“Just call, Liv? Ask your brother if they’re gonna be there.”
“And if they’re not?”
He sighs. “Then I’ll come to dinner, I guess.”
“Great! I’ll call Ben now, and I’ll text you when I find out.”
“Where are you now?” Brenten asks quietly. Softly. He’s using his seductive voice, his bedroom voice, I suppose. “Can’t we catch up now?”
“I’m baking at my mom and dad’s house, so I’m gonna be busy for the next little bit. Dinner is at seven, so by the time I finish cooking, then shower, then get across town…”
“Yeah,” he whines. “I get it. You’re too busy for me.”
“No,” I frown. “I’m not. If I was too busy for you, I’d tell you I’ll call you next week sometime. Instead, I’m asking you to come to dinner, to be with my family, and that’s actually a really important distinction you shouldn’t forget. They’re good people, Brenten. The best kind, and if you and I want any kind of future together…”
He sighs. “I have to play nice. Fine, I get it.”
“I’ll text you soon.” I smile when my stepfather’s truck pulls up in the front yard. Around here, we know the sound of everyone’s cars. We know the tread on someone’s tires. “Okay?” I prod. “I have to run for now, but I’ll text in a bit.”
“Okay. Talk to you in a bit.” Brenten turns his voice lower. “I can’t wait to see you.”
“You too.”
Before he can request mushy declarations – because I don’t do mush – I hang up, and toss my phone to the counter, then I dash into the living room and shove my mom aside when she opens the front door to her husband.
“Move aside.” I laugh when she stumbles six feet to the right, then I slide into Oz’s embrace, and breathe him in until whatever tension he brought home from work leaves on the exhale he releases against the top of my head.
“Hey, Beauty.” My six and a half feet tall ‘father in all the ways that matter’ wraps his beefy arms around my shoulders and squeezes me tight. “I saw your car out front, and I swear, that made it all better.”
“Don’t mind me, then.” Mom crosses the living room with pursed lips and a shake of her head.
Maybe she married him, and maybe he’s her husband, but I get to remind everyone that he was the first man I ever fell in love with. My first male protector besides my brother. The first man I would trust besides my brother.
“What’s going on at work, huh?” I pull back and look into his shadowed eyes. “You look exhausted.”
“I am exhausted.” He reaches up and cups my cheek. Then, once he’s had his fill, he pulls out of my embrace and goes in search of the hug he really, truly wanted when he left the station.
I follow him into the kitchen, and rest against the doorjamb when he pulls Mom into a hug so pure, so tight and healing that I know where the bar is set when I find the man I’ll marry.
To me, it’s not about who can provide the most; it’s not about money, status, houses, jobs, or how good he looks in a suit. It’s not about a guy’s ability to stack a dishwasher, or the way he treats his love inside and outside of the bedroom.
It’s about that end-of-a-hard-day hug.
Because when you’ve had a terrible day, when everything seems too hard, too exhausting, a man could choose to bring home a bad mood, a bad attitude, and he could take it out on his wife. Or hell, he could pretend to be the martyr and take that bad mood someplace else; he could spend his time with a bottle, another woman, and claim he was protecting the family.
But that’s not Oz, and it’s not the man I’ll marry either.
That man will search for me, he’ll leave his troubles at the door, for a minute at least, and he’ll come inside. With a mere touch, a hug, a syncing of breaths, everything will seem just a little more bearable. Because together, we’re a team, we’re stronger. Just like the couple who stand in front of me, my man will draw strength from my hug, and in return, despite his exhaustion, he’ll give strength back.
And then, once that’s done and everyone is back on even ground, we’ll sit and discuss what’s troubling us.
“It’s that Dale case, isn’t it?” Mom pulls out of Oz’s hug, but she keeps hold of his hand, and leads him to a stool at the island counter.
Pushing him down to sit, she presses a kiss to his forehead, then goes to the fridge and takes out a pitcher of homemade lemonade. She pours a glass for him, and then a second for me, then she puts the pitcher away, but grabs the carton of eggs before closing the fridge door.
On autopilot, she summons me over so we can go to work mixing ingredients together.
“Oscar?” She cracks eggs into a bowl, then measures flour. “Dale?”
“Yeah.” He sits slumped in, tired and defeated, and clutches to his drink as he works on breathing out the troubles of today. “Well, no. Not only Dale. I had this other thing fall in today, which was bad enough. But then this Dale kid is running around selling bad shit. He’s slick, it’s mostly small crime; he’s selling weed, not coke. He’s stealing wallets, not ATM machines. He’s fast, and he’s slippery as an eel. He has money – or, well…” He sighs and takes a swallow of his lemonade. “His family has money, so they think they’re untouchable. Every time I try to get near, they throw up roadblocks, and when we turn away to try to figure out our next step, the guy sells another bag to another kid.” Oz looks up and meets my eyes. “He isn’t afraid of the law, and that pisses me off.”
“What about Jules?” Mom asks. “She can’t give you any advice?”
I listen in, the third wheel, the add-on, as my mom and stepfather talk it through, so making myself busy, I grab a whole pineapple and begin slicing off the rough outer skin.
“Jules can’t deal with Dale right now because she’s busy with other stuff, but she suggested I call Bishop.” Oz glances up and looks into Mom’s eyes. “She said a kid who isn’t afraid of the law could probably benefit from a visit with guys who don’t exactly follow the law themselves.”
“Feels a little extreme, no?” I stand on the opposite side of the counter and slice the juicy pineapple. “Dale’s just a kid, right?”
“Seventeen.”
“Selling pot on street corners? A visit from Checkmate is a big deal.”
“It’s not about the pot, Beauty, and it’s not about the lifted wallets. It’s about his attitude, and how he thinks he’s immune. For today, he’s just a kid selling petty drugs on a street corner. But if he stays on this road, it won’t be weed he’ll be selling in a few years, but something else. Something much more dangerous. My job is to keep this town safe for the kids.”
“Speaking of, where’s Lachlan?” I look around the kitchen in search of my little brother. A Franks baby, instead of a Conner. He’s just a kid, still in elementary school. “He with Ma?”
“Yeah, I’ll head back out in a sec and pick him up,” Oz sighs. “I came home first. I needed my girls.”