Chapter Seven

Jameson

When I came out of the bathroom, Win was just standing there in the doorway, watching his brother at their father’s bedside. Scott gets to his feet, and I move closer to the two of them, not quite sure where this is going.

“Hey, man, it’s good to see you,” Scott says quietly.

“Yup.” The three letters are the most Win can muster for the sibling he hasn’t seen in a decade.

Scott tries again. “I, uh, I met Jackson this morning. He’s a great kid.”

I see my former husband’s eyes narrow suspiciously, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Why don’t you come in and sit down?” I suggest. “Dr. Douglas is going to be by on rounds in a few minutes.”

Win doesn’t budge. “Why should I? He made you the healthcare proxy, after all,” he sneers at Scott like a jealous child.

Scott holds up his hands in a “no harm, no foul” gesture.

“Dude, this is Dad we’re talking about here. He’s in trouble, and we need to figure this out. I’d really like it if you’d help me…but I’ll do it without you if I have to. So can we stop with the temper tantrum already? We’re not ten years old anymore.”

I’m impressed by the direct, no-nonsense way Scott handles Win. I’m not impressed by the petulant, menacing way Win responds.

“You know, you’ve got some nerve showing up here like this,” he hisses, nostrils flaring and fists tight by his side. “I’m the one who’s been here, working with him, having him in my home, helping him deal after Mom died. You ran away like a scared little kid. Oh, but here you are, the prodigal freaking son. Let’s have a party and serve up that fatted calf!” Win says this with unnecessary drama, spreading his arms wide.

“Win, please,” I intervene, trying to break the intensity between them. “Scott’s come a long way to be here—to be with your father. And this very well might be the last opportunity either of you has…do you really want to spend it like this? Fighting? And in front of him, no less?”

They both look toward the hospital bed where Big Win’s chest rises and falls with every whoosh and whirl of the respirator. It’s a sobering sight, even to hot-headed Win, and I watch as his face—a face I know very well—softens. Then I make my move.

“Win? Why don’t you let me cook dinner for the two of you tonight? Jax would love to see you, and you and Scott can talk this all out over a bottle of wine. I can even do it at your dad’s house so my sisters won’t interrupt us. How about it? Please?” Win looks at me for a long moment and then his brother. I can see he’s considering it, so I decide to sweeten the pot. “I’ll make your favorite roast chicken with the little potatoes…” I offer with a coy smile.

When he harrumphs, I know I’ve got him. Sex and food are the best way to a man’s heart. This man’s heart, anyway. And since I have no intention of going to bed with him ever again, food will have to be my weapon of choice.

“Fine. I can be there at five-thirty.”

I give him my sweetest smile.

Win considers his brother again. “You look good,” he mutters. “Where’ve you been?”

“South America mainly… Mexico for a couple of years now. Before that, Nicaragua, Ecuador, and Panama.”

“Well, you always did want to travel,” Win says impassively.

I seize the moment to jump in and nudge a little. “So I was just thinking I’d take Scott for some breakfast down in the cafeteria, Win. Can you join us?”

I can tell he wants to give in and give up the sulky attitude, but he’s been solitary for so long that he doesn’t seem to know how.

“No, I can’t,” he says at last. “I’ve got a deposition to prep for this morning.”

“You must be swamped,” Scott offers. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, running the firm now and all. Congratulations. I hear you’re a great lawyer.”

It’s an olive branch—one that Win accepts, albeit reluctantly.

“Yeah, well, I’d like to hear that from Dad. He busts my chops enough,” my ex-husband grumbles.

Scott snorts. “Hah! So nothing’s changed then?”

A ghost of a smile crosses Win’s face. “No, not much.”

I have to stop myself from jumping up and down. If Win thinks I’m especially interested in getting the two of them together, he’s going to suspect I have some hidden agenda. And I suppose I do. I just want us all to have a little peace. For once.

…

I spend the day shopping and straightening up Big Win’s house while Win works and Scott stays at the hospital. He’s the first to arrive, looking totally wiped when he finds me in the kitchen.

“Hi. How was the hospital?” I ask, handing him a beer from the fridge.

He accepts it gratefully, twists the top off, and takes a long swig before replying.

“Depressing. I hate hospitals. Nothing good ever happens there.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I had my son at a hospital,” I remind him.

“Point taken,” he agrees with a smile. “Where is the little guy?”

“Napping. You may have noticed Win’s bedroom has been turned into a nursery. Your father likes to have him here as much as possible.”

“I’m surprised Dad has the energy!”

“Oh, he can keep up with Jackson all right. The two of them are always having little adventures around town. The park, the pie shop—Big Win takes that kid all over,” I explain, turning to pull down some dishes to set the table. But the shelf is a little too high for my short self, and I only brush them with my fingertips.

“Oh, here, let me help you with that…”

Before I can object, he’s standing behind me, reaching over me to get the dishes. For a brief second, his front is pressed against my back. His broad, muscled, perfectly sculpted front. I feel a wave of unwelcome warmth beginning under my collar and creeping up my neck.

“Thanks…” I murmur awkwardly, keeping my back to him for a moment longer in an attempt to quash my blush. When I think I’ve got it under control, I turn to face him again.

“Hey, are you all right? You look a little…flushed,” he says, peering at me with concern as he sets the dishes down on the island and steps back toward me again. I guess I’m not as under control as I’d like to think.

“No!” I say a little too loudly, holding up a palm in the international symbol for “hold it right there, buddy!” I take a deep breath, force a smile, and knock the volume down a peg. “No, thanks, I’m fine. I’m just warm from working so close to the stove,” I lie.

“If you’re sure you’re all right…”

“Oh, I am. I’m sure. But thanks, Scott. I appreciate your concern.”

He nods. “Any other high elevation items I can get for you?”

“Uhhh…nope, but thanks… I just need to, uh, you know, turn the potatoes over in the oven. Over there. Where they’re, you know, roasting…” I’m babbling now, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Okay. I’m just going to grab a shower before Win gets here, if you don’t mind.”

“Nope. Not at all,” I say quickly. “You go right ahead.”

Once he disappears around the corner, I silently smack my palm to my forehead.

What was that, Jameson? Why the blush? He’s just your ex-husband’s brother, that’s all. This is insane. I’ve got to stop this childish behavior. No. More. Men. Remember? No thinking about men. No looking at men. No fantasizing about men.

Especially not that man!

I’m still shaking my head and silently berating myself when I hear him behind me.

“Hey, Jameson, do you happen to know if my dad keeps an extra toothbrush around? I dropped mine in the toilet and…”

I don’t hear the end of his sentence because, when I turn to face him, I suddenly can’t hear anything. I’m too entranced by the sight of him wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. I suppose this is natural for him, given that he probably eats, sleeps, and works alongside the same people, day in and day out. Yeah, well, it’s not natural for me, though I’m suddenly wishing it were.

Oh, crap, oh crap, oh crap… I am in so much trouble here. No men. No men. No men… I repeat the mantra over and over again in my head, but clearly the rest of my body isn’t getting the memo.

“What? Do I look that bad?” he asks, my slack-jawed expression giving him pause. He gazes down the length of his body, searching for something wrong. But there isn’t a single thing wrong with that body. I quickly close my mouth and force a smile onto my face.

“Uh—yeah, yes…” I start, trying, without success, to sound casual. “I mean no. No, you look fine. Fine. Yes. Nope, you’re good. Good, good.”

The corners of his mouth are twitching like he’s trying hard to suppress a smile. Ugh. Could I be any more obvious? Or cliché for that matter—gawking at my brother-in-law? Ex. Ex-brother-in-law. I make a mental note to run this one by Father Romance in confession. Or…maybe not.

“I’m sorry, Jameson, I didn’t mean to, uh…startle you. Things are very open and casual in Project Peace, so you just kind of get used to seeing everybody in various stages of undress…”

“Oh, yeah, no, I get it. No, it’s not a big deal at all…I was just…” I scramble for some reasonable excuse to be staring at him. “I—It’s just that I couldn’t help but notice your tattoo.”

Yes! Brilliant save, Jameson!

“Oh, you know, I forget it’s even there sometimes,” he says, bringing his smooth, broad chest closer to me so I can get a better look at him. It. At it. The tattoo…

He’s pointing to the image on his right pectoral muscle, a vibrant orange skull intricately decorated. It has a bright array of red and pink flowers and small jewels adorning it.

“They call this a sugar skull. You see a lot of them on Dia de los Muertos,” he explains.

“Day of the…dead?” I echo in English, calling on my very limited high school Spanish vocabulary.

“Yes, exactly, that’s what the Mexicans call it. Actually, there are three days—our Halloween, then November first is Dia de los Innocentes, day of the innocents, meant to honor dead children and infants. Then November second is Dia de los Muertos, honoring dead adults.”

“Wow, they really take their death celebrations seriously,” I marvel.

“Ohhh yeah, it’s huge. Especially in southern Mexico. And a lot of people get sugar skulls tattooed on them as a sort of memorial.” He points to the forehead, where the word “Mom” has been written in big, loopy script. “The only writing you’re supposed to have on it is the name of a loved one you’ve lost.”

“And you put your mother on yours,” I note softly.

He nods and gives me a small, slightly sad smile. “Yeah. I was missing her one night and I got totally wasted. When I woke up, I had this and a really wicked hangover. Me and tequila, man, not a good combo.”

Before I can help myself, I reach out to touch the colorful picture that takes up a large section of that side of his chest. I pull away before my fingers make contact.

“It’s okay,” he assures me, taking my hand and pulling it to his chest. “You can touch it. I was lucky, actually. Lots of people wake up with crap tattoos that they’re stuck with for life. I woke up with one of the best ink jobs I’ve ever seen. In fact, I’d go back for another one…if I could just remember where I got it.”

“What?” I gasp and smile incredulously. “No one told you?”

He shrugs. “Well, apparently I was flying solo that night, so I’ll never know. But that just makes the story even more interesting, you know?”

I do know. Because it does.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I mutter, extricating my hand from the first adult male chest I’ve touched other than Win’s. “Well, I think it’s beautiful. The tattoo and the sentiment.” I glance down at my watch. “Oh! I’ve got to get this bird in the oven.”

I start to turn toward the other naked flesh in the room.

“And the toothbrushes? I know my dad keeps a bunch of extra ’cause he likes to chew on them…”

“Of course! Sorry, yes, I, uh, I think I saw a sex pack—sorry, six pack. I saw a six pack of toothbrushes in the hall closet.”

Holy hell! What was that? I try to appear composed, even as I feel the two hot, red spots that are forming on my cheeks. He chivalrously turns to leave before I’m in full-on beet mode, but not before I catch a little color on his face, too.