Risk Everything on It

by K.A. Mitchell

  “If he’s going to make some crazy mistake, at least he won’t have to pay for it indefinitely.”

  No risk of that with Oz. He seemed just as cautious about getting involved as Jax did, though instead of something mercenary like a career on the line, Oz had more tangible reasons. Two of them. Ages six and four.

  “Yeah,” Jax said. They were swinging into the hotel parking lot, no reduction in speed as the cab raced toward the portico.

  “Did you need something else?”

  “No. Just wondering about Theo. Thanks, G.”

  THE HOTEL had a valet service, but Jax decided he’d rather go shopping in the morning than spend hours in nothing but his boxer briefs. Which could also use a trip to the laundry.

  He could rent a car tomorrow. Or, he could very sensibly get on a plane back to Vancouver where he’d left all his stuff when Gideon had called about Theo.

  Neither option was a commitment.

  After stripping off his clothes, he peeled back the covers and flopped on the bed. He could find a sublet on his own. After all, he’d gotten the last one even if it had fallen into his lap because he knew the owner. He swiped through his phone.

  He’d been up for over twenty-four hours and he should be ready to pass out, but it was like those times on the set when they’d run over, and the later it got, the more energized Jax felt.

  He’d found a couple of possibilities, but didn’t know the neighborhoods well enough. As excuses went, it was flimsier than his reason for calling Gideon, and Jax figured Oz was probably already asleep, but he tapped out a quick Hi text.

  Oz called immediately.

  Startled, Jax fumbled with the phone, dropped it, then scooped it up. “Hey.”

  “Hi. I’m glad you texted.”

  Jax was too. Hearing Oz’s voice had become better than any sleeping aid, shutting down the hamster wheel of uncertainty spinning in Jax’s head.

  Before Jax could decide how to say that, Oz went on. “I know I can push sometimes, especially when I know what I want.”

  A flutter of pride heated Jax from the inside out. “Oh?”

  “Really? As sexy as you are, you’re gonna fish for compliments?”

  But Oz hadn’t only been talking about that part of wanting Jax around, had he? “They’re always nice.” He faked a wounded dignity.

  “Anyway, you know what I mean.”

  Jax thought he did. He just wasn’t sure he could do it. Would he get points for trying? It was easy enough to dismiss what Joaquín had said as the usual bullshit an ex would spout, but it must have come from somewhere. Did Oz have expectations that Jax could never meet?

  “Sorry I didn’t stay,” Jax said.

  “No, that’s all right. It was a lot to take in.”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  Oz’s soft laugh had Jax sinking down into the pillow-top mattress.

  “You do fine. So what are your plans? With your friend and work?”

  Cliff could call Jax with an audition here as easily as in Vancouver. And it wasn’t as if they didn’t have clothes stores in New York. Besides, if Theo needed more support—fuck it. Jax wanted to stick around.

  “I have to head back to Vancouver eventually, but I’m going to spend a few days here.”

  “Think you could handle dinner tomorrow?”

  Dinner meant more than the two of them. It was Ayla and Regan around the table in Oz’s dining room. Jax had never faced a more critical audience.

  “I’d like to try.”

  OZ DROPPED the last of the peach-glazed chicken breasts back into the baking dish and found Ayla staring at him from her perch on a stool.

  “Is he coming?”

  Ayla was sharp, but second-grade math had come a long way if she was able to do the fractions on the portions even for one of their favorite suppers.

  “My friend’s name is Jax. And yes, he’s coming for dinner.”

  “I like Jax,” Regan sang out, because her sister wasn’t already prickly enough.

  “I. Don’t.” Ayla darkened one of the X’s she’d made on her homework.

  “You don’t have to like him, Ayla. But you have to be polite, because that is how we do things for guests.”

  She shot him a deadly side eye. “Boyfriend guests?”

  “Yes, Miss Ayla. Boyfriend guests. And your guests. And Regan’s guests.”

  “Can Papi be my guest?”

  Oz put the chicken in the oven and then pulled Ayla’s barstool out from the counter so he could face her.

  “We talked about this yesterday. When it’s on the schedule, Papi can visit here. Or he can take you out. Or to his Titi Gloria’s like for Christmas.”

  “Why doesn’t Jax have to be on the schedule?”

  Oz saw a light in the endless dark and grabbed for it. “Would that make things better for you? If you knew when Jax was going to be here?”

  Ayla nodded, but tightly, the tiniest dip of concession.

  “Okay. I will talk to him and then make a schedule. And if Papi tells me when he can visit, I’ll put that on the schedule too.”

  The calendar was on a corkboard over the counter where they did their homework.

  “What color should Jax be?” he asked Regan.

  “Green.” Her favorite.

  “Baby, you’re already green. We have orange, purple, and brown left.”

  “Purple.”

  “Okay.”

  Their stares weighed on Oz as he leaned in and made a J: Dinner note on the calendar.

  “Ayla, you have Diamond’s birthday party on Saturday. Do you want me to pick out a present, or do you want to help?”

  “Can we do it on the computer?”

  And avoid the real toy aisles? Yes, please. “Sure.”

  The doorbell rang, and Regan jumped down, running toward the front door.

  Ayla bent her head over her worksheet. “I have to finish this.”

  Regan was hopping from foot to foot in front of the door. “I can see it’s him. Can’t I open it?”

  “No. But thank you for waiting. That was very good.”

  As he twisted the lock, Oz’s spine tightened, stomach seesawing between dread and anticipation. Realizing how much he wanted this to work was scary. Knowing how many variables were out of his control was downright terrifying.

  He pulled open the door. Jax was bundled under his scarf, coat buttoned. Only his eyes showed as he stepped inside, and his gaze darted around before settling on Oz’s face. So they were both nervous. Oz hoped that meant Jax wanted it as much as Oz did.

  “Baba’s Cookies,” Regan shrieked.

  Oz noticed the bakery box in Jax’s hands.

  “Uh, I brought some dessert. I hope that’s all right.”

  “I think it’s pretty all right.” Oz spotted Ayla leaning back to peek into the hall.

  Jax put the box into Regan’s grasping hands.

  “Put them on the counter. Dessert only.”

  “Yes, Daddy.” She ran off to the kitchen.

  Jax unwrapped his scarf and unbuttoned his coat, revealing a formfitting, long-sleeved shirt in a texture Oz’s fingers itched to touch.

  He remembered Jax saying compliments were nice to hear. “You look good.”

  “That might just be the bakery box.”

  Oz put a hand on Jax’s shoulder and slid it down over his biceps, hard flesh under the soft suede of the shirt. “I don’t think so.”

  Jax tugged his ear. “Thanks. I did a little shopping.” He lowered his voice to a murmur and leaned in. “Tried to find a balance between fuck me and dinner with the kids.”

  “I think you nailed it.”

  Jax laughed, and Oz took a deep breath. They could do this.

  “I wasn’t sure. My usual shopping buddy blew me off in favor of work,” Jax said as they came into the kitchen.

  Oz checked on the bakery box. It was on Regan’s stool, but unopened.

  “Jax. Look. You’re purple.” Regan pulled at him.

  Jax glanced at
his shirt. “I’ve always thought of this as blue.”

  “No. On the calendar.” Regan held out her arms in a request to be picked up.

  Jax looked over at Oz, surprise tinged with panic in his eyes. Oz nodded.

  Jax lifted her, and she immediately wrapped her legs around his hips so she could lean over and tap the surface.

  “See. You’re purple on the calendar.”

  “I’m on the calendar?” Jax’s voice was a little husky, higher than usual.

  “Papi is red,” Ayla pointed out.

  “What color are you?”

  “Pink.” She didn’t snap it, but it wasn’t warm.

  “I’m green.” Regan dragged the attention back where she wanted it. “Daddy is blue. I picked purple for you.”

  “Thank you. I like purple.” If Jax was faking a serious tone about the importance of being on the family calendar, Oz couldn’t catch it.

  “Can I tell him now, Daddy?”

  “Yes.” Oz misted the sauté pan with olive oil and turned up the heat while he minced some garlic, keeping an eye and ear on the scene a few feet away.

  “Do you want to get down?” Jax asked.

  “No. Listen. I dreamed I went into the TV. Like you did. And then I was a cartoon and you were there but then you were Flynn Rider. Do you know who he is?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t place him.”

  Ayla sucked her teeth. Oz frowned at her when she gave him a guilty look.

  “He’s in the movie Tangled,” Regan explained.

  “Oh.” Jax sounded like that didn’t clear anything up.

  Oz offered some soft cues. “Disney cartoon. Rapunzel.”

  “He does a smoker.” Regan was making the most of her captive audience.

  Her sister’s mispronunciation was too much for Ayla to resist. “It’s smolder.” She injected the word with all the disgust she could manage.

  “Yeah. Smolder. He looks like this.” Regan crossed her eyes and pursed her lips.

  “He doesn’t look like that.” Ayla sighed.

  “I bet Jax can do it,” Regan said.

  At least the sibling rivalry was tempering Ayla’s suspicion of Jax.

  Oz was throwing garlic and baby spinach in the pan, so he missed the cause, but he heard a muffled grunt from Jax. “Regan, baby, are you kicking your feet?”

  “Sorry, Daddy.”

  “Sorry who?”

  “Sorry, Jax. Can you do a smolder?” Regan asked.

  “A smoldering look? Hmmm. Yeah, I think I can manage that.”

  Oz bet he could. He stirred the spinach and lifted the pan off the heat to watch. Jax shifted the box of cookies off Regan’s stool and stood her on it. Oz swallowed the warning. He’d tell him later about the no-standing-on-barstools rule.

  Holding the box of cookies in front of him, Jax studied it. Then his face shifted, eyes somehow getting brighter, mouth soft with a desperate hunger that even directed at their dessert made Oz need to tug at his slacks to free up some room.

  Regan laughed. “Yes. Like that.”

  “It wasn’t the same,” Ayla said.

  “Was too.”

  Oz lowered the sauté pan. The spinach was nicely wilted. “Okay. I need someone to help me set the table.”

  “Me,” Regan volunteered.

  “Wash your hands first. Ayla, I need you to help your sister.”

  She huffed another sigh as she pushed off the chair and followed her sister down the hall.

  Oz put his hand on his brow in mock horror. “Such indignities she suffers. Were you that dramatic as a kid?”

  “I don’t really remember. When I got a few commercials, my mother hired an acting coach.”

  “Coach did a great job on your smolder.”

  Jax chuckled. “Thanks. It’s served me well.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Can you get the plates down and put them on the table? Next cabinet over. The girls will take care of the rest.”

  Dinner went by without too much dramatic input from anyone. Jax was fully complimentary about everything and even took a small amount of the mashed potatoes, which Oz was pretty sure wasn’t on the approved-foods list. There was the usual bid for double cookies, and Oz said they would reevaluate the need for more cookies in a little while.

  With Jax on cleanup, it seemed like everything went by faster, which made Regan’s request to show Jax Tangled after supper a reasonable one.

  Oz agreed, provided baths and pajamas preceded the viewing.

  “I can make popcorn,” Jax volunteered from his place by the sink as the girls went upstairs.

  Oz considered what Regan had eaten so far. If it wasn’t buttery or greasy, she’d be okay.

  “We have an air popper—”

  “I mean from scratch. Well, if you have oil and kernels. I’m really good at it. It’s my one culinary talent.”

  Oz considered. “No butter.”

  Jax seemed affronted. “Definitely not.”

  “Okay.” If it turned out greasy, Oz would just have to be careful with how much she had.

  By the time Regan was putting on her pajamas, the smell of fresh popcorn was wafting upstairs, along with the erratic ping of the kernels bursting.

  “Popcorn?” Regan took off running, but Oz pulled her back.

  “Hair.”

  “Please, Daddy, can we do it downstairs while I watch?”

  “Yes, we can.”

  Jax’s one culinary talent proved impressive. His popcorn was light and far more flavorful than from microwave, theater, or air popping. Oz kept an eye on Regan to make sure she didn’t choke, but there wasn’t so much of it that he needed to worry about her getting sick. He tried to keep the girls’ hands wiped, but suspected he’d owe Jax for dry cleaning when Regan crawled into his lap. She did like to wipe her face and hands off under the guise of affection.

  She petted Jax’s chest and shoulder long after the grease must have rubbed off. Not that Oz could blame her. That shirt was velvety to touch.

  Oz leaned into Jax’s other side to murmur, “Like father, like daughter.”

  Jax smiled, but it wasn’t one of his easy ones.

  “Shhh,” Ayla said from her spot on the floor under an afghan tent.

  After the movie, Jax helped a sleepy Regan stay upright long enough to brush her teeth. Ayla read to Oz from one of her books. In just one night, he could get used to having a second adult around again.

  He met Jax in the hall.

  “I liked it.” Jax’s smile was more like the one Oz thought of as his real one.

  “The movie?” Though Oz wished he could be sure Jax was applying it to the whole night.

  “Yeah. It was cute.”

  “Try saying that the tenth time through.”

  “Still think I give good smolder?” Jax leaned toward Oz.

  “Jax?” Ayla called from her room.

  Oz flipped the switch for her light, and they stuck their heads in.

  “My friend Diamond said your show was stupid.”

  “Ayla, that’s not polite.” Oz sat on her bed.

  Jax hovered in the doorway. “It’s okay. Sometimes I’d have to agree with Diamond.”

  “Ayla.” Oz gave her the full disappointed-dad tone.

  “Diamond said it,” she offered in defense.

  “And you repeated it.”

  “It’s really—” Jax’s words cut off when Oz shot him a look. “I’m going to wash the popcorn bowl.”

  Oz turned back to his daughter. “What’s my job?”

  “You’re an engineer for the city.”

  “And what’s your job?”

  “School.” She sighed.

  “Would you like it if someone said what I did at my job was stupid or that your school work was stupid?”

  “Sometimes it is.”

  “But you still want to do a good job, right? To have people tell you that?”

  “I guess.” She conceded that much.

  “Jax’s job is to be an actor on TV. You kn
ow the people on TV are pretend, right?”

  She nodded.

  “He tries to do his best pretending for people.”

  Ayla wrapped her arms around her stuffed frog. “So I have to tell him I’m sorry Diamond said his show was stupid?”

  Close. She was already too smart for him. “That would be nice.”

  She scooched like she was going to get out of bed.

  “Not right now. It can wait.”

  She flopped back down.

  Oz kissed her forehead. “That’s my good girl.”

  “Are you going to marry him?”

  His good girl got right to the point. He owed her an honest answer. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Right now we’re just dating.”

  “Will you love him more than me?”

  “No. Never. You and Regan will always be my girls and the most important thing in the world to me.”

  She gave him a real hug then.

  “You know, Jax doesn’t have a brother or a sister.”

  “So?”

  “So maybe we can show him what our family is like.”

  “But it’s not the same without Papi.”

  He pulled her onto his lap. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry about that.”

  She cried, her small body shaking, choking and sobbing. He rocked her and told her he loved her and everything would be okay, all the while cursing himself and his wrong decisions and Joaquín and everything that could break a strong heart like his baby girl’s.

  If keeping her whole meant he went back to being alone and surviving on those moments on the phone where Jax only seemed close enough to touch, Oz would do it.

  He could only hope Jax would too.

  Jax was waiting in the scrubbed lemony-fresh kitchen, coat on, scarf around his neck. He already felt three thousand miles away.

  “I heard her crying,” he said softly. “I know—I mean, it’s kind of obvious—” He dragged up a smile and stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. “Prior commitments, right?”

  “It was only supposed to be Regan,” Oz found himself saying. “When we—I wanted an infant. They adapt better. The agency called, said there was a four-month-old girl. I was already in love with Regan when they told me about her sister.”

  Oz looked up. Jax’s eyes were fixed on his, face open and kind. Oz didn’t think he was acting.