“She has the sniffles. I mean she has a cold.” The boy shrugged. “She was really tired, so she went to lie down. And when I’m sick, Mom always cooks soup for me—with lots of noodles and peas in it.”
He sounded so adorable and concerned that Shane couldn’t help smiling, even though his heart was still pounding from the sudden fear and worry that Brady would hurt himself. “Weren’t you supposed to go and play with your friend?”
“Yes, but then I wanted to stay here instead.”
“Your mom could have called me,” he said, taking off his jacket. “Who usually watches you when she’s sick?”
“Mom says she isn’t sick.” Brady rolled his eyes and confided with a disgusted face, “But her nose is full of snot.”
Shane stifled his laughter and cleared his throat instead, hanging his jacket on the coatrack. “Let me check on her real quick. Where’s her room?”
Brady pointed, and Shane followed his direction on tiptoe. His knock was all but inaudible, and then he opened the door a crack and peeked inside. It was pitch-black, and all he could hear was the wheezing brought on by a stuffy nose and heavy sleep. Because he couldn’t make out anything in the dark room, he closed the door again and returned to Brady, who was waiting for him with an expectant expression.
“Alright, let’s cook that soup for your mom together.”
“And then you’re leaving again?”
Shane shook his head. “I’ll stay until your mom wakes up.”
“Okay.” His mother’s illness didn’t seem to bother Brady any longer, because he looked up at Shane with a new idea. “Can we watch a movie and eat popcorn?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Can we also drink Coke?”
“No, we can’t,” Shane said with a chuckle.
“Mom always lets me have Coke in the evening,” the little rascal claimed with an innocent look on his face.
His dad suppressed a grin. “Brady, I’m certain that your mother doesn’t even have Coke in the house.”
“Can I have coffee then?”
Shane furrowed his brow in surprise. “Coffee? Have you ever tasted coffee before?
“Nope.” Brady shrugged. “But Mom drinks a cup every morning. I want to try it, too.”
“Not a chance.” Shane shook his head. “It’s best if you don’t ever start the habit.”
“Do you drink coffee, too, Dad?”
“More than I’d like to,” he admitted with a sigh, ruffling his son’s hair again. “All cops drink far too much coffee.”
One might have thought Brady had already had a few cups of something caffeinated, because his attention span was that of a fly. “Oh … Can we eat chips then? Mom hides them in the living-room cabinet, because she eats them all when she keeps the bag on the table. She says she doesn’t have to think about the chips all the time when she hides them, but then she goes and eats them anyway. And later she complains that she’s getting fat. A while ago she even wanted to throw the bathroom scale out the window.”
Shane choked on his own laughter and cleared his throat. “Brady, I’m going to give you a piece of advice that you should never forget.”
“Yeah?”
“Never ever talk about a woman’s weight in front of other people.”
The boy seemed to process that and frowned in confusion. “But you’re my dad.”
“Exactly.” Shane nodded emphatically. “I’m the last person you should tell about your mother’s little chips secrets.”
“Why?”
“Because …” He put a hand on his son’s shoulder and steered him towards the kitchen. “You don’t mess with women when it comes to their weight.”
“I don’t think Mom is fat.”
“No, she isn’t,” Shane agreed with a smile.
Brady sighed in irritation. “Then why does she keep saying it?”
Shane looked at his son seriously. “If you can figure that out, you’ll be a very rich man, buddy.”
Shane wasn’t sure what Thorne would think of him being in her apartment, but as he couldn’t ask her right now, he simply went with Brady to the cozy kitchen, and they proceeded to make chicken soup together. Brady showed him where everything was, and Shane taught his son how the famous Fitzpatrick chicken soup was prepared. While they were cutting and stirring and waiting for the soup to be done, Brady told his father everything he had done and heard and seen in the last three days.
The little guy was a real chatterbox, but he kept Shane laughing. He looked at Brady’s dark head with great pride and acknowledged that Thorne had done an awesome job of raising him on her own so far.
Brady fell asleep as soon as they settled down on the couch for an animated movie. He lay half on and half next to his father, and his peaceful sleep was interrupted a few times when he suddenly kicked out with his small feet. Shane was immediately reminded of the nights he’d been woken up by similar kicks. Just like Brady, Thorne used to kick out like a pony in her sleep. And just like today, he hadn’t minded being mauled like that, because it had felt far too good to be lying next to her.
He had been surprised when Brady had laid his head on his leg and fallen asleep just like that, and it made him feel like a real father. How many times had he fallen asleep next to his own father in front of the TV when he was a kid? He had usually woken up when his dad carried him upstairs, but he would pretend to still be asleep. Now he stroked his son’s hair with a feather-light touch, thinking, with a pain in his chest, about how his father had not had the chance to get to know his grandson. If Shane hadn’t been so eager to advance his career, his dad could have held Brady in his arms as an infant. Now all Shane could do was show his son pictures of Joe Fitzpatrick and tell him what a wonderful man his grandpa had been.
A noise startled him from his gloomy thoughts. He turned and saw Thorne in the doorway, blinking at him with sleepy eyes. Even though her nose was not “full of snot,” she looked anything but well. Her hair was tousled, her nose was bright red, and when she spoke, her voice was all scratchy and hoarse.
“What are you doing here?”
“Brady called me because he wanted to cook soup for you.”
“What?” She rubbed a hand across her face, which wore a disoriented look. “What time is it?”
Shane glanced at his watch. “A little after ten.”
“Crap.” She sniffled. “I must have fallen asleep. Brady was supposed to go upstairs and play with Gayle.”
“Well, he called me because he wanted to stay here with you and cook soup for you.”
She emitted a startled sound. “He did what? If he turned on the stove while I was asleep—”
“He didn’t.”
He got up gingerly and put a blanket over Brady’s curled-up body before stepping towards Thorne and raising an amused eyebrow at her flannel pajamas printed with a pattern of little black kittens.
“You’re sick,” he said patiently. “You should really stay in bed.”
“I’m feeling much better,” she protested, but at the same time she wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. And she kept sniffling.
He couldn’t stop himself. He stepped closer and placed a cool hand against her forehead. It was burning hot.
“Shane,” she protested, closing her glassy eyes for a moment.
“You’re running a fever, but I bet you know that,” he said, and rubbed her cold arms. “Go back to bed, Thorne. I’ll bring you a bowl of soup.”
With a moan, she stepped back a little and leaned weakly against the doorframe. “I just had to lie down for a bit. I’m fine.”
“Thorne,” he said indulgently, still rubbing her arms without really noticing it. “You look like you’re going to keel over any moment. Come on. Let me get you back to bed—”
She interrupted him with a dry cough. “What about Brady?”
“I’ll carry him to his room.”
“But—”
“You’ll wake him up if you go on like this.” He placed a firm han
d on her back and steered her into the bedroom, despite her ongoing protestations.
“I really don’t want to be in bed right now,” she griped as Shane pulled back the covers and fluffed up her pillow.
“Maybe you don’t want to, but it’ll do you good.”
When he pushed her down gently until she lay back on the mattress, she made a grumpy noise and looked up at him with a loud sniffle. “You’re not my nurse, you know that?”
“Don’t be so contrary.” Without really noticing it, he brushed a few stray strands of hair from her forehead. “You should have called me when you got sick. Someone has to take care of you and Brady when you can’t.”
With a groan and a frown on her face, she murmured, “Are you mad at me?”
“Not at all,” he said softly and pulled the covers over her, tucking her in like a child. “I was worried, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think I would fall asleep.”
Shane’s lips curved into a soothing smile as he studied her feverish face. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay until you feel better.”
“That’s nice,” she whispered, nestling more comfortably into the covers.
His throat was dry as he looked down at her. He knew she had to be very sick; otherwise she wouldn’t have condoned his presence in her bedroom. She didn’t even seem to mind as his fingers ran gently through her tousled hair.
“Do you have any cold medicine?”
“Mm-hm.” She nodded and yawned. “In the bathroom.”
“Okay.” He straightened and left the bedroom to get her a bowl of soup. Before he returned, he searched the small bathroom cabinet and found a chest rub as well as cold medicine. But he also spotted a familiar tube that contained kiwi-scented bath salts. He remembered Thorne had always used that particular scent, and that he had been teased by her brother, his buddies, and by his former sergeant for “smelling like a girl.”
He closed the cabinet door on the familiar scent, shook off the memory, and walked back to the bedroom. He put the meds on her nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Hey,” he whispered. “You need to eat just a little bit before you fall asleep again.”
She grudgingly opened her eyes and then sat up limply. “I’m really knocked out. I should call Dana.”
“Who’s Dana?” Shane handed her the spoon and held the bowl out to her.
“My best friend. She can take care of Brady.” She looked at the soup with a skeptical expression. “Did you cook this?”
“It tastes great and works wonders.”
She wrinkled her nose and looked up. “You made soup for me? Shane, you don’t need to play the part of a babysitter.”
He didn’t reply to that, instead nodding in the direction of the spoon. “Eat. It’ll make you feel better.”
As could be expected, she made a face but proceeded to eat a few spoonfuls of the soup, before handing the half-empty bowl back to him. “It’s really very good, but I just can’t eat more right now.”
“It’s okay.” He carefully set the bowl aside and grabbed the chest rub.
“No, not that,” Thorne croaked, coughing. “I just need the cough syrup.”
Shane rolled his eyes. “I won’t ravage you. Just let me at least rub your back with this stuff.”
“No, thanks.” She coughed again and searched for a tissue to blow her nose. “I’m allergic to it. It gives me a rash, so I only use it on Brady.”
“Oh.” He put the ointment down again with a grin. “And here I thought you didn’t want me to see you naked.”
She started to laugh, but was wracked by another fit of coughing. “You’re not that kind of perverted, to assault a sick woman.” She shook her head. “How sexy is a runny nose?”
He shrugged playfully. “I could turn off the light or hold a pillow over your face.”
“Why thank you,” she griped. “Do you think I’ll let you stay if you go on like this?”
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, baby.” He handed her the cold medicine and a glass of water.
While she downed it and then sank back into the pillows, he watched her with his head cocked to the side. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes.” The corners of her mouth dropped a little. “Is it really okay for you to watch Brady? Otherwise I’ll just call Dana.”
“Of course it’s okay. I’m glad I can be there for him … and you.” Shane leaned a little closer. “Please don’t worry about it.”
“Thank you.” She swallowed briefly. “Could you do me another favor?”
“Of course.”
Thorne picked at the covers, apparently searching for the right words. “Could you get your colleagues to stop calling me about Aidan?”
He blinked in surprise. “What?”
“They just won’t leave me alone.” She ran a hand through her hair and then dropped it weakly on the covers. “My cell phone keeps ringing, and some Captain Greene keeps demanding I speak with him regarding Aidan. I keep telling him that I’m not going to try to talk my brother into helping them.”
Shane let out a frustrated groan. “I already told him to leave you alone.”
“That doesn’t seem to have worked then,” she commented cautiously. She offered him a weak smile. “But thank you for trying.”
“Thorne, I promise I’ll take care of this.”
“Okay,” she said softly, and stifled another yawn. “Aidan will be released in just a few days. I … I don’t want the cops badgering him as soon as he’s out.”
“Right. I’ll see what I can do.” He cleared his throat. There was a sudden silence before he blurted out, “Are you anxious about Aidan?”
She blinked at him, not understanding. He noticed that her lids were heavy—she was about to fall asleep again.
“Are you anxious about his release, I mean?”
She gave a little shrug. “No … Yes … Maybe a little bit. He doesn’t know Brady yet. And he promised me he won’t associate with his old pals anymore. That he’ll stay away from crime, you know? Yeah, I’ll admit it. I’m nervous.”
Shane’s eyebrows raised inquisitively. “But he knows about Brady, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, of course,” she whispered. “He knows about him, and he’s seen a lot of pictures, but he didn’t want me to bring him along to the visiting days. So they still haven’t met.”
Shane didn’t say anything because he didn’t want to upset her, but he had to admit that he was glad his young son had been saved the experience of visiting prison.
He felt it was time to give her some rest, so he switched off the bedside lamp. “Sleep well, Thorne. I’ll stay with Brady.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, and fell asleep within seconds.
Chapter 12
Thorne was in a quandary. What was a woman supposed to do when she felt herself falling in love again with a man who had hurt her in the past? A man she could no longer trust? She felt like the dumbest idiot on the planet for developing feelings for Shane again.
She told herself over and over that she was angry with him and could never forgive him for what he’d done seven years ago, but deep inside, she sensed that the anger was slowly evaporating. Because of Brady.
Her heart soared whenever she watched Shane interact with her son. She could see how well they got along. Shane had fallen head over heels for Brady, and her son looked up to his dad in such hero-worship that it brought tears to her eyes. In the beginning, she had doubted that Shane was interested in being a real father to Brady, but he had proved her wrong. He was caring, considerate, and was making every effort to be a good father.
And he was just as caring and considerate with her.
In short, it was impossible to hate a man that behaved the way Shane did.
It was just as impossible to ignore the feelings that she experienced when Shane smiled at her, rubbed her arms when they were cold, and brought her soup when she was sick. He took care of her, and it warmed her heart.
But apart fro
m the question of how to deal with the fact that Shane took up way too much space in her thoughts and emotions, she had a much more pressing problem: How to explain to her brother that the long-lost Liam Gallagher had miraculously reappeared, but his real name was Shane Fitzpatrick, and he was a cop. Not just any cop, but the one whose investigation had delivered the evidence that had sent him to jail.
Aidan had arrived in Boston yesterday, but to her chagrin, he hadn’t moved in with her, instead going to a shelter. Thorne would have liked to have her brother close—mainly to keep an eye on him, she admitted to herself. But from what he had told her yesterday, Aidan seemed not only well-organized, but also highly motivated to manage and rebuild his life on his own. Of course she was glad to hear it, but she also worried about him.
She was glad that at least some of her fears had been groundless—she’d been anxious that they might act like strangers when they saw each other, reserved and shy, but it had taken only a few minutes until she had all but forgotten the six years of separation. That’s another reason she hesitated to tell him about Shane. She didn’t want to endanger the closeness they seemed to still possess. She was also a little afraid of what might happen if she told Aidan, and then he met Shane afterwards.
All those considerations aside, she had to tell her brother, because sooner or later, Brady would start telling his uncle about his awesome dad. After all, the boy hardly talked about anything else these days.
Later that afternoon, when Aidan was standing in her kitchen helping prepare dinner, she felt that the moment had come. Brady was playing with Gayle in his room, so the coast was clear. Shane was picking him up the next day for a walk and some race-car antics in the park, so she couldn’t risk the men meeting without Aidan knowing what was going on.
She studied her brother’s handsome profile while he peeled carrots, wondering for a moment whether she shouldn’t still be resentful of Shane for being the one responsible for sending Aidan to jail. She loved her brother and hated the thought of the lonely years he’d had to spend in prison. But at the same time, she couldn’t help asking herself what might have happened if he hadn’t been caught and convicted.
Blast From The Past (The Boston Five Series #2) Page 14