“Whatever works best,” was his immediate reply.
“You’re a good kid, Isaac,” she said after a moment and felt tears coming on again. This time for an entirely different reason. “A really good kid.”
After a few seconds of silence, her son’s voice quietly admitted, “Not sure what to say when you tell me stuff like that, Mom.”
“Just say, ‘Thank you, Mom,’ and wait for my text.”
“Thank you, Mom, and wait for my text.”
“Brat,” she said affectionately.
“Love you too.”
She hung up just as she pulled into the parking lot of the first store on her list. After turning the car off, she rested her forehead on the steering wheel.
And sobbed. Huge, chest-shuddering sobs that caused her to nearly lose her breath several times.
She cried for the woman who would never get to see her son graduate, get married, have babies of his own. Cried for the little boy who would never be able to walk into his mother’s office and borrow twenty dollars for a movie.
Cried for the man who had lost a sister and gained a huge responsibility and would be shaken from both those huge events for days, weeks, maybe years to come. Who had looked so lost holding his beloved nephew, watching her install a car seat. Looked like his entire world had imploded, and he couldn’t find a safe place to hide.
When the tears finally ran dry, she sat back in the seat and, out of habit, checked the visor mirror.
“Oh, wow. Girl, you could scare the paint off a wall.” Using a napkin from some poorly planned fast-food trip in the past, she wiped the remnants of her day’s makeup off, wadded the napkin up and left it in the cup holder. Just before she got out of the car, she debated, then stayed in the car and picked up her phone. A quick scroll, and she found the contact she needed to reach out to.
Chapter 14
Clay bounced and twisted and walked and walked and walked some more. But Stanley was having none of it. The kid just cried. And cried. And for the love of God, cried some more.
“How is it,” Clay asked the kid as he hiccupped from so much crying, “that you still have tears? You should be dehydrated by now.”
Stanley just gave him a look that spoke of pure misery and let out another wail.
“I don’t…God, why can’t you talk yet? You’ve never done this to me before. What do you want, Stan? More food? Toys? You didn’t want the water, and you won’t sit and watch the dancing flower show anymore. What?”
“Clay?”
At the sound of Kristen’s voice, he turned, relief pouring off him in waves. “Thank God.”
“Your garage door was still open, so I just came in.” She walked to the kitchen, lugging huge plastic sacks bulging with who knew what.
“What’s all this?” He came over to inspect, Stanley still wailing over his shoulder, coating his shirt in snot and drool and tears.
“Food, snacks, a few things like gas drops, baby pain medicine.” Kristen began rooting through the bags. “A few more toys, diapers and wipes, cream…you know, the essentials.”
“And yet I doubt there’s a crib in there.”
“Oh, I got a crib.” She grinned at him and opened a box, pulled out what looked like a colorful food pouch, popped the top, and reached for Stanley. Despite his pride demanding he do it himself, Clay gratefully gave up the baby and stepped back to watch.
Stanley’s performance faltered when he switched hands, and instead of screaming, began inspecting his new adult keeper. When Kristen cooed nonsense at him, he seemed to smile a little before remembering he was pissed, then screamed.
“Oh no. Stanley’s a little upset,” she sang, then pressed the lip of the pouch to his lips. Stanley turned his head away. Instead of fighting it, Kristen simply pulled the pouch back and pretended to take sips from the pouch herself. “Yummy, num num. What does Mommy say when you’re eating, hmm?”
“Yums,” Clay murmured.
“Yums,” Kristen repeated in a higher-pitched voice. “Time for some yums, Stanley.”
Giving her a look that said, yeah right, lady, Stanley let her put the pouch back to his mouth. When she squeezed a bit and some of the food hit his lips, he opened and let her put the pouch in. Sucking on it like a straw, Stanley’s entire demeanor changed. He held the pouch with one hand and let his head rest against Kristen’s shoulder with the other.
“He’s tired. Exhausted.” Kristen rubbed his back and up to his neck. As if on command, Stanley’s eyes began to droop. “Here. You take him, and I’ll organize the rest of the haul that goes in the kitchen. Then I’ll bring in the rest of the bags.”
“There are more bags?” Clay asked, surveying what she’d already dumped on the countertop.
“You gave me your credit card. I couldn’t resist.” She gave him a smile, a pat on the back for Stanley, then walked to the garage door, opening it up and walking out. He heard her call out to someone, though not exactly what was said.
And then, as Stanley finished up his pouch of—Clay craned his neck to read the pouch upside down—apples and plums, he saw a huge box coming right for them. He danced out of the way just in time to see Trey Owens making a hard right with a box that was nearly as tall as he was. The other end of the box was supported by none other than Josh Leeman.
Behind them came Isaac, Kristen’s son, bearing yet another box, this one a bit smaller.
“Hey, Coach,” Trey said. Then Josh, then Isaac repeated the greeting. All as if showing up to their coach’s personal home at nine at night was a usual occurrence.
“Where to, Kristen?” Trey patted the top of the box. “We already had our workout today, so holding this bad boy for a few hours could get old.”
“Right. There’s a guest bedroom upstairs, correct?” she asked Clay, who nodded, unable to speak. “Let’s go up and find out. Isaac, you can work on the Pack ‘n Play in the living room. Just in some out-of-the-way spot. And when you’re done with that—”
“Start babyproofing.” Her son held up a sack and shook. Whatever was in the sack made a rattling sound. “Got it.”
“Okay, let’s get the crib upstairs.” Kristen walked up, Trey and Josh following behind. After a few minutes, there was a thump upstairs and a few curses, then Kristen walked down.
“They’ll be fine. Do you…” She hesitated, tried again. “I’ve still got a high chair in the back of Isaac’s car. It’s too heavy and awkward for me to carry in the box. Would you like me to hold him while you get it out?”
Clay looked at Stanley, drowsily lounging against him, his eyes half-closed, fist still clutching the empty pouch of baby food. And for some reason, despite trusting Kristen more than anyone else in the world at that moment, he couldn’t force his arms or his brain to hand over the child. “I…”
“It’s okay.” She smiled softly, ran a hand down his arm, and went to get Isaac. She and her son were back a few minutes later, Isaac toting the high chair box to the kitchen table and leaving it there before going back to the living room, presumably to continue working on the Pack ‘n Play.
“Why don’t you go sit down with Stanley somewhere?” Kristen suggested, slicing through tape with a knife from the kitchen.
“I should help.” That’s what a real man would say. “I should be the one putting together the crib and the high chair and whatever the hell Isaac is doing in there. This is all my job.”
“Clay,” Kristen began, then sighed and stood. She dusted her palms off before walking over to cup his face with both her hands. “Nobody thinks you’re incapable of putting together a crib or a high chair. Nobody thinks you can’t do this on your own. But there’s no reason to try. We’re here, and we’re going to help you get through this. Today…today has been one of those days where you need to just sit with Stanley and comfort each other. Stop worrying about what you should be doing, and just go sit. Okay?”
He could only nod his head and walk to the living room, where Isaac was finishing up setting up the Pack ‘n Play. Or, as Clay had always
liked to tease Amanda, baby jail.
“Got this all set up. Is it okay to throw away the big boxes in your trash bin outside?”
Clay nodded, and Isaac stood, holding the destroyed box the item came in. “Good deal. I’m going to put some latches on the cabinets, then start on the light sockets. They’re a…” Isaac glanced toward the door as if seeing if his mother were nearby. “They’re a bitch to pop off,” he said in a lower voice.
“I heard that,” Kristen sang from the kitchen. “But you’re right, they are.”
Isaac rolled his eyes but was smiling. Then the smile faded. “Coach…I’m really sorry. It sucks, you know? I’m just…I’m sorry.”
“Thanks,” Clay managed around the lump in his throat. As Isaac walked out, Clay sat down with the now-silent Stanley and just let the couch cushions surround him. As Stanley’s breathing evened out, Clay let his own eyes close, and the rhythmic feel of his nephew’s chest rising and falling lulled him into a light sleep.
Two hours later, Kristen kissed both Trey and Josh on the cheek.
“Did you say good-bye to Coach Barnes?”
“We poked our heads in, but he was asleep on the couch with the kid, so…” Trey shrugged. “Didn’t seem like the right time. Maybe we can stop by another time with food or something. Cassie and I can’t cook for crap, but we can order some mean take-out.”
“Thank you both so much for coming. It was above and beyond.”
“He’s our coach,” Josh said quietly. “He’s the guy who makes us better. He does so much for us. It was good to repay even a little bit.”
“Bobcats are family,” Trey said simply. “Plus now I get to go home and tell Cassie I built a crib and liked it. She’s going to freak out.” That made him grin in an adorable way. “Nothing like scaring the pants off the missus.”
“You’re terrible,” she scolded but laughed anyway and waved to both of them as they got in their cars and drove off. “And you,” she added, grabbing Isaac and pulling him in for a hug. “You’re just about the best son a mom could ever pray for. You know that?”
“Mom,” he said in an annoyed tone, but he held her close. She knew the events of the day hadn’t been totally lost on him.
“I’m about to get mushy, so get over it. You, Isaac Zachary Brown, are the biggest blessing in my life. I am so proud of the young man you’ve become. And when I think about the kind of man you’ll be in the future…” She wiped at her eyes, but it was pointless because the tears simply kept rolling. “When I think…oh, damn it.”
“Swear jar, Mom,” he whispered but hugged her again, his chin resting on her head. God, how had that even happened? Her baby was taller than her? “I hate that Coach is going through this. And Stanley… He’s too young to know, right? Like, will he get it?”
“Not immediately. But soon enough he’ll notice something is missing. He’s already aware his life is turned upside down. It’s agitating him.”
“Poor kid. Poor Coach,” Isaac added.
“About the ‘poor Coach’ part…” She let out a heavy breath and stepped from her son’s arms. “I’m going to spend the night here tonight.”
“I figured.”
“I took the week off work, and I’ll be with him for most of that. I’ll still come home to see you, and—wait, what? What do you mean ‘I figured’?”
“With you and Coach dating, I just assumed you’d be over here to help out.” Isaac shrugged one shoulder, giving her the duh face.
“Yes, but how…I mean, what gave…how?”
“Mom. I’m seventeen. I’m not an idiot.”
“I never thought…wow. Okay, apparently I’m not as smooth as I’d assumed.” She ran a hand over her son’s hair, surprised all over again she had to reach up to do it. “I wasn’t trying to keep secrets.”
“I know, Mom. It’s a private thing. It’s cool. I’m not upset.” He hesitated a moment. “But you could stop sneaking around now, you know. And if you want to get out for a break, I can babysit.”
Tears welled once more, and she hugged Isaac again. “You’re an amazing kid, Isaac.”
“Mom. Geez.”
Five minutes later, composed and dry-eyed, she waved to her son as he pulled out of the driveway. After a deep breath, she walked back into the house to locate the man and his nephew.
She found them still on the couch, Stanley sleeping soundly on Clay’s chest, semiwedged between Clay’s arm and the back of the sofa. Both their mouths were a little slack, and Stanley made an adorable little baby-snore with each breath in.
Crouching down, she rubbed at Clay’s arm. “Clay. Clay, it’s time to get Stanley to bed.”
He awoke slowly, which was a relief because she’d been prepared to catch the kid otherwise. When his eyelids lifted, he watched her for a moment. Then with a sort of sad resignation, he asked, “It wasn’t a really shitty dream, was it?”
“No.” She smoothed her hand over his hair, letting the short bristle tickle her palm. Wishing like hell it were twenty-four hours earlier and the whole thing hadn’t happened yet. Or at all. “Do you want me to take him up and put him to bed?”
Clay looked down at the sleeping Stanley and shook his head. “I’ve got it.” Slowly he stood up, keeping one arm firmly around the child so he wouldn’t slip. Stanley never even moved. Kristen’s heart clenched a little to see how secure and safe the young boy must have felt to sleep so soundly in his uncle’s arms.
Clay stood for a moment, then just froze. Kristen knew he’d babysat before, done the bedtime routine. It was the newness of doing it in his own home that was throwing him off.
“I’ll go up with you.” One hand between his shoulder blades, she pushed and nudged him to the stairs, turning off lights as they went. When they reached the upstairs, she guided him to the guest bedroom where the two quarterbacks had assembled the crib off to the side, as well as shifted a few pieces of furniture around. The full-size bed now sat against the wall instead of the middle of the room. They’d removed the mirror from the waist-high dresser to make a modified changing table, thanks to the changing pad she had secured over the top. And Kristen had found a few empty drawers and filled them with the couple changes of clothing she’d purchased for the boy.
“Let’s get his pajamas on.”
“He normally has a bath,” Clay began, but Kristen shook her head.
“He’s already out. If you’re lucky, he’ll stay out while you change him. A bath would be too jarring. Let’s skip it, just for tonight.”
“Right, right.” Sounding dazed, Clay went through the process of changing his nephew’s diaper and putting him into pajamas. The boy stirred a few times but was clearly exhausted because he didn’t wake up fully. Clay was competent and didn’t falter on the task. Once Stanley was cozy in a pair of brand-new lightweight footie pajamas, Clay simply held him, swaying in the middle of the floor as if in a dance.
Kristen ducked out of the room, sensing they needed a moment together. She went to Clay’s bedroom, turned down the bed, and used the bathroom. By the time she emerged, Clay was sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Did he go down okay?”
“Kid should work for Chevy. Went down like a rock.”
Kristen snorted and sat beside him. Not quite touching, but close. They both were silent for a while.
“You’re still here,” he finally said.
“I’m still here.”
“Isn’t Isaac back?”
He remembered.
“He’s fine for tonight. He put up the baby gate at the top of the stairs and all the babyproofing. Trey and Josh put the crib and the rest of it together. Team effort.”
“I should thank them,” he murmured, still staring straight ahead.
“Let’s… How about you get in bed? It’s been a long day and…” She was out of practical advice that didn’t immediately touch on the loss of his sister.
Clay nodded, toeing off his shoes. Kristen kept her hands to herself, even while he fumbled with the butto
ns of his shirt before taking it off. What he needed now wasn’t her greedy hands on his body but comfort.
After stripping down to boxers, he climbed in bed. When she stood, he reached out and lightly grabbed her wrist.
“Are you leaving?”
“I wasn’t… Do you want me to?”
“No.” His answer was firm even if his eyes were distant.
“Then I’ll stay.” She went to the dresser, searched in two drawers before finding what she needed on the third try. She changed into the long T-shirt of Clay’s, leaving her underwear on, before climbing in on the other side of the bed. She was ready to give him space, but he immediately rolled over to the middle and slid an arm around her, pulling her close.
The moment her head rested on his shoulder, his chest jerked. She laid her palm flat over his heart and felt another jump. Then another. When she looked up, she saw him fighting back tears like a dying man warding off a deathblow on the battlefield.
“Clay,” she whispered, cupping his face with one hand and kissing him softly on the lips. “It’s okay now. You can let go. Just me. It’s just me.”
With permission, the tears started to roll, and the sound of his pain broke her heart.
Chapter 15
Kristen woke to the feeling of gentle suction against her neck. Murmuring a token protest, she shifted. Clay lay more firmly on top of her, holding her from escaping.
“Clay,” she sighed, her hand coming to the back of his head in encouragement. His mouth worked down to the neckline of the shirt she wore, working the loose fabric down and over one breast. When his mouth latched on, she moaned and thrust up into his touch.
Then reality crashed down, and she sucked in a breath. “Clay, wait. Hold on.”
“Don’t want to hold on,” he muttered, tugging her shirt up over her hips, pushing until it pooled at her ribcage.
“We can’t—”
“We can.” His voice was firm, and he lifted his head to look at her in the darkness. She could barely make out his face but somehow still sensed its intenseness. “Say no if you don’t want it, but don’t say no because you think it’s wrong. It’s what I want. It’s what I need right now.”
Changing Her Plans (Santa Fe Bobcats) Page 13