Callum startled awake, letting his eyes slide open but not moving. He'd fallen asleep on the couch, and his head lolled back against the cushion. Brandt and Levi were pillowed against him, his leg stretched out on the ottoman Iris had shoved into place earlier.
The only source of light was light flickering from the TV, which had been silenced, still on a cartoon. Cicadas hummed outside, but the sound was muted by the walls and windows.
Something was off.
Tyler. Where was his third son?
His eyes flew open to see Iris curled around Tyler, both of them on the second sofa.
Nightfall had come and gone; the clock on the wall read two a.m.
They'd spent an exhausting afternoon taking care of all three boys—it hadn't been long before Brandt had joined his brothers in vomit-land. Callum had been relegated to the couch—his inability to clean or carry had rendered him all but useless.
Which had left Iris with the lion's share of cleaning up after three puking boys. At three years old, they couldn't be trusted to get to the bathroom when they needed to empty their stomachs, so he and Iris had resorted to using large bowls from the kitchen when the boys felt the need.
After they were reasonably sure everything had passed, Iris had dunked them all three in a bath and put a clean blanket over the couch. Now at his side, the boys were sweet-smelling and conked out.
She must be exhausted, like he was. On top of caring for the boys when they got sick, he could never totally erase the worry that something deeper was wrong.
But since they hadn't thrown up in the last several hours, Callum figured the illness had run its course. Relief flowed through him.
Until his focus narrowed in on Iris.
She wasn't sleeping. In the flickering light from the TV, he could see silver tears tracking down her cheeks.
Her sadness slayed him.
He straightened up as much as he could without knocking the boys onto the floor. "What's wrong?"
She startled, quickly wiping at her face with her hand. "Nothing."
But she wouldn't look at him, just gave him the side of her face.
Was she simply so tired she'd begun crying? Why hadn't she gone to bed? "I know it was a tough day. You were a trooper."
"Yeah. I'm just tired." Was there something more behind her words? With distance and sleeping boys between them, he couldn't tell.
She carefully disengaged herself from his son and sat up, moving to the edge of the couch. "I'm guessing they're going to be up bright and early and back at a hundred and fifty percent energy. I should go to bed."
Her shoulders remained slumped as if the weight she carried was too heavy to bear.
Emotion choked him. He didn't want this for her. Didn't want to be the cause of hurt in her life. "I'm sorry about all this. I wish you didn't have to deal with our messes."
She looked at him sharply, eyes snapping. There was definitely some anger behind her calm exterior.
Before she could respond, there was an audible thump from upstairs.
"Jilly," Iris gasped. She stood up.
He tried to ease up off the couch, but the boys weighted him down. "What's wrong?"
"The chemo hits her hard," she said over her shoulder.
And he was left downstairs with three sleeping boys. Iris's footsteps faded up the stairs. How did she deal with all of this by herself? Where was her dad? He had enough time to harass Callum, but couldn't be here for his daughters?
The worst part was, Callum had spent years waiting for her to turn eighteen, planning on being the one to support Iris in her dreams—and in her hurts. It was supposed to have been his job. Except he'd ruined everything on that one fateful night.
Now Iris had to face her demons alone.
And so did he.
Iris stood outside Jilly's bedroom door in the darkened hall holding her breath, holding her tears at bay by the thinnest of threads. She needed a moment to compose herself before she went in to check on Jilly. If she walked into her sister's room with tears in her eyes, she would get a whopping I told you so.
All around her, the aging house settled, creaking and groaning.
With her head tucked into her chest, she could smell both the latent sweat she'd worked up cleaning up after the boys and the kids' scented bath soap that had been splashed on her while she'd scrubbed them down.
She was too involved.
She could handle Callum's distance. But when he'd asked her what was wrong in that sleep-husky voice...she'd almost caved. The urge to go to him and curl up in his arms, to bask in his comfort, had nearly overwhelmed her.
They'd been a team today, caring for the boys. Working together to comfort the boys, Callum distracting them as Iris fetched and carried and cleaned up.
But the worst part was they were supposed to have been hers. All four of them. When she'd fanned her fingers through Brandt's hair and he'd snuggled into her lap, her heart had turned over in her chest.
As she'd gotten to know the boys, her heart had opened toward them. She saw pieces of Callum in each of them. Tyler's reserved nature, Brandt's outgoing greetings for everyone in sight, Levi's intelligence.
They were everything she'd wanted when she'd been on the cusp of her eighteenth birthday. Oh, she'd wanted her turn in New York City, dancing ballet. But more than that, deeper than that, she'd wanted family. Callum's family.
Her own father remained distant, her mother gone when she'd been thirteen. But spending all those summers with Uncle Joe had given her hope. Joe had been open with his emotions, quick to share a hug or say, "I love you." She'd wanted a husband with those same qualities. A loving relationship, someone to share the hurts and successes of life. Someone who would love her, warts and all.
She'd thought Callum was that man. He'd come from the worst of situations—father out of the picture, mother dead, raised in foster care. But he hadn't been ruined by his situation. He'd been reserved, almost shy when she'd met him working as a hand for Uncle Joe. Maybe shy wasn't the right word. He'd thought she was too good for him. Until she'd disabused him of that notion.
And then he'd left, no explanation. Just disappeared out of her life one week after the best performance she'd ever given. They were supposed to have gotten married and left together.
Callum's revelation that loneliness had driven him to drink and to other women's arms had only created more questions in her mind—and those questions were dangerous. If she finally learned why he'd left, what had driven him away, would she be able to forgive him?
Had she ever known him at all?
She still couldn't shake the feeling that something had happened that night he left. With so much time passed and their lives moving in different directions now...what was the use in digging up the past?
Besides, Jilly needed her now.
She pushed open her sister's door to find an empty bed. Light spilled from the attached Jack and Jill bathroom, and Iris headed there.
Jilly was bent over the toilet, face whiter than the tiled shower.
"Oh, honey." Iris grabbed a washcloth from beneath the sink and wet it with cool water.
Jilly retched, but Iris had heard the same from the boys all day and was perhaps too tired for her gag reflex to make an appearance now.
"Are the boys okay?" Jilly whispered when she could take a breath. She sat on the edge of the tub and Iris perched next to her, holding the rag to the back of Jilly's neck.
No matter how much Jilly's protective instincts made her distrust Callum, she was falling for the boys, just like Iris was.
Iris just hoped that neither of their hearts broke when Callum left this time.