Bad Night Stand

by Elise Faber

  Which looked amazing—but that was just my opinion—so I was extra nervous as he tore open off the Santa print wrapping paper and studied the box.

  “A robot!” he said, immediately ignoring all of the painstakingly designed details and tearing straight into the cardboard. “Can I make it move?”

  Jordan nodded and helped him retrieve the little robot. “You sure can.”

  “And jump?”

  Another nod.

  “And talk?”

  “Yes,” Jordan said. “At least a few words.”

  I could have waxed poetic to him about the balance and composition, how I’d spent hours looking for the perfect shadow-free image that didn’t have the models—a pair of six-year-old twins, one boy and one girl—looking like they were insane, crazed, or trying to murder each other.

  But I didn’t.

  Because his enthusiasm to get inside the packaging was exactly why I’d spent so long creating it.

  I didn’t want kids to study the box in confusion—to try to figure out what was inside.

  I wanted them to know the contents immediately . . . and then be unable to wait another second before tearing it open and playing with that toy.

  Hunter doing just that pleased me beyond belief.

  However, there was one detail he’d missed in his enthusiasm that I wanted to make sure he noticed.

  That the little girl inside me, who’d felt so lonely and discarded, needed to make sure he understood. Because he was special and good and sweet and even though his father was gone and his mother had left, he still deserved to know that he was loved.

  That Jordan loved him.

  And that I loved him too, but that portion of the story could wait until another day.

  Jordan was installing the batteries as I rounded the bed and started scooping up the paper and cardboard.

  “Hey,” I said, holding a piece up to Hunter. “Whose name is that?”

  He frowned, little blond brows coming together for a half second before his eyes went wide. “That’s my name!”

  Jordan nodded. “Yeah, bud, it is.”

  “Cool!”

  And then Hunter’s attention went right back to the robot.

  Which was exactly how it should have been.

  I tossed the trash into the bin and then went to sit by Cecilia.

  “This,” I said, reaching into my purse and pulling out a card, “is for you.”

  “What?” Her eyes widened. “I-I didn’t get you anything.”

  “You didn’t have to,” I said, closing her fingers around the envelope. “But a little birdie gave me hints about something you might like. And this is open-ended so you can use it when you’re ready.”

  Cecilia’s expression was careful. “Uh, okay?”

  I smiled. “Okay is good. Just open it. I promise it will make more sense if you do.”

  She carefully tore open the envelope and pulled out what was inside. It was a round-trip plane ticket to Finland and behind that a voucher for a very special hotel.

  Cecilia gasped. “For—”

  I nodded. “For the Northern Lights. I heard that you really want to see them.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, her chin bobbed jerkily. “I-I do. I’ve always wanted to go, but I can’t accept . . .”

  Carefully, I closed her fingers around the papers. “You can.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Or rather, you will.”

  “Abby—”

  “Shh,” I said. “Just hug me and accept. And”—I touched her arm—“promise me that when we’re out of the woods here, you’ll go.”

  “I—” She sighed. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything,” I told her. “Hugs.” I extended my arms, gesturing with my fingers at her to come on and do it already. “Then tuck that envelope into your purse and plan a trip.”

  “You’re stubborn,” she said, but hugged me all the same.

  “Thank you for being there for Hunter,” I whispered. “I don’t know what he would have done without you.”

  “I love him,” she said simply.

  “And he loves you.”

  We both sniffed, holding tight until the sound of Hunter’s unmistakable giggles reached us. Then we pulled back and gazed over at the boys. They were huddled on the bed, Jordan’s arm around Hunter as he showed him how to program the robot.

  “He loves him too,” Cecilia said. “And you.”

  “I know.” I smiled. “And the feeling is completely mutual.”

  Thirty-Two

  “You!” Bec pointed a finger at Jordan, who’d answered the door. It was just after the New Year and we’d been planning a take out and movie night. “You need to shoo. And you”—she turned that finger to me—“need to be sitting on the couch, getting ready to be pampered.”

  Seraphina stood behind her, arms laden with bags. “Move it, princess,” she said, nudging Bec to the side. “You were so worried about your manicure that you couldn’t carry the bags, the least you could do is move that big ole butt of yours out of the way.”

  Bec made to smack her then stopped, flashing me her freshly painted nails. “Gel manicure,” she stage-whispered. ”I just didn’t want to carry the bags.”

  Seraphina gasped in outrage. “You—”

  “Ladies,” Jordan interrupted firmly. “What’s going on?” His gaze flicked to the doorway again. “Cecilia? Is everything okay?”

  She nodded, glancing around uncomfortably. “Hunter’s fine. Umm. Bec wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “Heather’s with Hunter for a few hours,” Seraphina said. “Auntie time.” She shooed him toward the hall. “Which means that you are going to go see a movie or go to the mall or something.”

  “What am I going to do at the mall?”

  Seraphina rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t care. What I do care about is sneaking in a few hours of Abby time without you tagging along.”

  “Hey, that’s—”

  “We like you, God of Thunder,” Bec said, “but you’re cramping our style.”

  “I-uh—” Jordan turned to me and I tried not to smile. I knew my friends, knew they could railroad just about anyone, let alone someone with a soft heart like Jordan. All things considered, I was rather enjoying the show.

  “Don’t look at me,” I said. “I love spending time with you.”

  Bec made a barfing sound. “Gross.”

  Jordan shook his head, crossed to the couch—Bec had pushed me down onto the cushions and covered my lap with a blanket. He kissed me, long and slow and deep, leaving me a breathless lump before he pulled away. “I’m coming back in two hours.”

  I nodded, maybe dumbly, definitely dazed as he climbed the stairs to our bedroom.

  “Damn,” Seraphina said, setting the stacks of bags on the coffee table. “I think I came just watching that. What happened to Hair-Trigger Hammer?”

  I snorted. “Apparently he was just out of practice.”

  “I’d take some of that out of practice.”

  We all froze and stared at Cecilia, whose cheeks were bright pink.

  “I—uh—” she stammered.

  “Told you you’d love her,” Bec said to Seraphina, nudging her with her elbow.

  “Shh,” Seraphina said. “You’re being rude.”

  “Both of you are being ridiculous,” I said and patted the couch. “Sit over here, Cecilia. I think I smell chocolate.”

  “We have dark chocolate,” Bec said, dropping to her knees to begin unpacking bags. “It’s good for the baby.”

  “And for us,” Seraphina said, pulling out a pair of pajamas from a bag and tossing them at Cecilia. “These are for you.”

  Cecilia’s eyes bugged out when she saw the tag. “These—I can’t! They’re too expensive.”

  “Girl,” Bec said. “Your innuendo now means that we’re forever friends and as such, you will accept all gifts of chocolate and ridiculously expensive pajamas forevermore.”

  I snorted.

  �
�You must have really low standards for friendship,” Cecilia muttered.

  Then promptly clamped a hand over her mouth.

  Seraphina and Bec glanced at each other then at me, bursting into laughter. “Well, that much is obvious,” Bec said.

  “Hey!” I laughed.

  “Oh, my God.” Cecilia closed her eyes. “I did not just say that.”

  “You did.” Bec grinned. “Which just proves our friendship standards. We live by three rules: be snarky, make every conversation dirty, and wear extremely pricey but excessively cozy pajamas.”

  “Now go,” Seraphina said. “Bathroom is the third door on the left.”

  I rolled my eyes at the idea of my best friend giving directions in my house—Cecilia had been over enough times by now to know every nook and cranny—and caught the pair that Seraphina tossed me.

  “Maternity edition,” she said, brushing her hand over the little bump that was my baby. “Go change.”

  “I’ll help,” Jordan quipped, waggling his eyebrows at me as he came back into the room. He’d changed into jeans and put on a jacket.

  “I bet you would,” Bec cackled. “But we don’t have seconds to spare.”

  Jordan’s gaze met mine and he shook his head. Still, his eyes were amused. “Your friends are something else.”

  I grinned. “I know.”

  Bec took Jordan’s arm and led him to the door to the garage. There she patted his cheeks—the upper then the lower—and shoved him out. “You’ll do, Thor. You’ll just do,” she said as it slammed closed.

  Clicking the lock, she turned back toward us. “Okay. I need chocolate and a movie that will make me cry. STAT.”

  Two Weeks Later

  “Can we go? Can we go?” Hunter asked, little butt wiggling in his bed. “I’m ready to go home.”

  Hunter was being discharged today. Finally.

  Well, the finally was all him. I personally thought that the stay was too short, that he should be monitored and under watch just to make sure everything was going okay. He had a new heart and so many things could go wrong and—

  “Abby!”

  I blinked. “Sorry, what?”

  “Is it time to go?”

  “We just need to wait for the doctor to put in the discharge instructions and we’re out of here, bud,” Jordan said, gathering up the last of Hunter’s things and putting them into a clear plastic bag. “I’ll run these to the car. You two good?”

  Hunter sighed. “I want to go home.”

  “I know, honey,” I said, signaling to Jordan that we were fine. “Unfortunately, these things sometimes just take time.”

  He scowled. “Where’s CeCe?”

  “At home, getting everything all ready for you.”

  Another sigh, but he turned back to the robot, tinkering again, adding more details, tweaking the programing—not that he would call it that. The Hunter robot was just learning a new trick. But I could see why it was the perfect toy for real life Hunter.

  Something that would keep him semi-stationary.

  It was hard to tell he’d even had a transplant just a not even two months before. I’d never really realized how sick he was, how pale-gray and weak, until compared to this version of Hunter.

  Healthy and pink-skinned.

  “I want to come with you and Jordan,” he said.

  “Soon,” I told him.

  We needed to be within a half hour of the hospital and its transplant center for a few more months. Then Hunter would move into my—to our—house.

  “But we’ll visit every day,” I said. “And Jordan will be there and—”

  “Yeah.”

  I frowned. “What’s going on, honey?”

  “I—” Pale blue eyes filled with tears. “Are you going to leave, too?”

  My heart clenched, but I forced my voice to stay calm. “No, honey. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

  “Okay,” he said, but the word wasn’t confident.

  I wished there was something I could say that would make him believe that I was going to be around for the long haul, that I loved him too much already to possibly think about leaving and never coming back.

  But I knew from personal experience it wasn’t that easy.

  Once a child’s trust was truly broken . . . well, some things couldn’t be repaired.

  There were always cracks, valleys that never quite healed.

  “Did you know my mom left too?” I asked, brushing back his hair.

  His eyes flew up to mine, surprised.

  “I was sad for a long time,” I said. “But eventually I realized she hadn’t left because of me.”

  Hunter’s gaze fell to the bed. “If I hadn’t gotten sick . . .”

  I wrapped my arms tightly around him and said the only thing I could. “It’s not your fault.”

  He shuddered, sniffed, and I held on.

  “Sometimes things in life really suck. Sometimes things aren’t fair. Sometimes people are mean.” I pressed a kiss to his head. “But that’s the time to hold on to people who are nice, who love you, and who see you for the awesome, wonderful eight-year-old you are.”

  Hunter’s little arms wrapped around my waist. “I do have a robot named after me.”

  I smiled, feeling tears well in my eyes. “That you do.”

  My stomach fluttered and I gasped, pressing my hand to it.

  “What?” Hunter asked, pulling back.

  “It’s nothing,” I said, trying to memorize the feeling. It was the baby moving. I knew it. I felt that in the depths of my soul. And the tears that had been welling escaped from the corners of my eyes.

  “Abby?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, dashing them away. I cried at cleaning commercials lately, so it wasn’t a surprise that feeling my baby for the first time made me teary. But I didn’t want to make Hunter worry.

  “Is it the baby?”

  My jaw dropped open. We hadn’t mentioned one word about the pregnancy, not wanting to add another layer of stress to the already stressful situation for Hunter. He’d been through so much that I didn’t want him to think Jordan would drop him for a new baby.

  But apparently, we hadn’t been so good at hiding the fact that I was pregnant.

  “The baby is fine,” I quickly assured him when I saw the worried look on his face. “I just felt him or her move for the first time.”

  “Maybe it was my voice,” Hunter said with a grin. “I bet he likes me already.”

  “That’s a guarantee,” I said, head spinning a bit with the speed of Hunter’s conversational U-turns. “What makes you think the baby will be a boy?”

  He lifted his chin. “I know.”

  “Okay,” I said and stood. “Should I go see if we can hurry this process up a bit?”

  “Yes!”

  “Oh. Hunter?” I paused in the doorway. “How did you know about the baby?”

  He gave me a look that was way too mature for someone his age. “I’m eight, Abby. I know things.” A pause. “I hope Uncle Jordan marries you.”

  My breath caught as Hunter began tinkering with the robot again and I left the room thinking the child was right.

  He knew things . . . way too many things.

  I made a vow right then and there that he would know less of the adult—less hospitals, less family drama, less pain, and fear. I made a vow to let him get dirty, to help him make friends his age, to play football with him in the backyard, to break windows with foul balls, and stink up the laundry room with his shoes.

  I made a vow to love that little boy like my own.

  Thirty-Three

  Four Months Later

  Jordan slid carefully from the bed and tucked the covers up under Abby’s chin. Her brow puckered and he pressed a kiss there, loving the way the lines relaxed at his touch.

  He loved everything about her, in fact.

  Which was what today was about.

  It was Abby’s first Mother’s Day, and he and Hunter had a hell of a day planned.

>   Well, it technically revolved around pajamas, cuddling on the couch, and watching cheesy movies.

  Carter whimpered again, and Jordan turned to their week-old son, feeling his heart expand to the size of a watermelon. It was amazing how so much love could grow in a second, with a single glance, with only one touch.

  People who didn’t believe in love at first sight must not have had kids.

  “Shh,” he said softly, scooping him up and slipping from the room before the noise could wake Abby. She’d been up feeding him every two hours the night before and deserved a break.

  As much as he wanted to help her, he didn’t have the right parts. So aside from changing diapers and walking the halls with Carter to get him to settle, he couldn’t do much to relieve the exhaustion that Abby must be feeling.

  Hell, he felt half dead and he had hardly done anything.

  Jordan walked down the hall and into the kitchen, putting a pot of coffee on to brew as he smiled down at his son.

  Rosy cheeks, blue eyes that matched his own—he thought they would stay blue, though Abby thought they’d turn hazel—and wispy brown hair.

  He was a squishy faced, chunky, little lump.

  And Jordan loved him more than life itself.

  “You’re pretty special,” he said. “Did you know that?” Wide eyes stared up at him, and he kept talking. Carter was probably hungry, but he wanted to give Abby as much sleep as possible.

  He’d avoid waking her until he had to.

  “You’re so lucky. Your Mommy and I both love you very much, and you have a brother who’s crazy about you.” Jordan touched Carter’s nose, smiling when his son rooted around. His delay tactics may not last long. “Because that’s what Hunter is to you,” he said, blabbering on against the losing battle anyway. “You’re more than just cousins. You’re brothers.”

  “Uncle Jordan?”

  He looked up at the sound of Hunter’s voice. It was as sleepy as his rumpled appearance—jammies wrinkled, hair askew.

  “Yeah, bud?”

  “Is that true?”

  Jordan bounced Carter. “Is what true?”

  “Is he really my brother?”

  “Come here,” he said, patting the barstool. “Family is a tricky thing. People get hung up on moms and dads and who is technically related to whom. But I don’t think any of that matters.” He held up Carter, who locked eyes on Hunter, the same way he did every time Hunter was in the room. “All I know is that Carter is going to need a big brother. That he’s going to need lots of people in his life to love him.” He wrapped one arm around Hunter’s shoulders. “Just the same as you.”