Men Like This

by Roxanne Smith

  “What about your other girlfriend?”

  Vickie. “She’s not my girlfriend anymore. I dumped her.”

  “How come?”

  “She told some rather nasty lies. She’s not a very nice girl, I’m afraid.”

  Seth’s eyebrows rose in the universal know-it-all manner of children. “My mom doesn’t lie.”

  “I bet you’re right. Probably why I want her to be my girlfriend instead.”

  The boy’s expression became one of mingled disgust and intrigue. “Do you guys, like, love each other?”

  Jack bit back a laugh. “Question denied. It’s far too complicated and possibly even none of your business.”

  Seth’s arms crossed over his thin chest. “My mom would tell me.”

  “Good, we’ll let her fence that one. I’m rather interested in the answer myself.”

  The boy uncrossed his arms and his shoulders slumped. Jack suspected their rapid-fire exchange was about to be traded in for something with a little more heft. “When will my mom get here?”

  Jack slapped him on the back and peeked at the clock mounted on the wall over the butcher block. “Soon, lad.” He hoped she was having fun, but also wished she’d magically appear at his side and tell him the secret to unlocking her precocious child.

  The lad proved to be an interesting conversationalist with a wide range of topics which he enjoyed discussing, but had a tendency to clam up if Jack asked a question too juicy. Basically, any inquiry regarding his father.

  On the flipside, Jack was undergoing intense adolescent scrutiny and fielding questions with only awkward answers. Was he supposed to tell Seth he’d kissed his mum?

  He’d find out too late, either way.

  Lunch had passed and Jack’s mum kept insisting—through underhanded methods like wheeling out of a room the moment he entered it with Seth on his heels—that he ought to spend some time with the boy alone.

  No big deal. Seth seemed content to sip a can of orange-flavored soda on the back porch.

  He took in his surroundings with the observant eye of a writer’s son. “This room is pretty cool.”

  A nice, safe topic. “It’s quite special. A bit like being inside and outside at the same time, isn’t it? I built it myself.” He paused. “Your dad ever build anything? Birdhouse, maybe? Deck in the backyard?”

  He shook his head. “Is my mom on her way?”

  Tit for tat. Just like his bloomin’ mother. Time to teach this kid a thing or two about being nosy. “What about your dad. You get on with him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jack grinned. “We’ve a bit of a cultural gap, don’t we? What I mean is, are you friends? Do you get along?”

  He didn’t blink. “I ignore him. He ignores me, too.”

  “Pretty typical of a working dad. What about Kira? You get on with her okay?”

  “Same thing. I ignore her.”

  A wee thing. The smallest hesitation before his answer tripped a wire somewhere inside Jack. Taking into account the lad’s suddenly shifty gaze, Jack was fairly certain he’d been lied to.

  Interesting.

  He sat back with one ankle propped on his knee and assumed the very image of nonchalant aloofness. “Sounds lonely. I bet you’re glad to have a baby brother to liven things up, eh?”

  A shrug. “Hunter’s too small to do anything. I don’t hang out with him unless Kira makes me watch him or something.”

  “Ah. Well, between the two of us, I’m no fan of your dad’s.” He hoped his confession might trip Seth into some kind of response—offense, agreement, or indifference, any of those would tell him a great deal. “But your stepmum, surely she’s not so bad?”

  He turned on Jack with a you’re-kidding-me stare. “She’s the worst.”

  Jack made a shooing motion. “Come now, that’s the whole evil-stepmother nonsense society has you brainwashed into believing. It’s not fair. You ought to give her a chance before throwing some pre-made label onto her back.” He emulated disappointment as he watched Seth from the corner of his eye.

  The boy chewed the insides of his cheeks and studied the floor. Something obviously preyed on his young mind.

  Despite Jack’s curiosity, he truly wanted to help. He’d hit on something here and, by mere default of not being a parent, might be able to squeeze it out of the kid and perhaps give him some kind of advice.

  Then immediately betray him to his mother. No way he’d hide anything from Quinn. He’d learned that lesson the hard way already, thank you very much.

  Seth’s moment of meditation allowed Jack the chance for uninhibited observation of his young guest. Did he get his thick, chocolate-brown hair from Blake or some other relative? The eyes belonged to the boy’s father. Hazel, like Quinn had said. More green than brown and striking. He’d be a good-looking young man once he emerged from the awkward cocoon of adolescence. For now, he was little more than big eyes and gangly limbs.

  Finally, Seth cleared his throat and transferred his earnest gaze to meet Jack’s. “Actually, Kira hates me.”

  Jackpot. Perhaps his true calling was investigative journalism. “Now, now, hate is an awfully strong word, lad. Maybe she only dislikes you.”

  “No.” Seth adamantly shook his head from side to side. “She really does hate me. It’s got nothing to do with my mom, either. It’s because I found out something I wasn’t supposed to.”

  Jack allowed his faux unconcern to fade. “Is that so?”

  The boy nodded. He appeared to endure some internal struggle before taking in a shoulder-heaving gulp of air. “Kira has a boyfriend. I mean, not my dad. Someone else.”

  Good thing Jack hadn’t picked his jaw up off the floor. It would’ve come back down with Seth’s next revelation.

  “And Hunter? He’s not actually my dad’s baby. He’s someone else’s.” A guilty glance at the ground told Jack the rest.

  The boy hadn’t told his father. Was Kira threatening him to hold his silence?

  “Okay. All right. Let’s talk about this a bit.” Jack regained his composure, once more aiming for slightly aloof. “How did Kira find out about your discovery?”

  “She caught me eavesdropping. It was an accident, I swear! I was walking to my room and I heard her from the hallway talking on the phone.”

  It would’ve been easy to misunderstand a muffled voice. “What exactly did she say?”

  “She said, ‘Blake won’t forgive me if he finds out Hunter isn’t his.’ ”

  So much for theory number one. Hard to fudge a direct quote like that. “Well, how do you know she’s got a boyfriend? Is that who she spoke to?”

  “No, because next she said, ‘It’s Carter’s baby, but he doesn’t know, either.’ Then she said something about seeing Carter next weekend, the same weekend my dad went to San Diego to meet a new client. I remember because I stayed with Aunt Em and almost told her everything.”

  Jack propped his chin on his fist. This was some pickle he’d pried from Seth’s little fingers. He hadn’t tried too hard, which told him something else—it must’ve been weighing on the kid’s mind for some time. No wonder he’d run away.

  Showing a spark he’d not yet demonstrated, Seth grinned. “It’s kind of funny sometimes. I mean, when Kira calls me a bastard. Because I’m not, but Hunter really is.”

  Jack was floored. A teenaged kid smiling at the irony of being called a bastard by his evil stepmother. Quinn couldn’t write a more uncomfortable scene. “Does Kira ever call your dad a bastard?”

  “Like, all the time. It’s probably her favorite thing to say. Why?”

  Jack offered the boy a halfhearted smile. “No reason.” Except that he hoped Blake heard it a million times a day. Until the truth of it sank in.

  Out of kindness rather than any sense of obligation, Quinn hoped, anyway, Madeline offered her home to Quinn’s family since her flat wasn’t large enough to accommodate them. Her dad, sister, and best friend had taken guest rooms at Madeline’s, and Seth took the love
seat in Quinn’s office.

  Besides the obvious wonderful reasons for having her son near, he provided the perfect buffer against Jack and his loaded glances.

  He clearly wanted a discussion, but she wasn’t in any kind of mood for battle. Her armor and javelin needed a good rest and polish for when she figured out how to tell him she was leaving without making it seem like retaliation for his recent outing to his ex’s house.

  Unless, of course, he wanted to fall on his knees, proclaim his burning love for her and demand babies.

  Then she’d consider staying.

  She awoke the next morning after a fitful sleep to find Jack had grown an extra appendage in the form of her son.

  Seth had attached himself to Jack like a third arm, at his elbow as he explained Quinn’s coffee preference in exact specifications.

  “Too much sugar and her nose scrunches up. Not enough, she frowns like there’s essence of cabbage in there.”

  Quinn ignored him and sipped her perfectly mixed brew after bestowing a grateful smile on her son.

  Seth didn’t notice. He watched over Jack’s shoulder as he prepared pancake batter. “Are you making bacon, too?”

  Jack cast an amused glance Quinn’s way. They smiled together at Seth’s naked interest. “I certainly can, if you’d like, although I have to assume you mean your kind of bacon, which isn’t true bacon at all. Why don’t you get it from the icebox and find us another fry pan in the pantry.”

  Seth stilled. “You want me to help?”

  Jack shrugged. “If you want to. There’s probably some cartoons on the telly if you’d prefer to do that.”

  “No, yeah. I mean yes, I’ll help. Usually, I only do the dishes.”

  “Excellent. In return for your volunteer dish duty, I’ll show you my secret pancake recipe. Pancakes to make your mother cry. Now, the bacon, yes?”

  “Hey, I didn’t—”

  “Bacon, we need bacon! Come now, don’t dally.”

  And another one bites the dust.

  Quinn sipped and tried to dig up some surprise at how quickly her son had taken to Jack. Everyone took to Jack. Even Vickie, his worst enemy, fed the heart of her slandering crusade with the pain of his continued rejection.

  Perhaps realizing the day was apt to provide few solitary moments with Quinn, Jack sent Seth on a small errand to fetch slippers he didn’t own and sidled over to her with exaggerated discretion. “We need to talk.”

  “I don’t want to. I avoided you last night on purpose.”

  “No, I mean it. We really need to talk.”

  Her cell phone rang from the bedroom and she frowned in her best facetiously apologetic manner. “Sorry. I’d better get that.” She rushed into her bedroom and issued a short greeting on her way back to the kitchen.

  “Hello? Oh, hi, Dad.” She half listened as he described plans for the day, which unexpectedly didn’t involve her, at the same time Seth returned and Jack launched into the finer details of flapjack flipping. “Sure, okay. Well, you guys have fun and tell Angie she’d better hurry up.”

  Jack guided Seth’s movements with a ladle of batter. “See here? It’s an art requiring both patience and discipline.”

  She addressed the two of them. “My dad claims she didn’t say as much, but it seems Emily isn’t keen on spending time with me.”

  “Oh?” Jack lifted a brow. “And what will that charming sister of yours do to entertain herself?”

  “Charming?” Seth regarded them doubtfully.

  Quinn ignored him for diplomacy’s sake. “She bullied Dawn and your mother into taking them sightseeing. Angie remains true, though. She’s on her way over. You’d better expand that batch of pancakes by several.”

  Jack frowned. “Mum’s ambition often outweighs her ability.”

  “Don’t worry. Dawn won’t let Madeline overdo it. I daresay my dad wouldn’t, either.”

  “Yes, and I suppose it’s about time she did something without me glued to her side.” He stopped and made a thorough inspection of the serving tray holding Seth’s first batch of fresh-off-the-griddle pancakes. “My, how lovely these are. Wherever did you learn to make such exquisite pancakes?”

  Seth cast an uncertain glance at Quinn for guidance. She shrugged. He mirrored her. “Um, you taught me?”

  “Why, yes.” Jack whipped around to give her the cheesiest of cheesy grins. “Yes, I did.”

  She rolled her eyes in a halfhearted attempt to ignore the sudden ball of motherly emotion clogging her throat. She withdrew from the kitchen and left Seth to fend for himself.

  How utterly unfair.

  Her son deserved this, needed this, a man in his life willing to teach him stupid, important things like how to prepare breakfast for a crowd, how to make a girl laugh, how to treat a kid like a person instead of a nuisance.

  She tried to conjure up an image of Blake wielding a spatula and nearly laughed out loud at the mental picture she came up with: Blake, hands on hips, covered in flour, loafer-clad toe tapping wildly and wearing the frowniest of frowns.

  A sudden frantic tattoo on the front door broke into her sad musings. Angie had arrived. Quinn pasted a welcoming smile on her face, despite the knowledge her best friend was bound to see right past it to the turmoil beneath, and pulled the door open wide.

  Angie had indeed arrived, and with her a gaggle of reporters and photographers. She reached for Quinn with eyes like dinner plates. “I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you.”

  A flash blinded Quinn.

  “Are the allegations true?”

  A thousand clicks sounded.

  “Why are you protecting him?”

  A woman in the back of the gathering shouted over the din. “Has he hit your son?”

  “When is the child due?”

  Stunned, Quinn gaped at them. When had the rumors gotten so wildly out of control? She focused on trying to pull Angie inside, but her friend was jumbled out of the way, bewildered and perhaps a little panicked, as the aggressive crowd surged toward Quinn.

  “Let her through!” she shouted. “Let her through, or I’ll have you arrested!”

  A redheaded woman with fierce blue eyes charged past Angie. “Tell us why you’re protecting Jack Decker. Do you believe domestic violence is excusable, Ms. Hazel?”

  Quinn’s patience snapped.

  Like a sleeping volcano suddenly awakened by the gods, her fury rose, driven forward by weeks of harassment, lies, and unfairness. Spotting Angie farther away, edged out by the mob, spurred her on.

  “No one is protecting Jack. Jack isn’t even protecting Jack. He doesn’t need protection. Vickie was having an affair, not us. He’s spending time with me to make her jealous. It worked better than he anticipated, and she’s been taking her revenge through you idiots ever since. She lied, you understand? Now go thrust your microphone in her face and let my friend through. No further comment.”

  A nanosecond of stunned silence elapsed before they exploded into a deafening roar of frantic questions and demands for more information. Angie shoved her way past the last line of people and stumbled over the threshold at last. A thunderous slamming of the front door followed her narrow escape.

  Windows rattled. Quinn leaned against the wall and breathed deeply.

  She held out her hands. They were shaking.

  She’d done something impossible to undo. No telling how Vickie might retaliate, what wild story they’d wake to find in tomorrow’s paper. Vickie’s single remaining weapon, whether she was aware of it or not, was Seth. If she threw out some gnarly story about Quinn’s son, it’d be game over. They’d leave England tomorrow and never come back.

  Angie appeared to be in a mild state of shock as she stared at her. “This is nuts. I can’t believe you’ve been living like this.”

  “I haven’t been. I mean, it’s never been this bad. Well, except for the mob yesterday. That was bad.”

  Jack laid a hand on her shoulder. “You did the right thing.”

  She jerked away. She di
dn’t need the coward who’d been too scared to do it himself waxing poetic on her valiant effort to save herself from abuse she suffered thanks to him. “You bet it was, but it wasn’t my place to do it. You should’ve let it slip weeks ago about Vickie’s affair. It would’ve never gotten to this point in the first place.”

  He didn’t move to close the distance between them. “I should’ve fanned the flames, given them juicy gossip, turned her slandering into a public battle? Eventually someone would’ve offered me a whole lot of money to hear every nasty thing I have to say about Vickie. That would’ve made everything better?”

  “She’s getting paid to make up lies? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I’m saying there’s more than one way to earn a pound in this industry. She didn’t tell the stories for free and she’ll earn twice that for setting the record straight. It’s called publicity. Good, bad, victim, villain, doesn’t matter. People like Vickie take it however they can get it.”

  Quinn shook her head. “How Vickie wants to make a buck is irrelevant. You should’ve stood up for yourself. How are you any better than her? You willingly took the victim’s role and let her get away with it. You should’ve told the truth, but you let me do it for you.”

  “I didn’t ask you to.”

  “No, you’re right. You only asked me to live with the consequences of you refusing to.”

  He paused, appearing taken aback, but quickly recovered. “I had good reasons, Quinnie. It only gets worse. She already has their ear. Imagine how close they’ll be listening to what she’s got to say next. You’re old hat, but what’s to stop her from making your family her next target? Payback is her religion. You expect to get away with calling her out like that? Look at what she did to me, and all I ever did was refuse to go on a bloody date.”

  Quinn threw her hands up and searched the ceiling for deliverance. “Then why pat me on the back and say I did the right thing?”

  Jack tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned back on his heels. “For a moment I was convinced I’d be bailing you out of jail for assault. Considering the alternatives, I’d say you chose the better outlet for your frustration. Doesn’t mean there won’t be consequences.”