,” Boring piped up. “Prigg doesn’t believe it.”

  “Whoa.” Jason turned to scowl at the young Protector. “You talked to Prigg? You told him what happened on the island?”

  Boreas backed up, looking as sheepish as Aaron looked confused. “I had to turn in a report. It’s required. Regulation nine-three-four-C, subpart j.”

  Jason ran a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of everything. “But if you reported what happened, why does Prigg think I let Hieronymous go?”

  “He thinks you staged it,” Zoe said.

  “And you believe him?”

  Zoe nibbled on her lower lip, then leaned against Taylor. “Honestly? I don’t know what to believe. I want to believe you. I really do. But . . .”

  “So, why hasn’t anyone called Zephron?” Taylor asked. “I know the man’s busy, but I think he might be able to get some of this straight.”

  “I’ve tried,” Zoe said. “I haven’t been able to catch him. His assistant mentioned another Outcast uprising. I guess he’s got more than just Hieronymous keeping him busy.” She went for the pager at her belt. “I’ll try again.”

  “Wait!” Hoop said, galloping across the room to grab the pager. “This guy’s not—”

  “What?” Aaron said.

  “Interested in Zoe’s personal calls?” Hoop finished. He
shrugged and mouthed to the others, “Sorry. The best I could do.”

  “A relative,” Deena explained, jumping in. “Jason’s, uh, relatives are planning a party for Davy for his seventh birthday. And, uh, they’re only inviting family.”

  Jason winced, certain he’d never heard a more ridiculous story.

  “Uh-huh,” Aaron said, probably thinking the same thing.

  Lane blinked but didn’t say a word, looking more than a little clueless.

  “It’s been this whole big argument,” Deena continued. “Because, uh, Davy wants me and Hoop to come. But we’re not related. And, um, Lane wanted you to come, too, Aaron. But you’re not related either.”

  “You did?” the man asked, smiling at Lane. Jason stifled the urge to slug him.

  “Absolutely,” Lane agreed, nodding a bit more energetically than the situation called for.

  “Oh,” Aaron said.

  “Make sense?” Hoop asked.

  “I’m not s—”

  “Good,” Lane said. She swung an arm around his shoulder. “Maybe we can talk about it later?”

  They were at the door. “I’d like that,” Aaron said. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

  Lane pulled open the door even as Jason opened his mouth to say no. “Sure, that would be great,” she said. She urged the man out over the threshold.

  Before she could close the door, though, he managed to take her hand and kiss her fingertips. “I don’t know what’s going on here,” he said, “but we’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Lane agreed.

  The door closed, and she pressed her back against it, her shoulders sagging in relief. “Let’s call Zephron,” she said.

  Jason agreed, even though at the moment Jason couldn’t care less about the High Elder. All he wanted to do was run after Aaron and inform the man, in no uncertain terms, that Lane was his and she wouldn’t be going out on dates with anyone else.

  Except she was. She was having breakfast with Aaron.

  And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

  Lane had heard all about the secret Ops Center deep below the Washington Monument. Every time Zoe and Hale had an encounter with Zephron, that’s where they met him, and since the first time she’d heard about it, Lane had wanted to someday see the installation.