20. CHAPTER TWENTY

The kids were all on board with Brooke's idea for Mother's Day. Which meant they spent their evening doing crafts to display pictures of their mothers, baking cookies and cupcakes, and mixing a special lemonade for the next day. A Toy Story movie played on the television in the background, but nobody was really paying attention to it. They were all having too much fun cutting out fun shapes with the cookie dough and icing the cookies.

It was the longest time since washing up on the beach that she'd forgotten there was someone out there who wanted her dead. Being with the kids, and in Clint's home, just brought her so much peace it was hard to let worries take over such joy. So she didn't let them.

She shoved all those niggling and unanswerable questions to the back of her mind, threw a sheet over them and pretended they weren't there. Then eventually, they really did disappear. At least for a while.

And the kids just loved Rocco.

But really, what wasn't there to love?

Rocco was just a big kid himself.

He told them stories of his adventures in the jungle, describing the actions with captivating gestures and voices. He did bird calls and jaguar growls. Monkey screeches and crocodile ... whatever noise it is a crocodile makes. The children devoured everyone of his tales with open mouths of awe and wide eyes of wonder.

Brooke loved this time with Rocco, too. It'd been way too long since they'd done something so ... normal. Usually, when she went to visit him, they went on a jungle cruise or a rainforest hike. He took her to all the touristy places and brought her to his animal refuge center. He felt like he needed to always keep her entertained and busy. And, yeah, that was all great. But she didn't need it all the time. Sometimes the best memories were made doing the simplest things. Like baking cookies with your brother for Mother's Day.

She slid the last batch of cookies into the oven and set the timer. Rocco and the kids were at the table giggling and icing the cookies that had cooled.

"Look, Brooke, I made this cookie look like it has mermaid scales," Talia said. "Like you." She giggled, and it was honestly pure magic to Brooke's ears. These children didn't have their mothers anymore, but together they were going to make damn sure they never forgot them.

Brooke ran her hand over the back of Talia's head, then kissed her crown before she could stop herself. "That looks really good. I think I would have purple and blue scales if I were a mermaid."

Talia beamed.

Brooke caught Rocco's eye. "I'm just going to run upstairs. I want to throw on some sweatpants and get comfier."

Rocco nodded, then went back to helping Silas pipe a monkey onto his cookie.

Brooke wanted to take the stairs two at a time since she itched to get some kind of exercise in, but she refrained and held onto the railing. Her feet were mostly healed, but the last thing she needed to do was overdo it and reverse her progress.

Unbuttoning her jeans, she slid them down her thighs and slithered into a pair of buttery-soft plum-colored sweats she'd included in her online order. If she'd been home alone, or it'd just been Clint and Talia, she would have taken off her bra, too, but she kept it on. She did actually like going braless for those few days. It was freeing.

With a spring in her step and an uncontrollable smile on her face she headed back down the stairs, humming a song, only to stop halfway on the midway landing when a male voice she didn't recognize said, "Holy fuck, that's Brooke Barker." Then there was the flash of a camera from a phone, blinding her.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" asked a female voice.

More flashes.

"Hey, hey, no, not cool," said Rocco a moment before the door slammed shut.

Ice filled Brooke's veins, and she froze in place.

Rocco spun around, horror and guilt in his eyes. "They ... they knocked," he said. "I guess the gas for their stove in their cabin isn't working. Nobody at the pub could help, so they came up here and knocked on the door. I sho—I shouldn't have opened it. But I thought it was maybe one of the guys."

Hard knocking at the door had them both staring at the solid wood like deer in the headlights. "Brooke, why are you hiding here? The whole world thinks you're dead, you know."

"Maybe she's being held against her will?" said the young woman. "Brooke, if you are being held against your will, we can get help."

Brooke buried her face in her palms. This could not get any worse. Two randos now had her picture and her location. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the world learned of her mortality and whereabouts. Until whoever tried to kill her realized they hadn't succeeded.

Their entire plan was going up in flames from the simple snap of a photo.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Her heart jumped up her throat at the familiar, angry, rumbly voice of a man she was falling hard and fast for.

"Bro, are you keeping Brooke Barker hostage? We saw her in there with some dude."

"You're seeing things. What are you doing up here?"

"Our gas in our cabin isn't working. But, bro, did you fucking kidnap Brooke Barker?"

"Nobody kidnapped anybody. Which cabin are you in?"

"Five."

"I'll be down there in ten minutes to help you with your stove."

"I think we should call the police," the young man said. "This guy has Brooke Barker in his house. The whole world thinks she killed herself, meanwhile he's probably had her locked in his basement putting lotion on her skin fearing the hose again."

"Get. Back. To. Your. Cabin," Clint enunciated with enough threat, gooseflesh broke out across Brooke's arms.

A second later, the front door opened, and his gaze met hers instantly. Her nauseating terror mirrored what she saw on his face. And because he always seemed to know exactly what she needed, he held out his arms. Her limbs thawed enough that she was able to bound down the steps and fling herself into him.

"It's okay," he said as he shushed her, running his hand over the back of her head. "I'm going to go talk to them."

No tears fell from her eyes. She was still in too much shock.

Shock that manifested into involuntary trembling the more what just happened sunk in.

Still quivering, she loosened her hold on Clint, and he did the same with her. She wasn't ready to let go completely. His touch grounded her, but she pivoted to face Rocco.

He was on his phone, his face ashen as his fingers flew across the screen.

"They've already posted about it, haven't they?" Clint asked.

Rocco nodded. "I just had to search for a hashtag about Brooke being alive, and it all popped up."

"Fuck," Clint murmured. "What was that? Like ten seconds?"

"God damn Gen Z, man. They're fast on their phones, and some of them are stupid." Rocco growled as his eyes remained focused on the phone screen and his finger scrolled.

The kids had all entered the living room at some point between when Rocco opened the door and Clint arrived. Six confused faces stared up at Brooke.

"Are those people telling other people that Brooke is alive?" Talia asked.

"Yes," Brooke croaked, her throat tight. "Yes, sweetie, they are."

Talia's entire demeanor shrunk. All the kids seemed to deflate. They'd been such troopers keeping the secret, and now someone else had gone and ruined everything.

"I'm so sorry," Rocco said, "I—"

"It's not your fault." Brooke reached for her brother's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I don't blame you."

Clint pressed a kiss to the side of her head and pulled her tighter into his body. "I'm going to go explain things to them down there and check on their gas."

"Explaining things isn't going to change anything," Brooke said. "The whole world knows now. Or it will by morning. You know how viral things can get in a matter of hours."

They all nodded. News of her "death" had spread like wildfire. So news of her "no longer being dead" would run rampant, like an airborne disease.

Clint and Rocco exchanged looks, then Rocco took over comforting Brooke while Clint headed back out the door.

"Now what?" Talia asked.

Rocco led Brooke over to the couch, and she sat down. The kids flocked to her, forcing Rocco to take a seat on the adjacent love seat, an amused smile threatening his lips. Talia sat on one side of Brooke, Emme on the other, while Silas, Jake and Griffin sat on the floor at her feet and Aya just climbed into her lap. She was draped in children, and it was exactly what she needed.

They steadied her breathing better than any deep pressure or hug ever could. They made her smile despite the chaos whipping into a froth inside her. They were all the goodness in the world, reminding her that things could be so much worse. She could have really died in the sound and never gotten the opportunity to meet these wonderful little people. Never gotten the opportunity to meet Clint.

"It'll be okay," Talia said, rubbing Brooke's back like Brooke had for her just a couple of days ago. "My dad won't let anything happen to you."

"None of our dads will," Silas echoed.

The rest of the kids nodded in agreement.

"You're safe here," Emme reiterated. "Our dads used to fight in wars. They can handle this."

Aya cupped Brooke's cheek, so she was forced to look directly into the little girl's eyes. "You can hide under my bed from the bad guys if you need to. I won't tell them you're there."

That brought forth a sting of tears, and Brooke looped her arms around Emme and Talia, pulling them in closer, while Aya snuggled in, resting her cheek against Brooke's chest.

Brooke snagged Rocco's eyes, and his smile was small but sweet.

Nobody really said anything.

The boys at her feet murmured a few things, but they knew this was serious and didn't goof off.

They really were all tremendous kids.

Brooke shut her eyes and leaned it against the top of Aya's head, allowing the children to soothe her rapid pulse and calm the nerves going bonkers inside her.

It was probably no more than ten or fifteen minutes before the door opened, bringing in the warm scent of evening and Clint's familiar manly smell.

"Well, I explained things, and they apologized, but there's not much to be done at this point. The information is out there, whether Dumb and Dumber down there pull their content or not." He lobbed a weary sigh that spurred an unfamiliar ache in Brooke's chest.

"So now we're on damage control," Rocco said, still flicking through his phone.

Brooke had watched him periodically since they sat down. She'd open her eyes briefly, and they'd land on her brother, only for her to shut them again—shut out the world—when she'd see the terrified look on his face.

None of this was good.

"We should expect the worst," Clint said with a nod. "Reporters will definitely be on the ferry tomorrow."

"I need to hide," Brooke said. "Leave here. You don't need this on your doorstep." Her gaze swept the children. "They don't need it."

"We'll be fine," he said. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

His blue eyes were endlessly warm, while everything about the way he was looking at her was possessive, and sent her heart into a happy little wiggle. Heat flooded her abdomen and swarmed into her cheeks. Her face was probably pinking up enough that the children would notice soon.

Rocco's expression grew soft, though. Loving. And she read his mind, like she always could. He was happy, but also slightly envious that she finally had someone in her life that cared about her as much as he did. She wanted to say, "You'll find someone, too." But stopped herself.

Yes, Clint cared about her, but it had really only been a week and although they discussed making this something more than temporary, her brain refused to let her sincerely consider it. Her heart was already on board. She'd already been daydreaming of packing up her house in Monterey and figuring out how she'd balance work and home life here on the island.

But her brain was less of an idealistic idiot. It knew that there was a lot more that needed to be sorted, and more likely than not, when she said goodbye to Clint, it would be for good. Because even though Clint was one of the good guys, he was still a man, and eventually, all men lost interest in her.

"So what do we do?" Talia asked. "How do we hide Brooke?"

"Leave that to the grownups, sweetie," Clint said, though Brooke could tell he hadn't quite come up with a plan yet. Unease and worry clouded that possessive heat that'd been in his eyes a moment ago.

"Why don't we finish the cookies, then finish the movie?" Rocco offered.

The kids groaned, uninterested in cookie decorating anymore, but they got up from their spots on the floor and couch and trudged back to the kitchen behind him.

Brooke got up from the couch and went to Clint. His arms around her felt good.

They felt like home and safety. Cool nights in front of a warm fire, and a lifetime of laughter and love.

They stayed like that for a long time. Wrapped up in each other's arms.

She breathed in his goodness, never wanting to let any part of him go.

But it was already getting late, and there wasn't much she could do at this point, except wait for the sunrise and the aftermath of the news.

"I'm going to call Sergeant Fox," Clint murmured, his lips against the crown of her head.

"And I should reach out to my PR team ... and my assistant, I guess."

He nodded and exhaled, but neither of them moved.

Tomorrow would come, whether she was ready for it or not.

At least she had Clint there to protect her.

An actor, after all, and no audience to convince but herself, she could pretend she had more time.