10. CHAPTER TEN

What in the actual fuck?

When Talia got on the walkie talkie to let Clint know Brooke was screaming in her sleep, he literally dropped the beer glass he had in his hand since he'd been just about to test a new batch—and ran up to the house.

A gentle touch didn't work.

It took him yelling at her and shaking her almost violently to wake her up.

But her screams rattled the rafters and scared the kids out of their skin.

He'd never witnessed such a nightmare before. She kicked and thrashed her arms, and tears streamed down her cheeks as she cried out for help over and over again.

The dream had to be about drowning.

How could it not be?

He told the kids to skedaddle, but they were all glued in place. Watching as Brooke fought his efforts and begged for help.

Finally, after he hauled her up, his chest to hers, holding her tight against him, and pinning her arms at her sides as he spoke softly to her, did she wake up.

Then he laid her back down as she returned to the awake world, confusion swimming in her green eyes.

"Brooke, you had a scary dream," Talia said, her voice laden with concern as she pushed past Clint and came to kneel next to the couch where Brooke lay.

Brooke blinked a few times, and pink bloomed in her cheeks. She scanned Clint, then the children, then brought her gaze back to Talia. Reaching up, she cupped Talia's cheek and a new tear slid from the corner of her eyes down into her ear. "Did I?"

Talia nodded. "Yeah. Was it about drowning?"

Brooke nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry that happened," Talia said, then she elbowed her father out of the way, giving him a cursory glare because he didn't do it fast enough, and she hugged Brooke. "Daddy's hugs always help me when I have a bad dream, too."

Brooke wrapped her arms around Talia and held on tight. "Thank you. This is really helping."

They pulled away after a moment and Brooke sat up, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I didn't mean to scare anyone. I'm so sorry."

Clint glanced back at the other kids. He knew Talia would be okay, but Silas, Dom's six-year-old, was particularly sensitive. He still looked a little spooked. "Come here, Si," he said, opening up his arm for his nephew to step forward.

Silas let his backpack fall to the floor, and he stepped into Clint's embrace.

"It was a little scary seeing Brooke having a nightmare like that, wasn't it?"

Silas's head bobbed as his big blue eyes—wide as dinner plates—stared at Brooke.

"But we all have bad dreams sometimes. Even you, right, bud?"

Silas nodded again.

"The thing to remember is that dreams aren't real. And we also know that Brooke just went through something really scary. So her brain is trying to sort it out. It's trying to figure out where to put that memory. And our brains do that—they organize and clean up the clutter—when we sleep. But sometimes when they are doing their sweeping and tidying, some memories get caught up in a dust cloud and they can be hard to catch. That's what bad dreams are. A dust cloud of memories that our brain is trying to organize and tidy up, but it needs to wait for the dust to settle before it can do that." He turned to his nephew. "Does that make sense?"

Silas nodded. "Or like when we rake leaves and then Uncle Jagger comes along with the leaf blower and messes up Daddy's pile of raked leaves. Then we have to collect them all again while Daddy calls Uncle Jagger a doofus."

Clint chuckled. "That's exactly right. Good job, buddy. And yeah, Uncle Jagger can be a doofus sometimes."

The other kids giggled.

Silas focused on Brooke. "Are you better now?"

Brooke nodded. "I am. Thank you, Silas. It was just a dream."

"You didn't really drown. Not in the ocean, and not in your dream. I'm glad you didn't drown in either."

"Me, too," Brooke said, reaching out for Silas's hand. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"I'm sorry your brain is having a hard time organizing your memories. You need like a ... better broom or ..." He scratched his head. "What's that thing my dad uses? A mini vacuum that you hold. It's like this big." He held his hands out eighteen inches apart.

"A dust buster?" Clint offered.

Silas perked up. "Yeah, a dustbuster. You need a dustbuster for your brain. So you don't get any dust clouds that make you think you're drowning when you're not."

Brooke smiled now, and the anguish from her dream seemed to recede the longer she interacted with the kids. Their energy and sweetness really were infectious.

Fuck, they were all so lucky to have such good kids, healthy kids.

"What time is it?" she asked, her voice a little scratchy, probably from the screaming.

"Three-forty," Talia replied.

"Oh my God, I didn't think I slept that long ..." She slid off the couch, forcing Talia to step back.

"What are you doing?" Clint asked, watching with confused amusement as Brooke started to butt-shuffle herself across the floor. All the kids were now giggling at her.

"I need to use the bathroom," she said.

Shaking his head, Clint released Silas who seemed to have rallied from his scare, and went to Brooke on the floor. He scooped her up. "Just ask for help."

"But I can do it myself," she protested, giving him a glare. "I don't want to put you out any more than I already have." There was a coldness to her, a distance that he didn't like.

He knew he deserved it, though.

After their time together this morning, he'd had an attack of conscience and his mind got the better of him, reminding him Brooke's time here was temporary. Then he went weird and distant.

She was probably confused. And hurt.

Fuck.

He set her down on the toilet seat in the powder room. "Call me when you're done." Then he closed the pocket door and faced the children. "Snack time."

"Yay!" they all cheered, bouncing their bodies to the kitchen.

"Can we have cereal, Daddy?" Talia asked.

"Child, you would eat cereal for every meal if I let you."

"Which makes feeding me easy, right?"

"It's not a balanced diet."

"How about cereal and strawberries, then?"

Clint rolled his eyes. "Fine."

"I'll get the milk," Emme announced, heading to the fridge.

"I want Frosted Flakes with just a splash of milk," Griffin said, making an inch with his thumb and finger. "Just a splash."

Clint rolled his eyes again and snorted. Griffin was ... an interesting kid. Very particular. Very opinionated.

Aya and Jake had already been to the pantry, where they grabbed every single box of cereal and lined them up on the table.

It made Clint realize just how much freaking cereal he had in his house. There were eight boxes—all of them open—of different cereals.

Emme grabbed bowls while Aya grabbed spoons and just as Brooke called to him from the bathroom, the kids were pouring their snacks and chatting about all the fun and festive end of the year activities they were doing at school.

She'd opened the pocket door for the bathroom and was right where he left her. "The kids are having cereal as a snack if you'd like to join them?"

"Yes, please," she whispered as he scooped her up.

"We should probably talk about this morning," he murmured, a heat flushing up into his cheeks when he remembered her naked body bouncing eagerly on his, and her sweet and sexy cries of ecstasy when she came.

"It's fine," she said dismissively. "Shouldn't have happened. I get it. You regret it. You've lost interest—wouldn't be the first man, and you probably won't be the last. No need to rub it in. I'm sorry I ... I overstepped. I misread the signals." She swallowed, doing everything she could not to look at him.

"That's not it at all." He paused, still holding her. He took a detour to the living room so the kids wouldn't hear them. "I don't regret this morning. And I definitely haven't lost interest. It's just ..."

"Clint," she met his eyes, "we don't have to rehash this. I'm fine. Really. Some women are just meant to be alone. Susan B. Anthony was too busy with the underground railroad and fighting for women's right to vote to get married and settle down. Maybe I need to just pour my life into helping others and forget about men." She released a weary sigh. "Please take me to the kitchen. I saw Apple Cinnamon Cheerios and I haven't had those in probably ten years."

Huffing a sigh of his own, he nodded and carried her to the kitchen, setting her on a chair.

Aya was quick to get up and grab Brooke a bowl and spoon, while Talia rattled off every cereal and how it tasted, as if Brooke was illiterate or something. It was cute.

"Those all sound very delicious, but I think I'm going to go with my original choice of the Apple Cinnamon Cheerios. I had them as a kid, and the nostalgia is hitting me hard."

"What's nost-al-gia?" Talia asked, passing Brooke the box of Cheerios.

"It's a fond memory or desire to return to a time or do something that you used to do in the past and enjoyed. Like eating a cereal from your childhood. Or visiting a place you used to travel to with your family when you were small," Clint said, garnering the undivided attention of all the kids with his educational diatribe.

"So having Cheerios makes you want to return to when you were a kid?" Silas asked.

Brooke pinned her lips together. "Not quite. I just ... liked them then, and hope I like them now." She shook the cereal into her bowl and thanked Emme for passing the milk.

Something dark flashed behind Brooke's eyes when Silas asked her if she wanted to return to her childhood. Something reluctant and almost frightening. Like she'd rather jump back out into the Puget Sound and risk hypothermia again than head back in time.

Why was that?

He'd been a coward, sending Jagger up to check on Brooke earlier. He just as easily could have come up himself, but he chickened out and sent his baby brother. He made sure to send Jagger with food he figured Brooke would like. Then he peppered Jagger with questions about how Brooke seemed when his brother returned.

"Uh, bro, obvious much?" Jagger joked. "We all know you've got a thing for her. Why didn't you just go up yourself? Cooper could have handled things here for fifteen minutes."

Clint avoided Jagger's probing stare. Of course, Cooper could handle things. That wasn't the issue. The issue was that he and Brooke had sex. Then he went weird afterward. And now he was worried about how it would be to see her again.

"Oh fuck," Jagger breathed. "That was fast. Your first time since Jacqueline?"

Busying himself with one of the insulated fermenters, he ignored Jagger's question.

"It was, wasn't it?"

Still ignoring Jagger, he moved over to the box that had just arrived from the delivery truck. It was a replacement piece for his semi-auto keg washer. Grabbing a box cutter from his pocket, he slid the blade through the tape like it was warm butter.

"Dude, who are you punishing? Yourself or Brooke? Because neither of you has done anything wrong," Jagger said, his voice almost pleaded. "This could be good for you. You're finally moving on."

"With someone who is as temporary as the wind," Clint shot back, finally lifting his head. Emotion scraped his throat. "It's not fair to me. It's not fair to Talia. And it's not fair to Brooke. It's messy. That's it. It was a moment of weakness that never should have happened."

Jagger rolled his head, then shook it. "No. You feel guilty. That's it. Now you're beating yourself up over the fact that you enjoyed the moment. That you enjoyed someone else besides your wife."

"Jacqueline and I hadn't had sex in nearly a year before she died. It's not that."

"Fuck ... you never—"

"Yeah, well, some things don't need to be discussed. Brooke is temporary. I can't do temporary. I can't do a fling. She's just like Jacqueline. She prefers the busy, city life. There's nothing here for her."

"Did she say that?" Jagger asked.

"Doesn't have to. I can see it written on her face. She's bored here."

Jagger growled and shook his head some more. "Because she's hiding from a murderer and recovering from hypothermia, and her feet are cut up to shredded beef. Maybe once she can walk on her own, she might not be so fucking bored. Give the woman—and yourself—a fucking break, for Christ's sake."

All Clint did was shake his head, too, as he pulled out the replacement piece for the keg washer and pulled off the plastic casing. He searched around for his toolbox, then grabbed it and went over to the thirteen-thousand-dollar machine to replace the fixture.

"You're an idiot," Jagger finally said. "She's got some secrets. I'll give her that. But I also think you're judging her and assuming a lot. She asked a lot of questions about the family."

Clint lifted his head so fast he nearly broke his neck. "What did you tell her?"

"Fucking relax. Nothing incriminating. Told her about Mom and Dad, because she asked about them."

"Well, I already told her about Jacqueline, so …"

"So calm the fuck down then. Jesus." Jagger rolled his eyes. "You've got it bad for this chick, man. But something tells me, it's not an unrequited attraction. So don't fuck it up."

Clint was afraid he already did, though.

He'd run like a coward after they had sex, then again when she tried to talk about it.

But that'd always been his and Jacqueline's relationship. They avoided confrontation, avoided conversation. So he didn't really know any other way when things got difficult. He removed the broken piece from the keg washer, grabbed some paper towel and cleaned the area. "It'd be easier to have this be a fling if she wasn't living in my fucking guest room and my kid wasn't already attached to her."

"True. But we play the hand we're dealt. Unless you'd rather she come stay with me?" Jagger flashed him a rakish smile and bobbed his brows. Oh, they both knew what would happen if Brooke stayed with Jagger. The man could charm the habits—and panties—off a whole abbey of nuns.

And Clint was having none of that.

"She's fine where she is," he grumbled.

Jagger tossed his head back and barked out a laugh, then slapped Clint on the shoulder. "Ah, brother. You're an idiot." He was still laughing when he walked out of the brewery.

"Dad! Dad!" Talia's voice brought Clint back to the present, where he was standing in the kitchen in front of the cereal-munching children and Brooke.

"I think he's having a stroke," Emme said with concern.

"No, he's just spacing out," Talia confirmed. "He does it sometimes."

"Maybe it's an attack of nostalgia?" Silas offered. Then he turned to Brooke. "Can nostalgia attack?"

"No," Brooke said with a chuckle. "But it can make you space out. Happens to me sometimes."

Clint blinked rapidly, shook his head, then ruffled Silas's blond hair. "Just spaced out for a second, like Talia said. I'm fine. No stroke. No nostalgia attack."

"Well, that was weird," Aya murmured, digging into her Rice Krispies.

"Super weird," Talia agreed with a murmur of her own. "My dad is weird."

"All our dads are weird," Griffin said. "I found a bottle of weird jelly in my dad's nightstand. It had a strawberry on it. Like Jell-O but wetter."

Brooke and Clint immediately locked shocked eyes. Her nostrils flared, then a coy smile curled her mouth.

"Uh ... Griff, we don't go snooping. Not in anybody's nightstands or dressers," Clint said quickly.

"I was looking for Kleenex. He said it was on his nightstand, and the drawer was open a little. I wasn't snooping," Griffin protested. "Honest."

"I believe you, but," Clint glanced at all the kids, "we still don't snoop."

"It's probably like one of those energy gels that my dad eats when he does his half marathons," Emme said. "Like a snack. So your dad probably just has it by his bed in case he wakes up in the middle of the night hungry, but doesn't feel like getting out of bed and getting cold to grab some food."

Griffin nodded. "That makes sense."

Clint refrained from wiping his forehead with his hand and going phew.

The children were already on a new topic, anyway. Crisis averted.

Brooke's lips wrestled with each other as she tried to keep from laughing and instead stared down at her bowl of cereal, spoon poised at the ready. Her body shook softly with mirth. She was beautiful.

"Does it taste just like you remember?" Talia asked, directing her question to Brooke. "Does it taste like nostalgia?"

Brooke's eyes lit up as she pinned them on Talia, and put the spoon in her mouth, chewing with a sweet, placid smile on her face. "Mhmm. Tastes just as I remember it."

Talia beamed. "It's my favorite, too." She lifted her bowl up and clinked it against Brooke's.

"Well, now I need some of this delicious cereal," Clint said, making his way into the kitchen to grab a bowl. He took a seat between Griffin and Silas, reached for the Apple Cinnamon Cheerios and poured himself a heaping bowl.

"Whoa, Dad, go easy," Talia said. "Leave some for the rest of us."

Clint shot his daughter a look, but she didn't cower. She just met him with a cheeky look of her own that reminded him so much of her mother at that moment. It was a wave of nostalgia he wasn't prepared for and made him a little lightheaded.

Then Talia dropped the act and grinned. "Actually, I think there's another full box in the pantry. Go crazy, old man."

Brooke and several of the children snorted laughs.

"Old man?" Clint exclaimed.

Talia giggled.

He shook his head and reached for the milk jug, pouring in over his cereal.

Then, the table grew silent, save for the sound of eight people crunching, enjoying their afternoon cereal.

"How old are you, Uncle Clint?" Silas asked. "You've got more gray in your beard than the last time I saw you."

Another snorted laugh came from Brooke's end of the table.

Clint tipped his gaze up and could tell she was once again trying to hide her smile by staring down at her bowl of cereal.

"You see me every day, Si. What's with the sudden attack on my youth?"

"Well, I feel like you have more gray hairs than yesterday," Silas said innocently. "That's all."

"My dad is forty-four," Talia said proudly. "And that makes Uncle Bennett forty-two, Uncle Wyatt is forty—"

"Uncle Jagger is the baby at thirty-six," Aya cut in.

"So, then my dad is thirty-eight?" Silas asked.

Talia nodded. "Yep. They're two years apart."

"Man, Grandma must have had a real hard time with five wild little boys running around. I remember her telling us how they got up to so much mischief. Especially Uncle Jagger. He was really naughty." Emme set down her spoon and lifted her bowl to drink the milk.

"Uncle Jagger was very naughty," Clint agreed.

"He pooped in the baseboard heater, right?" Emme asked. "I remember Grandma telling us that."

The kids all giggled and nodded.

"Your grandmother didn't really know how to filter herself toward the end," Clint said blandly. "Seemed we were all fair game for incrimination."

"How old was he when he did it?" Jake asked. He'd been quiet up until then, reading a book while eating his cereal.

"Thirty-two," Clint said blandly, which earned him the uproarious laughter from the kids he was expecting. Aya and Talia were holding their bellies. They were laughing so hard.

"He was not!" Silas said, his voice high-pitched and desperate, like he begged for it not to be true.

Clint scratched at his beard thoughtfully. "Okay, maybe he was thirty. But I do know that he was old enough to know better."

"Ewwwww," the kids all said.

"How old are you, Brooke?" Griffin asked.

Emme elbowed him. "Grandma used to say it was rude to ask a lady her age."

"Is Brooke a lady?" Griffin asked. "I don't know who's a lady and who is a girl or a woman."

"Same thing." Emme shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"Sorry, Brooke," Griffin said sheepishly. "I didn't know you were a lady."

Brooke snickered, put down her spoon, and drank her milk like the rest of the children had. When she finished, she set down the bowl and smiled at Griffin, then winked. "It's okay, Griffin. I don't mind. I'm thirty-two."

"That's younger than Uncle Jagger," Griffin said.

Brooke nodded. "It is. But I can assure you, I've never pooped in a baseboard heater."

The kids giggled again.

One-by-one, they all finished their cereal, got up from the table and took their dishes to the dishwasher, loading them properly. Then Emme and Talia tidied up, putting the milk and cereal away.

"Wow. What good kids," Brooke said, when Talia took Brooke and Clint's bowls from them to add to the dishwasher.

"It's all about repetitive training, combined with positive reinforcement," Clint said, standing up and going to the counter where a ceramic dish with a wooden lid sat. He opened the lid and pulled out two small, square chocolates. Talia and Emme came up to him and opened their mouths. He put the chocolate into their mouths. The girls giggled, chewed, then took off into the house to find their cousins.

"You've trained them like Collies," Brooke said.

Clint shrugged. "It's more of a joke than anything. But, yeah."

"Going up the hill, Dad," Talia called from the front door.

"Wear a hat, and proper shoes," Clint called back.

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

"Hey!"

"Sorry. Yes, Dad. We will."

Then the front door slammed. Leaving Brooke and Clint in the house.

Alone.

With nothing but awkward silence hanging between them like an irritating cobweb suspended from the rafters, too high to reach without a broom.

She was looking anywhere but at him.

"Brooke ..."

"Clint, it's fine. I said it was fine. I meant it's fine. Please drop it." Using the kitchen table and the back of her chair, she started to slide onto the floor.

He was up from his own seat. "What are you doing?"

"I'm so tired of asking for help. Of needing help. I can do it myself," she said with a slight growl as she began butt-shuffling her way into the living room.

He rolled his eyes. "Please don't be so stubborn." He went to scoop her up, but she swatted him away.

"I can do it myself."

"I see that. But I can also help you. Let me help you."

With another growl, followed by a huff, she resigned herself to her fate and let him pick her up.

"Where to?"

"The couch, I guess."

He took her over to the couch, setting her down. But then he sat down as well and brought her feet into his lap. Without saying anything, he checked her bandages, pulling them away. "Your feet look like they're healing well. I'm sorry I forgot to dress them before I left."

"It's fine. I did it myself. But I should probably soak them again."

"Right." He was up off the couch again, taking the basin of water with him. He filled it in the kitchen with warm water and added salt, then brought it back to her. She removed the bandages and put her feet into the water. He sat back down. "Can we please discuss earlier? I fucked up."

It seemed like it physically pained her to look at him. And fuck, he'd done that. He hated that he'd done that.

"I'm stuck here, so it's not like I can just run upstairs away from you. Talk if you need to talk." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"After we ..."

"Had sex? You're a forty-four-year-old man, Clint. You should be able to say the word."

"Right." He nodded. "After we ... had sex ... I got spooked. I don't regret it. And I absolutely haven't lost interest in you." She said he wasn't the first man to lose interest in her. What the hell did that mean? They'd have to circle back to that later because the notion of anybody ever losing interest in Brooke boggled his damn mind. He met her gaze and continued. "This morning was … It was ... wonderful. I just ..." Clenching his teeth, he dropped his gaze from her face like a coward, and knitted his fingers together in his lap. If he didn't, he was going to reach for her. "I thought maybe I'd taken advantage of you in a vulnerable state. And this is all so temporary …"

"I—you ... you didn't," she blurted. "I initiated, and I was completely sober. No advantages were taken."

"I know ... but at first, I thought maybe I'd taken advantage of you when you were emotional. But it's also that ... well, this is temporary. You're going to leave ... eventually. And I just don't know if I can do a fling. Or if my kid can even do a fling. There are a lot of hearts at play here. And I need to put the littlest heart first. She will always be my number one priority."

Hesitantly, he lifted his gaze to hers and could see the understanding in her green eyes.

But then her brows knitted, and her head cocked to the side in a cute way. "Why does it have to be a fling?"

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

"I mean ... yeah, me living here is temporary, but ... I like you. And the more I get to know you, the more I like. Why does it have to end when I leave? Why can't we ..." She shrugged slightly, which caused the strap of the tank top she wore to slide off her shoulder. His eyes were drawn to that new bare skin like a magnet. "We could take it slow. But ..." She reached for his hand and laced her fingers with his. "I feel safe here. With you. I trust you."

Knowing that she felt safe with him, that she trusted him, when even the little he knew about her told him she didn't trust easily, just made him feel worse. Like he really took advantage of her. He took advantage of her trust. Of her vulnerability.

"You have a life in California. And when they find the person who tried to kill you, won't you want to return to that life?"

"Ever heard of long-distance? Or airplanes?" Her smile was sassy and made her lips do this pouty thing he wanted to kiss.

Now his brain felt like it was going to explode. She'd been here all of two days, they'd had sex once and now she wanted to try long-distance?

He stood up from the couch, letting go of her hand. The look on her face crushed him. "I have to get back to the brewery. The kids are fine outside. You have the radio. I'll see you for dinner." Then, without looking back at her, because if he did, he'd scoop her up and carry her to his bedroom—to his bed—he hightailed it out of the house and ran down the hill.

He was a colossal idiot.

A colossal idiot and a fucking coward.

And now he'd gone and rejected Brooke again by running away—again.

Maybe it would be better if she went and stayed with Jagger. At least he knew what he wanted: a good time with no strings.

Only the idea of Brooke and Jagger together made red-hot spikes spear his stomach, and by the time he reached the back door for the brewery, he was out of breath and angry. Angry enough that if he saw Jagger, he'd consider putting his fist through his little brother's face.

Thankfully, though, it wasn't Jagger who was waiting for him.

It was Bennett. And he did not look happy.