Full House (Stacked Deck Book 4)

by Emilia Finn

  “Do you still hate it?”

  I grin when I bend one leg over the other so my foot dangles in the air. Miles’ eyes are invariably drawn to the movement. “I don’t hate it. But I don’t voluntarily jump in, either. Frolicking in a body of water just for the sake of getting wet mostly bores me. Like…” I turn to him and smile when our eyes meet from beneath hat brims. “What’s the point, ya know?”

  I shrug. “The summer I was ten, my parents had a volleyball net installed. Well…” I laugh. “It was a rope, but the theory remains, right? Get the ball over top. They also bought a floating basketball hoop. Finally, I’d thought to myself. Finally, a reason to be in the pool. That summer, I learned I was perfectly safe to swim on my own. After that, Daddy never threw me in again. He wanted me to be safe, but not miserable.”

  “You don’t like being still?”

  I look to him, to the way he plays with the hem of his shorts. And because I’m feeling brave, I let my eyes slide over his belly, the smooth skin, the ridged muscles, up to defined pecs that – just like the V line – never used to impress me.

  “I like being still…” I finally meet his eyes. “I’m still most of the day, and I use that time to work. But I don’t know; being in a pool, it’s like, it required my brain, ya know? So I couldn’t even think through my work during the monotony. It felt like a complete waste of my time. Add the games, and then at least I have a reason to hang.”

  “I don’t know what you do for work.” He frowns, looks to Alyssa when she lets herself sink a little too deep for a little too long.

  She drops lower, lower, lower into the pool, and his muscles bunch, they prepare – he’s like a panther, readying to pounce – but he gives her an extra second to prove herself. As soon as her feet touch the bottom, she zooms straight back to the surface and explodes into the air with wild hair and a grin.

  I watch as Miles relaxes back, literally talks himself down as his muscles shrink, and his heart slows after the adrenaline dump.

  “What I do for work?” I prompt when he merely stares at his daughter. She’s fine, and he runs the risk of making her doubt herself. “Miles?”

  “Mm?” He shakes his preoccupation away. “Yeah. You hang around the house a lot, you wander around with a pen and paper.” He nods to my original chair. “Laptop and so much concentration that you jump when we interrupt. And it’s a Saturday. You’ve got me curious.”

  “I write books.” I smile, then I smile some more when his eyes snap to mine in intrigue.

  “You write books?”

  “Uh huh. I’m trying to break into a new genre right now, so it’s taking up more time, lots of concentration. But you know what they say; something about if you’re uncomfortable, you’re growing. If it’s easy, then maybe you’re not challenging yourself.” I shrug. “Those are sayings on the magnets on my fridge, anyway.”

  “You… The…” He blinks. Then he blinks again. “You write books?”

  “You seem shocked.”

  He chokes on a laugh. “I mean… I guess I am a little. I’ve never met a writer before. It explains your hours, your ability to be at home. It explains the fact you almost always have a pencil tucked above your ear, and the way you walk around in a daydream half the time.”

  “You spend a lot of time watching me?”

  He stops smiling. He stops everything and clams up until the only thing I can hear is Alyssa’s trilling laughter as she bounces in the water.

  “I mean…” He starts. Stops. “I, uh…” He coughs. “Brooke…”

  “It’s not a crime, ya know? It would almost be offensive if you said no. Nobody wants to be invisible, especially not to a handsome man that they sometimes watch too.”

  I turn back to Lyss to release him from my eyes when he’s so clearly uncomfortable. “You’d hurt my feelings if you said you never noticed me before.”

  “I…” He exhales so much that his chest almost caves in. Then he draws air back in and nods. “I’ve noticed you. You’re very beautiful.”

  My heart soars and thumps when I smile. “Thank you. I got good genes from my mom.”

  “She’s very beautiful too.”

  I bark out a laugh that brings his eyes to my bouncing stomach. “You watch her sometimes too. It’s both flattering and weird. You’re lucky Daddy hasn’t noticed yet.”

  “I’m not, like, checking her out or anything,” he blusters. “I’m just… She…”

  “You stutter when you’re nervous.” I turn to him and snicker. “It’s kind of amazing, and becomes a goal for a competitive woman like me. My mom looks good in jeans. It’s okay, we can admit it. She works out almost every single day, and has done so for decades. She eats well, and she’s happy – put all of those together, and it’s not surprising she’s still beautiful. It gives me hope.” I turn back to watch Lyss. “If I look as good as she does twenty years from now, I won’t be complaining.”

  “But you don’t go to the gym?” he asks. “You don’t train.”

  “Hell no. At this point, I’m hoping genes get me through, because I sure as hell ain’t going to the gym. I can’t believe folks pay my family to make them sweat. Talk about dough for brains.”

  “I’m one of those people,” he inserts dryly. The nervous stutter is gone, and in its place are flattened lips and drilling eyes. “That’s the second time you’ve slapped at my sport. You’ve got a mouth on you, Brooklyn, but you wrap it up in pretty smiles and sweet looks like you’re shy and shit.” He lifts a sexy brow. “I see you. I see the image you put out for the world – shy, sweet, and unassuming – but I see the real you. Smartass, and mean to boot.”

  I shrug and, when the sun feels like it’s burning my legs, I turn over on the chair, lower the back down so it lays flat, then I lie on my stomach and groan.

  “I said what I said,” I mumble. I turn my face in his direction so I can peek at his ribs. “I don’t take it back.”

  “Hey, Miss Brooke?”

  I don’t get up. I don’t turn. “Yes, Alyssa?”

  “Wanna watch a movie with us this afternoon? We’ll get you snacks too. Anything you want, so long as there are no nuts.”

  “Say no,” Miles murmurs.

  “Sure, baby. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Miles

  Little Mouse

  I race around my house and clean, clean, clean.

  “Alyssa?” I race from the laundry with a pile of clean clothes and a single shoe that we couldn’t find all week. “Alyssa!”

  “Yes, Daddy?” Totally fucking chill, she wanders out of the living room with her fingers sticky from a sucker, and her hair wild from the chlorine we’re yet to wash out from swimming.

  She lifts a brow as I almost bowl her straight over, only to stop on a dime and nearly lose my pile of clothes.

  “Not allowed to run inside, Daddy. You might slip over.”

  “Go wash your hands, baby. Then come back here and take your clean laundry upstairs.”

  “I’m eating.” She tosses the almost finished sucker into her mouth, only to show me her freed hands. “I can’t touch the clothes or they’ll get messy.”

  “Babe.” I juggle the clothes in one hand, and reach forward with the other to snatch the lollipop from her mouth with a pop. “Put this away right now. Go wash your hands. Come back here,” I set her pile on the floor and stand, “then take your clothes upstairs and put them away. You have three minutes.”

  “Daddy.” Pouty face and stomping foot, she crosses her arms and glares. “I want my sucker back. I wasn’t done.”

  “You weren’t supposed to start. We bought snacks for the movie, not so you could walk around the house and put sticky marks everywhere. Now you have two minutes to wash those hands and move this pile. If you don’t, you can’t have a movie day.”

  “Daddy!”

  “One minute.”

  “Agghhh!” She spins and bolts to the kitchen. The tap comes on so fast that the pipes thump beneath the house, then the spray hits the basi
n with a loud slap.

  “Don’t make a mess, Alyssa!”

  “I’m not!”

  The tap switches off again, then the little metal holder that we set the hand towel on squeaks as she wipes them dry. Bare feet slap the floor as she runs, and without any more whining, she scoops up the pile and bolts up the stairs.

  “Roll them up, Alyssa. Put them away in the drawers. Do it properly. I’m gonna check.”

  “You’re grumpy.” She comes back to the top of the stairs, waits with her hands on her hips. “I don’t like it when you’re grumpy.”

  “Well, I don’t like it when you leave laundry all over the house and take forever to put it away. You’re a big girl now, so you need to help me out.”

  I pause when she says nothing.

  “Lyss?”

  Cranky, she nods. “I’m mad at you. But I still love you very much.”

  My grumpy breaks away, just like that, as I bound up the stairs three at a time and sweep my baby into my arms. Her hair brushes against my face, the chlorine fills my senses, but then her arms wrap around my neck and her lips press to my cheek. A dozen tiny kisses as her lashes tap my face.

  “I love you, baby. It never stops or goes away.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t listen and put my things away.”

  “It’s okay.” I squeeze her tight and place my own kisses on her cheek. “You’re doing it now. Daddy’s not mad at you.”

  My phone rings from the kitchen, so I set Lyss back on her feet and press a kiss to her forehead. “Make sure you put your things away properly. Then come down.” I spin her, and pat her butt to get her moving. “Love you, baby.”

  “Love you too, Daddy.”

  I turn as soon as she races back to her room, and sprint back down the stairs.

  Brooklyn Kincaid is coming over for a fucking movie – a children’s movie! – and I swear Lyss and I live in a clean home, but now that I’m looking, there are handprints on the stair banister, and a pair of tights on the couch. The shoe that matches the one I found in the laundry lays discarded under the coffee table, and bags of groceries, our snacks, spread along the kitchen counter like this is a frat house and we’re readying for a big night.

  My phone buzzes and chimes, buzzes and chimes, so I snatch it up on the run, answer without looking, and dive back toward the living room to clean away the clothes. “Hello?”

  “Miles?”

  It’s like I’m a balloon, and the woman on the end of the line is a pin that stabs me relentlessly.

  “Lorna.” I pull the phone away from my ear and check the screen, like that’ll help me avoid this phone call. “Um… hey. You got a new number?” Because it sure as hell doesn’t say Lorna on my screen. Or Dragon Bitch.

  “The company turned my phone off last month because I couldn’t make my payment. But it’s back on now. They’d already allocated my number to someone else, but…” It’s like I can hear her shrug. “It’s all better now.”

  “Why couldn’t you make payment? I gave you bunches of money.”

  I won the Stacked Deck tournament two years in a row. That means two shiny belts and a million dollars in prize money. It meant wasted money, and non-stop fucking whining from the woman that wanted more more more.

  “Lorna? What happened to the money?”

  “That PI I hired wanted to be paid.” She sniffs like my question annoys her. “He’s doing the work, so he deserves to be paid.”

  “The PI? Lorna, fuck! Just give it up already. You’re building debt for no damn reason.”

  “But if you win again this year, we can keep looking.”

  “When I win this year, I’m not giving you a fucking cent.”

  I lower my voice, walk to the doorway that leads into the foyer, and peek up the stairs to make sure Lyss isn’t listening.

  “It’s done, Lorna. You built that debt, and I fixed it for you. Twice. But we’re out now. I will not give you another cent.”

  “But, Miles! It’s more important now than it ever was. My number changed, which means if she wants to come home, she can’t call. I need him to find her, because she might not be able to find us.”

  “You live in the same fucking home she was raised in. She’ll be fine. Dammit, Lorna!” I stab a hand through my hair. “She’s not a missing person. She wasn’t abducted or hurt. She’s a twenty-two-year-old woman exploring the fucking world. She wants to be free, she wants to be traveling with whoever she’s traveling with. When she wants to come home, she’ll come home. But Lyss and I? We’re not waiting, and we’re not spending our money to help you pay for a private investigator that knows damn well where she is. He sees your desperation, and he’s taking you for a ride. I’m not giving you any more, so whatever you spend now, that’s on you.”

  “But, Miles…”

  She’s a grown woman, a grown-ass thirty-eight-year-old woman – yep, she was a teen mom, too – but where I grew the fuck up when I had a baby, Lorna completely skipped that step. She acts and speaks like she’s still working through her teenage years. She does the foot-stomping, screwed nose, I hate you so much bullshit when she doesn’t get her own way. Yes, she helped me over the years, she cared for Lyss when I worked, and I’ll always be thankful for that. But she never did it for me. She did it for her, for Karla. She did it like she hoped Lyss would be the bait that would bring Karla home.

  “It’s been six years, Lorna. Six fucking years when she might update her social media once or twice a year so you know she’s safe. But she’s not coming home, and even if she did, she doesn’t get to walk into Lyss’ life and act like she was here all along.”

  “You can’t keep her from Karla when she comes back.”

  “Yes,” I walk back into the kitchen, “I fucking can, and I will. If she wants to desert her child for years on end, then come back and act like what she did was okay, then she can fight me for her. If she wants to see Lyss, then we’ll do it the right way, with visitation and court orders. And when she inevitably takes off again, I’ll make sure my lawyers know what’s up. I will not stop my daughter from knowing her mom if that’s what she wants, if that’s what Lyss wants, but I will stop Karla from hurting my daughter. At this point, Lyss wouldn’t even recognize her if they ran into each other in the street. And you’re insane if you think I would let my daughter spend time with a stranger.”

  “That’s what you’re doing there!” Lorna screeches. “You move to a town where you know nobody, you still have to work, which means you foist her off on some stranger.”

  “You’re wrong. My daughter has been with me every single minute that she’s not in school. That’s the beauty of getting everything you’ve worked so hard for. You should try it sometime. Focus on your own work, Lorna. Go back to the salon, go back to what you love. Karla is like the wind; you’ll never catch her with your hands. She has to come to you, and until then, you’re wasting your life and money on this bullshit.”

  “Daddy?”

  I turn and paste on a wide smile for my baby girl as she stands at the doorway.

  “That’s Lyss?” Lorna’s voice catches. “Hey, sweetheart! Miles, let me speak to her. Miles? Miles!”

  “Hey, baby.” I lower the phone, press it against my thigh like that might help shut Lorna out. “Grandma is on the phone. Do you wanna say hello?”

  “Okay.” Her grin creeps up. Her happiness. Because I’ve worked fucking hard to shield Lyss from Lorna’s crazy. I’ve made it so she only sees the doting grandmother. The kind woman that sometimes baked muffins, and sometimes trimmed Lyss’ hair. “I put my clothes away. Rolled up and put away like how you want it.”

  “Good. Thank you, baby.” I press a kiss to her forehead, then another to her cheek when she giggles. Then I hold the phone out between us and swallow when she takes it and brings it up to her ear.

  “Hey, Grandma. Guess what? Did you know that I can touch the bottom of the pool with my feet now?”

  I can’t hear Lorna’s responses, but I stick close, I make sure she
plays the part of Grandma, and not the fucking psycho with an obsession of bringing her daughter home.

  At this point, I’m not even surprised Karla ditched. Six years later, I did too. Lorna is poison, and it bothers me to the point of a queasy stomach that she’s in my daughter’s ear right now.

  I race into the living room and snatch up the things I noted before taking the call from hell, then back to the kitchen as Lyss walks laps and chatters about books and school. She talks about her Miss Parker, about Miss Britt and the skate ramp.

  I unpack the bags on my counter, toss a bag of chips into the pantry, the opened bag of suckers behind them, and the tub of melted sorbet into the freezer.

  Lyss wanders into the foyer while she chatters about Twain, the giant dog that visits us daily, and though her walking out of my sight bothers me, the doorbell rings, and suddenly I’m thankful for her relocation.

  I rush toward the door, but spin back and point at the bottom of the stairs for Lyss to sit and chat.

  She understands my hand signals, shows maturity that neither her mother or grandmother have managed, and grins when something scratches our front door.

  Twain.

  “Grandma, he’s so big and silly. He’s taller than me, but he’s gentle too. He’s got brothers, and they’re sillier. They bump me down sometimes, but not Twain. He helps me up again, and one time he licked my knee when I fell down and scraped it.

  Yes, and I had to disinfect her knee after that.

  When she’s busily discussing Twain’s personality traits, I run a nervous hand through my hair, wish there was a mirror nearby so I could see what kind of mess I look like, then I move to the door as the bell rings a second time with impatience. I swing it wide and step aside when Twain rushes through, making a beeline for a giggling Lyss, then I stand in the doorway with my mouth agape.

  The sun is still high outside, and because Brooke’s hair is so fair, the sunlight flashing through it almost makes it look like she has a halo. She wears more than she did earlier, thank fuck; denim cutoffs, where a blue bikini was before, and a white tank that molds to her slim body and shows the perfect outline of her C cups. Her collarbone pokes out a little, and holds up a single chain that dangles between her breasts. Her hair is tied up in a high ponytail, and her eyes are as smoky as always, so perfectly done up so the black offsets the blue and makes them pop – she’s had professional makeup lessons at some point in her life, perhaps with her Aunt Tina, who I’ve heard used to do makeup back in the day. She wears flip flops that show off purple nail polish, and sports a pen-drawn design on her right knee, like she was sitting at the pool after we left, her legs bent, and that pen she always has, and decided to draw to keep her brain busy the way she craves.