A Moment of Weakness

by Brooklyn Skye

  Laurel nodded. “That’s manageable. Do you want me to text you every time we go somewhere?”

  His instinct was to say yes, but one thing he’d learned over the years in working with Russo and his mob was that they couldn’t be trusted. If something went down with one of his deals and Russo or any other associate got ahold of Micah’s phone, he didn’t want a single one of them knowing Shae’s whereabouts. Not that they didn’t know where he lived—they were the mob; they knew everything—but one less piece of information wasn’t going to hurt. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “What about allergies?” Laurel’s blue eyes connected with his. “Does she have any, especially to food that I need to know about?”

  “No.”

  “Allergies to medications? Some kids are—”

  “No,” he said again, flattening his lips together. Why hadn’t he thought to go over all of that with her? He’d never left Shae with anyone other than Ryan, and Ryan didn’t need briefing. He’d been around since the very first time Micah had laid eyes on Shae. His best friend knew everything about her.

  Suddenly, the fact that Micah was going to be leaving his baby girl with someone he had only known for less than a day started to prickle at his skin and sink through to his bones. Micah had never been one to panic, but… Could he trust Laurel with Shae? What if something happened?

  A dainty finger tapped his arm. “You look worried,” Laurel said to him, at the same time shaking her head. “Don’t be. I’ve been around kids all my life. I’m trained in CPR, and I’ve had a few psychology classes. You can trust me.”

  Psychology wouldn’t protect Shae, and that’s where his mind kept catching. As Laurel’s hand drew back, he snatched it into his, wrapped his fingers around hers.

  Her lips parted, a small burst of air filling her lungs and widening her eyes.

  Warm.

  Soft.

  He really shouldn’t be thinking about smoothing that hand over his chest and running it down to where his blood was likely to pool should he step any closer to her. Smell the hint of soap left over from her shower.

  “Those are just words,” he said, his thumb swiping along the back of her hand. “Trust, in my book, is earned through actions.”

  The buzz of his phone startled Micah from sleep. Jesus, was Ryan throwing work at him already? He peeked at the screen of his phone and groaned when he saw April’s name.

  “I hope whatever you have to say,” he mumbled into the phone, “it includes an explanation of why you sent a female version of Mr. Clean to move in with me.”

  “Cleaning already?” April whistled. “Wow, she didn’t waste any time, did she?”

  “My apartment is spotless,” he told her dryly.

  “Are you seriously complaining that someone cleaned your shit?”

  “I’m complaining because it’s a little more than awkward moving in a complete stranger. And I’m blaming you. Besides, I had to play maid to this so-called nanny yesterday.” He eased his legs off the side of the bed and sat up, rubbing his face. “Why are you calling me so early?”

  “Ease up, Mr. Grumpy. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t act like a big, scary monster on her first day. She was a little nervous when she left yesterday, and I know how you can be.”

  “Nervous about watching Shae?” His baby girl could be stubborn at times, but otherwise was no trouble at all.

  “No, about being around you. I believe the first impression you gave her was that you are—and I quote—a scary sex god.”

  A sex god? “Seriously?” The startled look on her face when he’d walked into the women’s restroom flashed through his mind. He laughed. Yeah, scaring people sort of came naturally for him. But had there been something else, too? An underlying attraction to him?

  By the way she’d been scowling yesterday while cleaning, he doubted it. He glanced at the clock. “Listen, I have to get ready for work. Is that all you wanted—making sure I didn’t damage your favorite roommate?”

  “She’s more than my roommate; she’s my best friend. Just be nice to her, okay?”

  Yeah, whatever. “Hey, Ape. Do you really think I’m a horrible father? Is that why you set this up?”

  A breath of silence beat past. “Not horrible,” April finally said. “And Lord knows you’re a much better parent than I’ll ever be. I just think maybe having a woman around will be good for the munchkin.”

  A woman around… He still didn’t know what he thought about that.

  After a shower, Micah made his way into the kitchen for a quick cup of coff—

  “What the hell is this?”

  Across the countertops and on the floor was a sea of brown paper grocery bags.

  Laurel spun from the opened—and now full—pantry cupboard. “Oh,” she said, sounding surprised. “Um…food? You know, from a grocery store? You didn’t have anything besides sugary cereal for breakfast.” She smiled carefully.

  “We usually eat at the bar.” He narrowed his gaze. Why did he feel the need to defend himself? It wasn’t like he cared what she thought of him. Even though she was right, because when was the last time he’d had time to cook anything? Did that make him a bad father? Damn his sister and her meddling ways—now he’d be questioning everything he did with his daughter.

  “That’s what Shae said.” No reproach in her words; so much different than the woman who had questioned him for letting his daughter hang out at work and for replacing his oven with a beer fridge.

  He stood in the doorway and watched as Laurel continued unloading food into the fridge: oranges, burgers, pizza, wings… Juice, she’d even bought juice.

  “Sit down,” she said after the bags had been emptied. “I’ll make you breakfast.”

  “Breakfast?”

  Laurel tilted her head with a small smile. “Yeah, that meal people eat in the mornings?” A tiny laugh bubbled from her lips as she worked at the counter, her back now turned to him.

  He sat, and Shae bounded into the room. She plopped down next to him at the table, grinning up at him. An intricate braid twisted her thick blond hair across her forehead and around the side of her head, where it draped like a curtain down her pink-and-white…dress?

  Shae smoothed her hair. “Laurel did my hair like a real princess. And she got the wrinkles out of my dress.”

  “Ironed it,” Laurel amended her, working quickly with a bowl and spoon.

  Shae beamed. “She ironed it. Don’t I look pretty, Daddy?”

  “Prettier than pretty,” he said automatically, but in his mind he was trying to recall the last time he’d done more than run a brush through his daughter’s hair and found an outfit that semi matched.

  Two bowls landed on the table in front of them. Steaming oatmeal—smelling sweet and foreign in his poky, little kitchen—stared back up at him.

  “Yummy!” Shae yelped and reached for the plate of fruit Laurel had added to the table. Blueberries, sliced banana—

  His stomach tightened, and Micah shook his head. “I can’t eat that.”

  The two girls in the room froze, their eyes as big as quarters. Then Laurel started to fidget. “I should’ve asked what you like. I’m sorry.”

  The last time he’d eaten oatmeal was when he was a kid, living off his mother’s welfare checks in the months before she abandoned him. Cooked on the stovetop with butter and cinnamon, just like what was sitting in front of him. No way in hell was he going to eat it now. He shoved the bowl away from him, the ceramic screeching on the wooden table like nails on a chalkboard.

  “It’s really good, Daddy,” Shae said around a mouthful, completely unaware that his chest had all of a sudden collapsed like it was being steamrolled. “Put some blueberries in it.” Shae finished off her bowl and asked for another. Laurel, without saying a word, scooped more from the glass dish into her bowl. A home-cooked meal… Hell, if there was a way to make him feel like a shitty father, this was it. Abruptly, he shoved away from the table and headed for the door, the sudden need to p
unch something very hard coursing through his veins. “I have to get to work.”

  Outside, with the chilly morning air clinging to his bare arms, he slid his phone from his pocket and texted Russo.

  Hands are getting twitchy. Got anything today?

  His response was almost immediate.

  Only if u like twins, LOL.

  Twins? Micah didn’t want to ask. He just wanted to beat the shit out of something.

  Chapter Five

  “Okay, spill it,” April wrapped her freshly manicured hands around her mug and said, her voice echoing along the brick walls of the coffee shop. “I need details on your first day. Are your hands raw from all that scrubbing?”

  Laurel lowered the glass of iced tea from her lips and cocked an eyebrow, stealing a brief glance at Shae, who was coloring at the kiddie table a few feet away. “Please tell me you’re guessing that’s what I did because you know me so well instead of talking to your brother about me.”

  Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf was practically empty, only one group of elderly women near the door, but Laurel still hoped her friend wouldn’t say something out loud that would embarrass the heck out of her.

  A smirk lifted April’s lips and sent hair-like crinkles out from the corners of her eyes. “I might’ve talked to my brother this morning. He said you started cleaning the minute you got there. Were you really that nervous?”

  “How could I not be? If he wasn’t your brother, I’d be a little scared staying with him.” Laurel let out a giggle then sighed. Finally she had someone to talk to about the whirlwind she’d been through in the last twenty-four hours. Giving up her room, moving in with Micah, being around him. “He’s a tad intimidating.”

  April’s lips pursed out then in. “A tad?”

  “Okay, more than a tad.” Especially when he touched her. Or ran his eyes over her body like he wanted to touch her. Yeah, that wasn’t something she would ever tell April, though. Sisters didn’t want to hear about their brothers that way. “Plus, I don’t think he likes me very much.”

  “Doesn’t like you? Sweetie, no one could not like you. You’re too…you.” The long front pieces of her bobbed hair swayed with the shake of her head. Laurel remembered when April had cut her hair that way—a spur-of-the-moment decision a few months ago after they’d shared a bottle of wine to celebrate her new job with Luxury Skincare. New job means new hair! Her brown hair and the way the cut of it now framed her high cheekbones gave her that edgy, Victoria Beckham look.

  Laurel sipped her tea and frowned. “Regrets hiring me, then?” An understatement after this morning when he’d stormed out over oatmeal. “I don’t know. I just feel like, one, he isn’t happy that I’m there and, two, he doesn’t trust me.”

  April propped her forearms on the table, her gold bangles clinking together. “Micah’s always been slow to earn trust. It’ll come once you’ve shown him you’re fully capable of taking care of Shae. As for him not wanting you there? That’s because my brother doesn’t like people he doesn’t know in his private life.” She shrugged with a smile. “He just needs to warm up to you. Give him a chance.”

  Give him a chance to warm up to her?

  Laurel sank farther into the purple couch and stole a bottomless breath. She could do this. Right?

  His footsteps sounded in the hallway before he emerged, still wearing the T-shirt, jeans, and black boots he’d left in that morning. She tried not to take in the way his shirt clung to his muscles or the tip of another tattoo that peeked out from the collar of his shirt, but failed miserably. The man was gorgeous, from the way his brown hair hung shorter on the sides and longer in the front to the day-old stubble on his otherwise smooth face.

  His chocolatey brown eyes roamed over her as he entered, an embarrassing reminder that she was staring at him. “Thanks for getting Shae ready for bed,” he said quietly, obviously in an attempt to not wake his now-sleeping daughter. “I can’t remember the last time she was actually asleep before”—he glanced to his watch—“eleven.”

  “Eleven o’clock? For a six-year-old?” Had they gone to bed that late last night? And what else did he let her do—watch rated-R movies? The thought horrified her, but worse was the hardened expression pointed at her.

  Warm up to her… Judging him on his parenting skills likely wouldn’t help. She shook her head and pinched a smile. “I mean, you’re welcome. I’m glad I can be here to help.” She set aside her book. “Are you hungry? I can warm up a pizza.”

  “Ate at the bar. Thanks, though.” Micah collapsed onto the couch with a giant sigh, and a bubbly tingle shot through Laurel with his unexpected presence. Like her blood had suddenly become carbonated. His humungous frame filled the entire space beside her, encroaching far past the middle of the couch. Unnerving. Intimidating.

  Silence pressed in on her as he tilted his head back and rubbed his forehead. Without his menacing height, he definitely looked less scary. More…drained, and like a dad who was working his butt off to provide for his daughter.

  She peeked at him again. His face was downright contradicting, as if whoever created him was at war with the type of guy he was intended to be. The strong angles of his bone structure contrasted with the soft, alluring appeal of his lips. They seemed harmless and inviting compared with the severity of his features and the greenish bruise stretched down the side of his jaw. Wait…another bruise? This one must’ve been a few days old, and looked as if he’d been punched in the face. How had he gotten that? And on his hands, an assortment of cuts and gashes littered his reddened and swollen knuckles. Cuts from working at a bar… Broken glasses, maybe? She pointed to his hands then, realizing he wasn’t looking at her, cleared her throat. “Did you get in a fight with Jack and Jameson?”

  Unexpectedly, his head snapped up, eyes cutting and narrowed. On her. “What did you say?” It was more of a growl than actual words, and the harshness of them zapped her body with the immediate impulse to scramble away. Or scream. If he weren’t her best friend’s brother, she might have screamed.

  She sank farther into the couch and gestured to his hands. “You have a lot of cuts on your hands…and a bruise on your face…and I was making a joke about your work—you know, the names of alcohol?”

  It took him a minute to piece together her words. Hands. Work. Joke. Then he pinched his lips in an unattached smile and ran a hand through his hair. “Unloading deliveries can be a bitch sometimes,” was all he said. Flat and uninflected.

  Maybe it was best not to talk about his work. But if she was going to get him to warm up to her, and if she didn’t want to feel so awkwardly unwelcome, she needed to try something else.

  With a slow exhale, she twisted in his direction and reclined against the armrest for support, crossing her legs in front of her. Breathe, Laurel. And remember what April said—he’s not as scary as he looks.

  Easy for her friend to say.

  “I was thinking,” she began softly, slowly, testing the words in the quiet room, “about taking Shaelynn to the museum tomorrow. She told me today that her kindergarten teacher read a story about dinosaurs at the end of the year, and it’s been proven that what children experience in real life is better remembered than something in a book.” Laurel stopped because of the funny look he shot her—tilted brows and a straightened mouth; a complete look of bemusement. Had she been talking gibberish?

  Mentally, she shook her head. It was just something she’d learned from her parents growing up—instead of reading about the forest, her parents had taken her camping. To further understand the oceanic food chain, her family had planned a summer vacation to the beach. Obviously, he’d lived a different life than she had. “Anyway,” she continued, “if you’re not working, you should come. You know, like a normal family outing?”

  His eyes squinted harder, jaw ticked— If looks could kill, his would’ve filleted her in half like a chicken breast. He ground out, “We are not a family.”

  Right, they weren’t. Nevertheless… “I know, but I can tell yo
ur daughter adores you and the time you get to spend together, and I think she’d really like it if you came.” Her words bristled him—she knew this by the look he shot her. But that same look was also misfiring the synapses in her brain and scrambling everything into a big, messy pile of I-don’t-know-what-to-say-or-think-or-do. Ugh, she hated how flustered just sitting near him made her. Laurel bit her lip and smiled across the couch at him.

  Micah’s expression grew harder, his eyes darker. “I didn’t bring you into our home so you could point out everything you think I’m doing wrong as a parent.” He sat up, gripping his hands around his knees as if he was all of a sudden trying not to punch something. “There’s nothing wrong with the way Shae and I have been carrying on these past few years. We’ve gotten by just fine without normal family outings.” The words were there, but the sureness to them wasn’t. Different than the uncertainty of her watching him. This seemed like it had nothing to do with her at all.

  “I…” No words came. How was she supposed to respond to that? “I know,” she said weakly. “I was just suggest—”

  “Well, fucking don’t.” Sharp and cutting, and then he sprang off the couch and slammed the door to his bedroom.

  Laurel closed her eyes. Warm up attempt: FAIL.

  Chapter Six

  His knuckles were pounding. Why the hell did Russo keep sending him to complete and utter douchebags who found it entertaining to try and fight back?

  Try. At least that was all they did.

  Micah wiped the bloodied backs of his hands on the underside hem of his T-shirt one last time, then opened the door to his apartment. The sound of giggles—both his daughter’s and someone else’s—boomed from the other room. Immediately, he smiled; his daughter’s laugh had always been so contagious. Its warmth and bubbliness held the ability to erase the shitty part—or…most days…parts—of his day instantaneously.