Enticing Iris

by Cherrie Lynn

  Hopefully it was nothing more, but with all of his allergies, she could never be too cautious. She would need to keep an eye on him for a while.

  Dylan took several deep breaths and calmed, then sat back on his heels, wiping his eyes. “Don’t tell Seger that I cried,” he whispered, as if that were the most important thing right now. He was always so pitiful when he was sick.

  “Hey, you know I wouldn’t do that.” Getting to her feet, Iris found a washcloth and wet it, thanking God that he’d made it to the bathroom. She smoothed back his tousled hair and gently wiped his face with the cool cloth, then touched the tip of his nose hoping to get a giggle. It didn’t work this time. “Think you can get back to bed?”

  “I think so.”

  She was helping him to his feet when she heard a footstep outside. Eli stuck his head around the door, features clouded with sleep, but alert. His brow was crinkled with concern. “Is he all right?”

  “He’s throwing up, but I think he’ll be fine once he gets through it. I’ll keep an eye on him, though.”

  He pulled his son into his arms, dropping a kiss on the top of his head. “You’re all right. Come crash with me. I bet you’ll feel better in the morning.”

  Iris opened her mouth to protest, but clamped it shut again. Heidi would’ve exclaimed, “Nooo, I can’t handle vomit!” and run away, leaving Iris to deal with it for the duration of the night. She had seen Heidi gag and dash from the room when confronted with the mere sight before; she’d often wondered how the woman had ever handled diaper changes or spit-up (if she even had). Eli must be made of sterner stuff.

  That should make her happy, but it didn’t, not really. These boys had felt like “hers” for so long . . . how bizarre was that? It must be what sharing custody felt like. Sort of. She wanted to tell Eli no, she had this, and he could go back to bed and not worry about it. But this would be one of those things he would fight her on. No need to even make the suggestion.

  She couldn’t help it. “I can watch him,” she said tentatively.

  Eli had already turned to lead Dylan to the back, ruffling his hair, but he looked back and frowned at her. “I got it.”

  “The last thing you need is to get sick on the road, right? If he has a virus?” She’d seen these bugs burn through the entire house in a matter of days. In close confines like this, though, if anyone was going to get sick, they probably already had it. Only a matter of time.

  Great.

  “If I get it, I get it,” Eli said with a shrug of his naked shoulders, again steering Dylan toward the back. Iris stood chewing her bottom lip, feeling useless and unneeded, but not so much that she couldn’t take a moment to admire the way the thin fabric of Elijah’s black pajama pants hugged the curve of his butt.

  Dylan didn’t feel better in the morning, but by then she doubted it was anything more severe than a stomach virus. The rocking of the bus probably didn’t help matters, either—it had made her a little queasy too at times. He’d made several dashes to the bathroom. She’d heard him every time and run after him to make sure he was okay.

  “Iris, go to sleep,” Elijah had ordered her after the third time, when it was almost seven a.m. and they were pulling into the next venue.

  She ignored the command. “He would rest better if we had a hotel room.”

  “He rests fine. We’re stopping now and we’ll send someone after Gatorade or something.”

  “Pedialyte is better. Gatorade has too much sugar. It might prolong things.”

  He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Pedialyte then, goddamn. Put a list together and I’ll send someone—”

  “Give me access to a car and I’ll go get what he needs myself.”

  “He needs to puke his guts out and then he’ll be over it.”

  “Not necessarily. It’s easy to relapse with this stuff. You want him to feel better as soon as possible, right? Let me handle it. Go do your rock star stuff.”

  “What rock star stuff? I’ll be fucking around here until ten o’clock tonight.”

  “I know you’ll have press and meet-and-greets—”

  “All of which I can skip out on and let the rest of the guys handle. My kid is sick. They’ll be fine with it. Everyone else will be too or they can kiss my fucking ass.”

  Iris had put both hands up, palms out toward him, staring him in the eyes. “I realize neither of us has gotten any sleep and we’re ready to take each other’s heads off, but how about you stop for a minute, quit arguing for the sake of arguing with every word that comes out of my mouth, and let me do what I’m asking to do? Which is simply what’s best for Dylan?”

  Eli had taken a breath, dialed back his ire, and finally nodded. She’d watched the green fire in his eyes go from blazing to mere embers. Why did she rub him so wrong when it came to these things? She was only trying to help. He’d relented and gotten a driver to take her to the nearest 24-hour pharmacy.

  Now it was early afternoon, and she sat with Dylan in the back bedroom, making sure he took a few sips every fifteen minutes he was awake to keep from getting dehydrated. He lay curled in a fetal position, sleeping when he could, having complained of stomach cramps and a headache. Poor miserable baby.

  Elijah paced like a caged animal. Up the hall, down the hall, constantly checking on Dylan and looking like he wanted to put his fist through something . . . hopefully not her. Then he would prowl outside into the warm sun, only to start the cycle all over again in a matter of minutes. He was driving her insane.

  And of course, there was the question of whether she should call Heidi. That would certainly set him off again, especially after Iris had dropped her bomb on him the other night. Heidi would want to know her kid was sick even when there was literally nothing she could—or would be willing—to do. Despite everything, Iris knew she loved her boys dearly, but she simply didn’t handle these things well. It might make Dylan feel better to talk to her, but Iris was inclined to let him sleep while he could.

  The kids didn’t make this job hard. Their freaking parents did.

  Distantly, she heard Elijah’s feet clomp up the bus steps again and sighed, waiting grimly for his appearance in the doorway. She even had a smart remark ready about Dylan’s condition having not changed in the past three minutes, but after one look at his face, she bit down on it.

  Something seemed to have . . . broken over him. He came around the bed to where she sat and settled beside her. “I need to apologize to you. Again.”

  She didn’t need to ask what for. “It’s okay.”

  “I know you are legitimately trying to help. You didn’t have to do anything, you could’ve gone back to bed, but you’ve been up with him all night.” Mm-hmm. She held her tongue, watching him. He put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, sighing. “There isn’t a more helpless feeling than when your kids are sick.”

  She felt the same when one of these boys was hurting. “I get that. He’ll be fine, though. Probably one of those 24-hour things.”

  “I know. Still sucks.”

  Dylan took that moment to shift restlessly, groaning a little in his sleep, his pale face pulled into a grimace. Eli sat up to watch him. Iris’s heart softened at the concern in his eyes, the true yearning of a father to take away every bad thing that might threaten his baby. “I’ll bring out everything in my bag of tricks to help him feel better,” she promised. When she’d gone to the store, she’d stocked the bus well with everything in the BRAT diet: bananas, rice, applesauce, bread for toast. Saltine crackers. Ginger ale was in the refrigerator. Right now, though, she thought it best to keep Dylan’s tummy empty except for the frequent sips of Pedialyte.

  Eli’s eyes shifted from his son to Iris’s face. He seemed to take in every inch of it, making her breath hitch. “Thank you. I damn sure don’t know what to do for him. I’d probably make him worse. So I’m glad you’re here.”

  As usual, she found it hard to look away from him. Beyond the walls of the bus, there were muffled voices and shouts and laughter, al
l the hustle and bustle of concert production. In here, with him, spellbound by the green of his eyes, time seemed to have stopped.

  Until Dylan lurched up and ran across the bed in a mad scramble for the bathroom. Eli cursed, collapsing back across the mattress. There wasn’t much either of them could do for the boy now except let this thing run its course, and he was probably tired of them hovering over him. “Poor baby,” Iris said, trying not to notice how Eli’s T-shirt had ridden a little up his abdomen as he lay back, revealing a thin strip of hair that disappeared into his jeans. If he could quit flashing glimpses of his exceptional body at her, that would be great. “He’ll be over it soon,” she assured him. “You know I’ll stay with him while you go do the show.”

  That might be a good time to let Dylan talk to Heidi, too, without Eli looming over the conversation.

  She knew one thing: she was definitely asking for a raise when this was over.

  Eighteen

  Eight hours later, just as Elijah was getting ready for the concert, Dylan’s virus struck Seger. While Iris juggled monitoring the boys’ fluid intake, Eli went on stage, and their mother called. She spoke to both of the boys, but when Dylan had to drop the phone and race for the bathroom, Heidi suddenly had to go. She told Iris, “Good luck with that!” and hung up.

  A raise, a raise, I am definitely asking for a raise.

  Elijah came back from the venue near midnight, freshly showered but looking flushed. Iris eyed him suspiciously, thinking he seemed not himself, far more tired than usual. He snapped at her that he was always destroyed after a show, and he was fine. But he went straight to bed, which also wasn’t like him.

  He stayed in bed the entire next day, but Iris didn’t think the symptoms hit him quite as hard as it had the kids. He claimed he only felt like hell, but he managed to roll out of bed long enough to do his show.

  The day after that, he ambled out of the bedroom wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt, his hair loose around his shoulders, corners of his mouth downturned. Iris sipped her coffee, watching over the rim of her cup as he sat on the couch across from her and tugged on a pair of running shoes.

  Amazing, really. He couldn’t have looked more like any normal, good-looking guy she might pass on the street. But there was a line of people out there to meet him right now who were probably about to faint from sheer excitement. She could hear them: a low buzzing hum of nervous chatter and high laughter.

  “Are you okay?” she asked him, placing her cup on the table. “It’s hot out there.”

  “I’m fine,” he grunted. “It’ll be hotter tonight.”

  Yes. Exerting himself under the glaring stage lights, near the pyro, in front of thousands of people in ninety-plus degree temperatures even after sundown. She couldn’t imagine. Just stepping off the bus into the stagnant oven-hot Houston air outside had made her want to jump into a pool of ice water. The humidity was a killer all by itself. She’d almost skipped her coffee because the mere thought of it made her sweat, but the caffeine was crucial. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  He got to his feet and stretched, reaching for the ceiling. Iris yanked her gaze away lest she get too caught up in watching the fascinating play of his muscles, and then he sighed and let his arms swing down by his sides. “It’s my job,” he said simply.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  With a shrug, he moved over to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. Iris watched him chug half of it, feeling something of admiration spark inside her. He could blow this whole thing off. She wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to hole up in his room in the air conditioning and sleep until he absolutely had to get up for the show, like yesterday. Actually, she wouldn’t blame him for calling off the entire set. But those people out there would be so disappointed. She knew it, and he did too.

  “You can talk to me, you know,” she said softly. “I can help if you need anything.”

  “I have plenty of people ready to jump when I say so. I don’t need another one.”

  Nodding, she cast her gaze dejectedly to her empty mug. Which only made him sigh again and kill the rest of his water. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said, tossing the empty bottle in a wastebasket. “No, I don’t feel better. I feel like shit, and that pisses me off. It’s the last thing I need. I appreciate the offer, but I kinda just want to be left alone.”

  It wasn’t much of an apology and it didn’t make her feel any better. “Are you always like this when you’re sick?”

  “Yes.” He stood there leaning against the counter, not moving for a long time. When she finally forced herself to look up at him, she found his dark gaze steady on her. The directness, the intensity there, startled her. She had a feeling it always would, that she would never become accustomed to his scrutiny.

  He wiped a hand down his face, which was a little on the chalky side. Given the glassiness of his eyes, she wondered if he might have a touch of fever. “Personally, I think you should stay in bed, but that’s just me,” she blurted out.

  Eli shook his head. “No fucking way.”

  Iris swept an arm toward the front of the bus. “Well, then your public awaits.” Stubborn ass. He threw her a grudging look. She pinned her gaze to the wall across from her. A moment later, his feet stomped down the bus steps.

  Seger took that moment to shuffle into the front lounge from the back, his hair tousled, his lips pouted. Iris managed to shove Eli out of her mind to focus on the only thing that should concern her. “Hey there, buddy. How are you feeling?”

  “Like shit.”

  “Seger! Language.”

  “Like crap.”

  Iris sighed. “That’s only marginally better. Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

  “Thirsty.”

  She pushed herself up to get him a drink while he plopped onto the couch and promptly fell over, pulling his knees into his chest. Poor kids. Nothing worse than a stomach bug. “If I make you some toast, will you eat it?” she asked, grabbing a Gatorade from the fridge. She figured he could graduate from the Pedialyte at this point.

  “I don’t know. I’m kind of hungry but I don’t want to eat.”

  “I hear ya.” She diluted the drink with some water in a glass. He didn’t need that much sugar. “What about a couple of crackers?”

  He acquiesced to that, so she brought them to him with his drink and handed him the tablet that controlled most of the amenities of the bus. “Where’s Dad?” he asked, settling back to watch Iron Man 2. It remained his favorite superhero movie of all time.

  “Meet and greet.” Iris moved to the front of the bus to see if she could get a peek outside. The murmur from the fans remained steady, and she could see Eli moving down the line, smiling, signing autographs, pausing for quick selfies. She smirked as she wondered how many people he was infecting with his virus. As devoted as some of them were, they would probably be honored. Turning away, she settled across from Seger while he munched on his crackers, his messy mop of hair adorable despite its desperate need for a cut.

  It wasn’t uncommon for her to get sudden rushes of fierce affection for these kids, but the one that swept through her then was especially intense. She’d often though Seger was a perfect little copy of his dad, but now that she’d spent some time around Eli, it was even more apparent. He had Heidi’s eyes, but the pout and mannerisms and angular bone structure—even his moods—were all Eli. For some reason though, she hadn’t been able to see much of Eli in Dylan. The younger boy looked more like his mom and nothing like his dad, except for his dark hair.

  She wanted someday to gaze at her own children and find herself reflected back alongside the man she loved, whoever he turned out to be. If he ever showed up.

  Sometimes she thought it didn’t matter. If it came to her biological clock ticking down to doomsday, she would do it all on her own. But she had plenty of time before she had to resort to those measures.

  Eli came back, a fine sheen of sweat on his skin. He gave Seger a fist bump as he went by, walked straight back to his room,
and shut the door.

  Iris sighed, letting her head fall back on the couch cushion. The boys seemed to be a little better, but they still couldn’t do much, and she was bored out of her mind. Talia had retreated in horror at the mere mention of vomit, so Iris doubted she would see her again until everyone was one hundred percent recovered. They were doing their best to keep this thing contained, lest it sweep through band and crew both.

  After making sure Seger didn’t need anything else and checking to see that Dylan was peacefully napping in his bunk, she went back to knock softly on Eli’s door. “Yeah,” came the gruff response. She let herself into the dim, chilly room.

  Really, she didn’t know what the hell she was doing, and having her image thrown back at her all around from his mirrors was disconcerting. As if she were someone else, various shadow selves looking back at her. “Just checking on you. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “No, but I will be.” The lump of covers with dark hair sticking out the top stirred, and his face appeared as she moved to the side of his bed.

  “Are you drinking enough?” All she’d seen him have lately was that one bottle of water.

  “I’m good. You’d better get away before you catch it.”

  She shrugged and sat beside him. “I’ve probably already got it, just waiting for it to incubate.”

  “Maybe you should have been a nurse.”

  “I considered it. I considered a lot of things. Nurse, teacher . . .”

  “You’d have been great at either of those.”

  “Thanks. Anyway, I won’t keep you up. You can text me if you need anything.” She started to get up, but he caught her hand, and she caught her breath. His feverish green eyes burned up at her.

  “Taking care of me too, huh? Why? Not your job.”

  Iris licked suddenly dry lips. Around her much smaller, daintier hand, his was big and strong and hot. One of his fingers slid between two of hers, and her heart skipped a beat. “Because I want to,” she said softly. “Can I, um . . . bring you some Advil?”