by Serena Bell
So. Good.
“Cakegasm!” says Amanda. “And speaking of such things. Vibrators. Tell me everything I need to know.”
20
Brody
I’ve just stepped out of the shower late Saturday afternoon, ready to roll to family dinner and a night of pretending not to want to lick Rachel all over, when my phone rings.
It’s Zoë.
Instantly my heart starts pounding, because Zoë never calls anymore. All I can think is that something bad has happened to Justin.
Then I remember that Justin isn’t my responsibility.
A sour pool forms in the pit of my stomach—but it doesn’t make my heart slow down. Now I’m scared shitless for Justin and sad.
I guess it’s not so easy to stop loving a kid, just because he isn’t yours.
“’Lo?” I answer the phone.
“Brody?”
Zoë’s voice is low and unalarmed, and I take my first breath since the phone buzzed. “Yeah?”
“I need a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“I need you to take Justin tonight.”
I waited for a text last night from Rachel, letting me know that Amanda or Hanna or Lucy had spilled the beans about Zoë and Justin, but it never came.
I don’t know whether that’s because they didn’t tell her or because she didn’t want to ask me about it, but the idea of showing up at Gabe’s with Justin feels totally overwhelming.
I already have to pretend about Rachel.
Pretending about Justin to Rachel feels like more than I can handle.
“Justin isn’t my job anymore, Zoë.”
“I know, Brody. I’ll pay you. To babysit.”
That sits even worse with me. To be paid to babysit for the kid I held in my arms when he was newborn and red-faced? The kid I watched while he slept, my breath syncing with his, and rocked for hours when he couldn’t sleep? “No fucking way.”
“Just this once, Brody, please. My girlfriends are going to the casino, and I haven’t been out in so long. I’m dying.”
“Ask your mom.”
“She and my dad are in California.”
“Where the fuck is Len?”
“He’s…” She hesitates. “He went back to his wife.”
I close my eyes.
I want to hit someone. Preferably Len Dix. Of course, I’ve already done that once.
Rachel was there that night. She saw me lose my shit. That’s the only thing I regret about hitting Len. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. The feel of my knuckles connecting with his nose was beyond satisfying.
I rub a thumb over my knuckles.
I relished that bruise for days, but I wish Rachel hadn’t seen me out of my head with drink and grief and rage.
In the background, I hear Justin. Babbling. He sounds like he’s giving a speech, holding forth on something. And suddenly I want to see him. To hold him up over my head, nuzzle his belly, make him laugh that fat, jolly baby laugh of his.
I want it more than I care about my pride.
“Okay,” I say.
“Please, Brody,” she says, at the same time, because she obviously wasn’t expecting me to say yes.
“I said okay. Are you two alone there right now? I’ll come get him.”
“Yeah. I’ll pack up an overnight bag for him. And the port-a-crib.”
“I don’t need the crib.”
“He needs a crib,” she says.
“I have a crib.”
It comes out like a confession. It is. I’ll admit it: I bought a crib for Justin to sleep in even though I’m not his dad, even though I’ll never be his dad.
I guess I knew that someday soon Zoë would ask this favor of me, and there was no fucking way I’d be able to refuse.
She comes to the door with Justin and his face lights up when he sees me, which fucking kills me. It’s been at least a few weeks since I laid eyes on him, and he still looks utterly delighted. He holds out his arms and I take him from Zoë. He reaches up and takes a handful of my nose, then face plants in my cheek.
“He’s started doing that. My mom says he’s giving kisses.”
My chest hurts so bad. I touch Justin’s cheek. It’s made of satin, the softest fucking thing I’ve ever touched. Also a little sticky. Zoë is a good mom, but wiping Justin’s face isn’t one of her strengths. “Can you bring me a warm, wet washcloth?” I ask her.
To my surprise, she does it without getting defensive. We argued a lot when Justin was a newborn, which maybe should have been my first sign that we weren’t all headed for domestic bliss. But we felt like a family and I wanted us to be a family so badly that I was willing to ignore all the warning signs.
I wonder if we would have lasted, if Justin had really been mine. We’d only been together a couple of months when he was conceived. We barely knew each other.
I just didn’t realize exactly how little we knew each other.
I clean Justin’s chubby face, while he twists and whines in protest, then hand the washcloth back to Zoë.
She looks as tired as she did in Oscar’s the other night. She’s pretty—dark hair, pale skin, and a body that’s snapped back well from pregnancy with Justin—but when I look at her now, I can’t remember what drew me to her. It’s like someone hollowed out that part of my brain.
“Is the car seat installed?” she asks.
“Yeah. I did it before I drove over here.”
I was surprised to discover I still remembered exactly how to do it. Then again, I’d installed car seats in both Zoë’s car and mine, and then in her mom and dad’s cars, my mom’s car, and Amanda’s car.
My mom and Amanda have been asking constantly to see Justin.
Well, now they will.
It’s a relief of sorts, because it postpones my having to explain why I can’t bring Justin around anymore.
I need to explain, though.
I just can’t imagine saying the words.
She cheated on me, and it turns out Justin is Len’s.
I remind myself that if I don’t tell them myself, they’re going to find out some other way. My siblings are too connected to the rumor factory of this town for it to stay a secret for long, now that people are talking.
Justin hangs on my hair and bounces up and down, babbling. Drool runs down his face.
“Is he teething?’
She nods. “I put the baby Tylenol in the diaper bag.” She bends down, picks up the diaper bag, and puts it over my shoulder for me.
It feels all wrong, now. I don’t want her touching me.
“Thank you,” she says.
I can tell she means it.
“Yeah.”
I turn and go out.
I don’t say you’re welcome.
21
Rachel
Once again, Amanda and I stand on Gabe’s porch, hashing out dates for a get-together, this time the Real Romance party I’m doing for her, Hanna, Lucy, and their friends.
My dad is inside, cooking with a whole bevy of wickedly attractive Wilders. We usually do lechon asado when we’re with them, but we’ve had a lot of Cuban food lately so we decided to do homemade pizza. The amount of dough rising in Gabe’s kitchen is truly epic.
Connor and Amanda’s husband Heath are having some kind of hard core conversation about the latest Star Wars movie. I don’t pretend to understand, but they’ve always nerded out on sci-fi stuff and sometimes they get together and play video games.
My mom is sitting on the back deck with her foot up, as she should be.
The one conspicuous absence is Brody, and I haven’t wanted to ask anyone where he is. Even Connor. Especially Connor.
We settle on a date, and Amanda tucks her phone into her back pocket just as a truck pulls into the driveway—Brody’s. He hops down, then opens the backseat and leans in.
He emerges with his arms full of—
Baby.
That must be baby Justin.
Justin is peak baby right now—
fat cheeks, drool, and babble. And the man holding him is peak man: broad shouldered, forearms flexing from the effort of containing his squirming cargo, and stubble-jawed.
Even as confused and hurt as I am, my ovaries go up in smoke.
I discover I’m walking toward the dynamic duo. I hazard a quick glance back at Amanda and she raises an eyebrow at me and smirks.
I can’t even care.
God, he looks good. Now that I know how that mouth feels on my body and my hands feel wrapped around his—
Apparently, you can’t put that genie back in the bottle.
Which I guess means I’ll have to ask it for more wishes.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.”
“You have, um, some secrets.”
He nods. His eyes scrape my face. I think he’s trying to suss how how mad I am. “I didn’t mean to not tell you. It’s just really fucking complicated. Oh. God. Sorry dude,” he says to Justin, and I can’t help it, I laugh.
“You maybe want to tell me the story later?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I actually really fucking do. Damn it. Fuck. Sorry, Justin.”
“You, um, might want to work on that,” I say, smiling.
He smiles, too. “You could help me.”
I nod. “I mean, if we hang out long enough, either you’re going to become a Puritan or I’m going to start swearing up a blue streak.”
“So true.”
Neither of us says that two weeks probably isn’t long enough for that conversion to take place.
We stand there awkwardly for a moment, until Justin leans forward in his dad’s arms, gives me a gummy, one-toothed smile and reaches out a hand.
“Hey, little man,” I say to him.
“This is Justin,” Brody says, and pride shines all over his face.
“He’s adorable. Will he come to me? Is that okay?” I hold out my arms, and Brody transfers Justin into my arms.
I sneak another peek back at Amanda, but she has disappeared. It’s just Brody, Justin, and me out here.
Justin is grabbing for everything his chubby little hands can reach—my hair, my earrings, my nose—and talking up a blue streak in nonsense syllables.
“Do you have him for the weekend?” I make goofy open-mouthed faces at Justin, and he chortles. Baby chortles! They’re the best.
“Just tonight. You look beautiful.”
I look up from Justin’s beaming face and into Brody’s. He’s not scowling, but he’s Brody-serious. Intense. Pre-kiss intense. The bottom falls out of my stomach in the best possible way. He takes a step toward me.
“Justin!”
Connor comes around the side of the house. Justin turns in my arms towards the sound of Connor’s voice. So do Brody and I, both of us taking steps backward.
My stomach feels like there’s a rock in it. Brody’s face has gone studiously blank.
Connor, however, isn’t looking at either of us. He’s beaming at Justin. “Justin, want to play peekaboo?”
And then my brother, big lug that he is, proceeds to cover his face and make improbably goofy noises at Justin.
We’re joined a moment later by Clark, Easton, and Kane.
Kane is the only Wilder brother I can’t quite figure out. He’s just as gorgeous as his siblings—hair streaked with a hundred shades of brown and gold, pale blue eyes, and the Wilder traffic-stopping physique. But Kane has always struck me as a misfit among his energetic, adventurous brothers, more of a boy-next-door than a bear-in-the-woods type. Like he’s not really a Wilder but the good looking pretty boy actor who plays one on TV.
And he always looks faintly sad to me, even more so than Clark, who lost his wife a year ago.
Kane scoops Justin out of my arms and kisses him all over his face. “Hey, buddy,” he tells the baby, who is chortling with delight. His brothers join in on the Justin worship.
Gabe, too. He comes around the corner and makes a beeline for Justin.
“Jusssss!” he roars, somehow managing not to scare the crap out of the baby. He ruffles his nephew’s hair.
I have to remember to tell my mother that I finally found the ultimate cure for heartbreak: watching the Wilder men make googly eyes at the world’s cutest baby.
And then I look up and see the grief on Brody’s face, a crack running through a beloved piece of pottery, and I forget all about that.
22
Brody
Rachel has Justin on her lap again. She looks like a seasoned pro, managing somehow to eat pizza and carry on a laughing conversation with Amanda and Lucy while also keeping Justin from getting ahold of her pizza and shoving it in his face. She has not, however, succeeded in preventing him from wiping pizza on her hair or her shirt.
You’d think that would be gross, but I find it charming.
I love watching Rachel with him. I love the way she murmurs to him, explaining stuff he can’t possibly understand about everything that’s happening. I love the way she played pat-a-cake with him earlier, holding up her own hand so he could whap his small, fat one against it. I love the way she is unconsciously bouncing one leg under him.
I know I have to tell my family about Justin not really being mine sooner rather than later. But it feels like I’ll be disappointing them, too, if I take Justin away from them. It was hard to see all my brothers making a stink over him, realizing that they’re going to be hurt and sad when they find out the truth.
Aside from that, having Justin here is actually great. Everyone is thrilled to see him, and they’ve all taken a turn with him. My mom wouldn’t give him back, and insisted on being the one to give him his bottle when he got fussy and hungry.
I wanted to do it, but I knew I’d get my chance later, and I knew this would get both my mom and Amanda off my back for a while.
“My turn.”
We all swivel our heads en masse in outright shock, because it’s Easton who’s spoken, reaching out for Justin.
Rachel hands him over, and Easton addresses Justin earnestly. “My dude,” he says. “As the youngest Wilder, you have a hefty legacy to live up to.”
My heart does something painful. An ungainly squeeze. Justin is not the youngest Wilder.
Sometimes I just plain wish Zoë had never told me the truth.
“Justin,” Hanna says sharply. “Don’t listen to that guy.”
Everyone laughs.
“Justin, your Uncle Easton knows what’s up.”
“And that,” says Hanna, “is about all Uncle Easton knows.”
Easton gives Hanna a mock wounded look and goes on. “I saw you flirting with all the ladies,” he tells Justin. “You’ve got good technique. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Hanna groans and sets her pizza down. “God, Easton. You’re ruining my appetite.”
“Hanna,” says Easton. “Nothing will ever ruin your appetite.”
Some women would be offended by that. Hanna is not. She just picks up her pizza again, takes a big bite, and says, “Too true.”
I stand and head to the cooler to retrieve myself another beer. As I’m fishing for the IPA I want, Clark hurries out of the house, followed by my mother.
“I didn’t mean to make you angry, Clark,” she’s saying.
“I’m not angry.” His voice is tight.
“I just want to help.”
He lifts his head, and I can see all the pain I know he’s living with etched in his eyes. He just stands there for a minute. It’s in his shoulders, too, the set of his jaw. Loss, misery.
We all miss her. Emma was so sweet. Good. Easy. There wasn’t a mean bone in her body. She was open and generous.
I can’t imagine how you’d ever replace someone like her in your heart.
“I know,” Clark says finally.
My mom puts her arms around him, and he hugs her back. Then he lets her go, and she heads toward the deck, leaving me alone with Clark.
I don’t ask if he’s okay. I figure he has to answer that question enough.
He bends and fishes in the ice for a drink, emerging with a Corona, shaking his hand, which is bright red from the cold.
“Survival stuff doing decently?” I ask him, hoping Wilder business stuff will be a good distraction.
He shrugs.
That’s about as much as anyone gets out of Clark since Emma died. He never talked much about himself—or anything—but since Emma passed away, he’s even more tight-lipped. Lately, my mom and Amanda have started hassling him to get back out there and date, which I think is a mistake.
“Rachel’s back, huh?”
“Yeah, so?”
“She’s pretty hot.”
I squint at him. Is Clark interested in Rachel? Something in my stomach clenches, because there is not a brother among us who would begrudge him happiness. If it had been Clark instead of Easton flirting like a fool with Lucy earlier this summer, Gabe might have given her up.
Okay, no, that never would have happened. But you get my point. We all want to see Clark happy so bad we’d cut off a finger for it.
“You should make a move,” Clark says.
The air rushes out of my lungs, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
I don’t have to choose between Clark’s happiness and keeping my brother’s hands off Rachel, after all.
Which is when I realize I’m fucked.
Clark takes a look at me and his eyes get wide.
“Holy shit, Brody, you and Rachel?”
I don’t have to nod to confirm this; one look at my face tells him what he needs to know.
“You were actually afraid I was interested in her, huh?” He shakes his head, and the grim line is back to his mouth, grief etched in every line of his face. “Not a fucking chance.”
He looks back towards the house. “I need Mom to lay the fuck off me. Every time she starts, it’s like tearing the scab off a wound.”
I wince.
“I know she’s just trying to help,” he says.
I nod.
“But seriously, man, at this point, if I thought it would shut her up? I’d get a fake girlfriend. Let me know if you find anyone who’s in the market for a pretend relationship.”