by Faye Byrd
“Morning, Daddy Trystan,” Cam follows right behind.
I smile and walk over to them, giving each a kiss to their heads. “Morning, dudes.” I peek over in their bowls. “What the heck does your mama have you eating?” It’s a puddle of mushy, colored clumps floating around in milk.
Disgusting.
“That’s Fruity Flakies, and I love them,” Cam answers as he takes another bite.
“Yeah, Daddy, they good,” Blake seconds.
I curl up my nose. “Better than pancakes?”.
“No, not better than pancakes, but Mama said you was busy and she feed us this,” Blake says, pointing to the bowl.
I lift a brow. “Did she now?”
“Uh, huh, she said you had something to take care of first,” Cam spouts, spooning another bite into his mouth.
“Boys, you almost finished?” Speak of the devil herself. Easton walks into the kitchen with Blue hot on her heals.
“How can you feed them this crap? I would’ve cooked them something,” I insist, my nose still wrinkled as I motion to the bowls.
She smirks. “You were busy, Trystan, and they were hungry.”
I roll my eyes. “I know they told me all about it.”
“Oh, well, um …” At least she has the decency to look chagrined.
I smirk. “It’s okay, Easton. All taken care of.”
Her cheeks darken and she looks away. She’s so cute that I want to go to her and take her in my arms, but I can’t. It bothers me a little, but this is what we agreed on, and I’ll honor that … until I get it all figured out in my head. .
“Okay, boys, time to get a bath and leave your daddy to the kitchen,” she tells them, still avoiding my eyes.
Her avoidance makes me curious. Did my words bring images to her mind? Images of me in the shower fantasizing about her with my cock in hand?
I hope the fuck so.
She collects the boys and they head out while I get to work preparing the food for our cookout.
Our cookout.
I don’t know where my life ends and hers begins anymore.
Our life.
A couple hours later, Easton opens the front door to my brother’s smiling family. She directs the boys to the backyard where Weston and Ryder are already set up, keeping an eye on Cam and Blake. Cooper spots me and makes his way to the kitchen, while Easton and Kari join Amelia in the family room.
“What’s up, bro,” Coop says, taking a seat at the bar. “You know I’m sorry about yesterday’s shit storm with Mom and Dad. I should’ve expected he’d rush over to confront you.”
“Just getting these sides ready,” I say as I cut perfectly uniform slices of potatoes for the German potato salad. “And I know you’d never throw me under the bus like that. You can’t stop Dad when he’s on a mission anyway. Speaking of, where are our parents?”
He rolls his eyes. “You know Mom, she had to stop off and buy the boys a gift.”
“She’s shopping for them all, isn’t she?” I ask with a raised brow.
Mom tends to go overboard, but I won’t have her giving gifts to Cam and Blake while leaving out Blaine and Carson. It’s not like she’d do it on purpose because she buys them stuff all the time, but her excitement over having a new one might cloud her judgement.
Coop waves his hand. “Aw, it’ll be fine, Trystan. She buys them stuff all the time.”
Yeah, I think not. I grab my phone and shoot her a text to remind her that she has four grandsons at this party. Her response makes me chuckle.
“What’s got you laughing? Texting your woman even though she’s just sitting in the other room?” Coop asks.
I shake my head. “Hell, no. I was texting Mom and trust me, she didn’t forget about your boys. You’ll probably have to ship that shit back. Sounds like she’s on a spree.”
“You know there’s no stopping her.” He shrugs. “Oh well, but I see you didn’t deny it.”
My brows furrow. “Deny what?”
He tilts his head toward the laughter coming from the family room. “That she’s your girl.”
I scrub my hand over my face. “Man, don’t even go there. It’s a complicated situation with a complicated answer.” I prop my hands on the bar. “But no, she’s not my girl.”
“You want her to be.” He states it as fact.
I look down to the marble. “Fuck, man, I have no idea what I want or where I am half the time.” I meet his eyes. “But I’m happy with the way things are … mostly.”
“Why only mostly?” he asks, taking a swig of beer.
I motion with my hands, my knife waving through the air. “I’ve got no complaints. I mean, what’s not to like, right?”
Propping his elbows on the bar, he leans closer. “Why don’t you tell me? That ‘mostly’ didn’t slip out for no reason. Get that shit off your chest, man. You know I’m here for ya.”
I avoid his curious gaze as I grab a strainer and put the potato slices into it before sitting it under the spray at the vegetable sink. “I’m just having a hard time separating the wants of Trystan, the man, from the wants of Trystan, the daddy.”
“So this is about Easy. I’ve never seen you so out of sorts when it comes to a woman,” he says as he sits up straighter and shrugs. “She already asked you to make a kid with her. I say go for it. Maybe that’ll help clear the fog.”
My hand, which was reaching to turn off the water, freezes in mid-air, and Coop’s eyes widen to the size of saucers when he notices. “Holy fuck! You two have already done the deed!”
“Shhh,” I shush him, waving frantically for him to tone it the fuck down. “Jesus Christ, Coop. Tell the whole fucking house, why don’t you.”
“Okay, but shit.” He leans his head closer and twirls his finger. “So how does this work, exactly?”
“It’s no big deal.” I shrug to make it seem like nothing. “It’s just sex.”
“So it sucks?” he asks, and what’s so bad is that he’s fucking serious as hell. That’s the conclusion he’s made from this conversation.
I sigh and scrub my hand through my hair. “No. It doesn’t.”
“That’s it? That’s all I get? Come on, dude, you have to give me more than that.” He waves a frustrated hand.
I toss the potatoes into the already salted, cold water on the stove and turn the burner to high before approaching him. “It’s fucking fantastic, okay? Is that what you want? But it’s also just sex, nothing more. She’s made that clear on more than one occasion.”
“And you want it to be more?” he asks, his brows drawing together.
My mouth opens, but I’m not sure I have a truthful reply. “I don’t know.” I wave my hand. “And there you have it. The mostly.”
His head bobs a few times as he considers my words. “No wonder you’re confused, bro. During the day, you’re one big happy family, and at night you’re sleeping with the mommy. That’s enough to fuck with anyone’s head.”
“When you put it like that …” I trail off with a shrug, turning to the stove to grab the baked beans from the oven. After setting them on the counter, I turn back. “It does make sense, but it doesn’t seem to faze Easton.”
“She strikes me as a very strong woman. If it was bothering her, you wouldn’t know it.”
I smile because he’s right. Easton is so many things, and strong is definitely one of them. “That’s a good guess. And until I know what I want myself, there’s no sense in pushing her for something more.”
“Except,” he says, dragging out the word. “That smile says a lot.”
“What smile?” I ask, feigning ignorance. I know exactly what smile he’s referring to—the one I have when Easton comes to mind.
He chuckles and pats my shoulder. “I get it. I’ve felt like that before.”
“Oh yeah?”
He leans closer like he’s telling me something he wants no one else to hear. “Yeah, when I met Kari.” He sits back, and the smirk he’s sporting can only be described as devious as f
uck.
“Fuck you, man. Fuck you.”
An hour or so later and the barbeque is in full swing. We have a yard full of people. Not only have all the parents arrived, but so have David and Charlotte Logan, Add to that the early arrivals of Ryder, Weston, Coop’s family and Amelia, and we have ourselves a party.
With all the sides ready, I’m manning the grill while everyone else socializes. Today’s offerings will consist of ribs and wings, both covered with my homemade barbeque sauce. I even tweaked it a little to meld with the smoky-sweet flavor that’s more common in Georgia.
After a round of flirtatious conversation with Weston and some lovely compliments from Melissa and Charlotte, Harold Wilder approaches, beer in hand. “Ashby.” He nods. “How’s everything working out for you on the grill? Sure you don’t need help from an old pro?”
I chuckle. “Nah, I think I’ve got the hang of it. But thanks for asking.”
He nods his head up and down as he takes a swig of his beer. “Quite a mix we’ve got here, huh?” He claps my shoulder and leans in, gaining my attention. “Is there something you and Easy need to tell me?”
My hand pauses as I stare straight at him. “I guess that depends on what you know already.” Fuck the meat. “Do you know she’s asked Blake and me to stay here, and we’ve accepted?” I lean closer. “Do you know there isn’t anybody that can run me away?”
He studies me hard and finally nods. “Yeah, I know all of that. The question is, what’s really going on between you and my daughter?”
As far as I can tell, no one in Easton’s family knows of our intentions and telling them isn’t my place. And aside from the hair-brained scheme of ours, there is absolutely nothing going on between us.
“We’re parents to two amazing sons. That’s more than enough for right now. I’m not sure either of us could handle anything more than that,” I state clearly, looking him directly in the eye.
His shoulders slump a tad. “I guess I owe you an apology.”
“I’m not sure you do, Harold. What you did was what any father might do, it’s the fact that you forgot I was the victim, too. That pissed me off.”
“I know.” He sighs. “And that’s why I’m going to apologize. I’m sorry, Trystan, but I’ll do anything to protect my family.”
“My sons are part of your family, so I appreciate that protection,” I reply, finally turning back to the grill.
He moves in beside me and tilts his head to the grill. “Don’t let our dinner burn. If you need me just holler.” He walks off, chuckling.
I spend the next few minutes tending my neglected meat before saucing the wings and closing the lid. A giggle I’d know from anywhere catches my attention.
“How goes it over here in grill land?” Easton asks as she gets closer.
“Going great.” I smirk as I turn to see her and David approach. “Although, your dad told me to call him if I needed a pro’s help.”
She rolls her eyes and holds out a beer she just opened. “Of course he did.”
I grab it and take a drink. “Thanks.”
She just shakes her head, but I notice David flicking his eyes between us. I hold out my free hand. “David, good to see you again.”
“Trystan.” He nods. “It was great of Cooper and Reed to come in and donate blood yesterday. It’ll definitely come in handy if we have to do more than a couple transfusions.”
“Yeah, I appreciate you suggesting it.” I open the grill and flip the wings, saucing the other side. “I just feel better knowing we’re able to help in some way.”
He nods and moves in to grab the platter so I have less to juggle. “Did Kabir explain the parental match to you?” His eyes flick between Easton and me.
“Not specifically Trystan’s results, but he has explained it to me,” Easton answers, swiping the edge of the barbeque sauce bowl with her finger and sticking it between her lips. Her brows rise in delight, but I’m too stuck on her lips to focus on that. “A parent will always be at least a fifty percent match.”
David nods. “Essentially, yes. It’s called a haploidentical transplant. In this case, we run the risk of more complications, but it’s a better option than nothing if we can’t find a match at all.”
“David, you’re scaring me,” Easton says as I reclose the lid to allow the sauce to cook. “I don’t want to think about putting Cameron through something like that if it’s not a sure thing.”
“Easton,” David says, blowing out a heavy breath. “No procedure, even with a perfect match, will be a guaranteed success.”
Her eyes well with tears, and I pull her into my side. “Our son is going to be fine, Easton,” I say in a firm voice, switching my attention to David. “Can you expand on that some, please?”
“Bone Marrow Transplants are always a risk. The procedure is easy enough, but there are so many other factors in play,” he explains. “Children are the most resilient of creatures, though, and their success rate is quite high. As a matter of fact, transplantation of unmatched relatives has grown by leaps and bounds in the last decade. Kabir would be a better person to ask for Cam’s specific case, as he’s a specialist and will be a part of the transplant team.”
Easton relaxes her shoulders. “Dr. Sen and I have discussed potential outcomes, and he was quite reassuring, but everything hinges on the proper match. I’m just not ready to consider attempting the transplant with only a half match.”
I nod along with her. “I agree. With transfusions still being an option, for now, we have time to search for a better match.”
David reaches over and gives Easton’s hand a squeeze. “Of course you do. I wasn’t trying to suggest otherwise. I just want you to remember that no matter how the search goes, all hope is not lost.”
“I’m sorry,” Easton says, stepping away from my hold and embracing David. “I tend to get fixated on certain ideas, but I understand now what you meant.”
“That’s quite all right, dear,” David says, tucking her under his arm. “Why don’t we set up a meeting as soon as possible with Dr. Sen? I think it’ll do us all some good to talk more firmly about the procedure itself, what our expectations are and the different avenues available in locating a match.”
Easton looks to me to supply an answer. “I think that’s a great idea. I’d definitely like a clearer picture of the challenges we face.”
“Me too,” Easton says, giving me a soft smile before looking up to David. “I actually Googled when Cameron was first diagnosed, but it terrified me, so I’ve banned myself from looking to the internet for information.”
“Smart girl.” David chuckles.
“I think we’ll save our questions for the meeting,” I say, shaking my head at Easton.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, interrupting our conversation. I reach in and pull it out with furrowed brows.
Katherine Scott.
Easton steps closer as I hold it up for her to see. “David, could you get my father to come take over the grill. It’s Dr. Scott.”
“Only you could ruin our family barbeque, Katherine,” I say into the phone as Easton takes my arm and guides me toward the back porch.
“I live to ruin your life, Mr. Ashby,” she says all pleasantly and shit.
I sigh. “I guess you can call me Trystan since this is becoming a habit.”
“That’s nice of you, Trystan, but I actually think you won’t loathe this call as much as the last one.”
“Is it about Kennedy?” I ask, bracing myself.
“It’s not, actually,” Katherine responds. “She hasn’t called me again since the message.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Good. Hold on.” I pull the phone away and hit speaker. “Easton and I are both here. Go ahead.”
“A reporter has been nosing around, and I’d like to hold a press conference to publicly announce the error in the morning,” she explains, and I’m not sure how to feel about that, but she keeps going. “I won’t give any details other than two babies were switched, but
I want you to prepare yourselves. Reporters are like vultures, and they will find you.”
I rake my hand through my hair and sigh. “Okay, shit.”
“Thank you for calling us first, Katherine,” Easton says, placing a soothing hand on my tensed arm.
“Of course, Easton,” she responds. “Call me if you need anything.”
Easton reaches over and ends the call. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” I shrug. “I guess I never considered where the press fits into all this.”
“Right now, nowhere, but let’s not worry about it until they do locate us,” Easton says, stepping closer to me.
I toss my arm across her shoulder and lead us toward the kitchen. “Sounds like a plan. You always know how to put things into perspective.”
“Not always,” she says, poking me in the side, “but I try.”
“Don’t make me clear this bar top,” I say, grabbing her finger and lifting a brow.
“Do you have a bar fetish, Chef Ashby?” she asks as she lifts the baked beans and homemade rolls.
I give her a wink. “With you, I have a lot of fetishes.”
She shakes her head. “We better get these out there before my father burns the ribs.”
My eyes widen. “He said he was a pro!”
Her laughter follows her as she trails out the back door. Shit! I grab the potato salad and coleslaw, hurrying behind her.
“These sure are some good baked beans, Easy,” Harold says between bites.
“Oh, well you’ll have to thank Trystan for that. He made everything. He’s a chef, Daddy,” she says sweetly.
Harold’s eyes widen. “You’re a chef?”
I smirk. “Sure am.”
His eyes narrow, and he goes back to his food without another word.
“This ain’t the potato salad we make here in Georgia, but it sure is good. I’m gonna need this recipe,” Charlotte says, giving me a wink.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say with a definitive nod. “No mayo, though. Can you live with that?”
“I suppose,” she says with a fake sigh. “We do love our mayonnaise.”
“I’ll have to show you how to make it one day,” I offer. Most people are shocked to learn how simple it really is.