7. Bennett

SEVEN

BENNETT

I'm putting my office together, the evening after my friends shamed me into realizing what an asshole I was being. Lizzie fell asleep an hour ago and I breathed a big sigh of relief once the day was done, since her second day at nursery school was even better than her first.

Finally done with the rest of the house, I'm happy to be sorting all my books onto my new floor-to-ceiling bookshelves when my phone vibrates with a call.

It's Gab, and I wonder what she wants to talk about. We agreed on seeing each other next Wednesday, so it must be something important.

"Hey, Gab," I say, and put the call on speakerphone so I can keep putting books on the shelves.

"Hey, Bennett," she says with a kind of urgency I've never heard from her. "Sorry to bother you so late, but I'm wondering if you can tell me where you bought that pool fence you were telling me about yesterday? "

I frown. That's odd, but who am I to tell anyone what they need or don't need at their place. Maybe Gab's getting a small dog or something.

"I got it at Target. Though I bought it online and had it delivered. I don't know if they have them at the closest one to here but?—"

"No worries, I'll check online now. Thanks a lot, Bennett."

"Sure, I..." I hesitate to end the call. "Is everything okay?" I feel foolish the second I ask, but I can't help it. She sounds so unlike her usual bossy and confident self.

"With me? Yeah, of course. I'm fine." She says that last bit with a breeziness that has me relaxing. "I just need to get a few things. Don't you worry."

"Okay then, have a good ni?—"

"Wait, the car seat for Lizzie, can you tell me which brand it is and where you bought it?"

"Um..." I hesitate for a second then tell her. What the hell is going on?

"Oh, and which is the best brand of diapers nowadays?" I answer, though I'm more confused by the second, especially with her next question. "And the school you enrolled Lizzie in, is it any good?"

"Yeah, it's great, Gab. What's going on? Are you sure everything's okay?"

"Yes, everything's fine. What's the name of the school? Oh forget it, I'll just ask Jules. Okay, see you next week. Bye."

The line disconnects the next second and I look at my phone screen expecting it to show me that the call is still going. Did she really hang up on me? And who the hell is Jules?

Ah, it's the hockey guy, I remember him from the same bachelor party where I met Luke for the first time. He plays for Gab's other franchise.

I shake my head and put the phone on my desk. I'm pretty sure I'll find out what she's got going on that she needs so much stuff for kids on Wednesday. I mean, she could be adopting? She's a great mom, and Adam is always saying how much it affected her when her twin daughters moved across the country for college. So it's not completely out of this realm.

Oh, it could also be that one of her daughters is pregnant.

No, I'd know if that's the case. Sebas wouldn't be able to keep it to himself, and honestly the twins seem like the type to plan out everything to the smallest detail. If either of them was planning to get pregnant, I'd heard about it by now.

Especially since I do know they're both planning to be surrogates. Alex for Adam and Sebas, and Lucy for Mike and Theo. They'll do that in a few years, when they're both done with grad school.

I stare at the wall, stumped, and more curious than I should be.

Two Weeks Later

I'm hanging shirts in my new closet, finally working on organizing and unpacking my bedroom, when once more my phone vibrates with a call.

It's an unknown number this time, but the thought that it could be Luke calling me flits through my mind.

Which is ridiculous.

No, what's ridiculous is how much I've thought about him since I last saw him.

Every free moment, basically. And I've had a lot of free time. Gab called me the day before we were supposed to start working and told me she had decided to go visit her daughters before the real craziness of the Draft of the NFL came calling and the playoffs of the NHL started. I was more than fine with it since it gave me a lot of time to settle, get the house in order, and find a rhythm with Lizzie and my parents at our new home.

It's been nice, and though I've had more than enough time to get back into the swing of things with the book I'm currently writing, I haven't been as efficient there as I wish I'd been.

I send a wish to the universe to help me stop acting like a schoolboy with a crush, and answer the call while a voice in my head snarks at me. You would be able to fix that or at least feel better about it if you scheduled an appointment with Dr. Wendy.

"Help," comes a desperate yelp from the phone and it makes me focus on reality and not the voices in my head—stupid writer quirks.

I'm pretty sure it's Luke, like I thought it would be, but I can't be completely sure, since it's hard to hear over the wailing sound of a child crying.

I tell myself I'm ecstatic that he's called me for help because I feel like shit, but there's no way that's the whole truth. The man woke up my need for romance which I thought I'd killed and buried.

It's alive and kicking now, that's for sure. The way my heartbeat quickens and my hands grow damp just from hearing him say one word is proof enough.

I don't know what kind of help he'd need from me, but maybe he's calling to make good on his offer to invite me to lunch with his friends. I'll accept gratefully if that's the case, and when I see him, I'll apologize for the way I acted.

I'm not going to tell him every awful thought I had last Thursday, but I'll apologize for not being more empathetic and for expecting him to remember me, either way. I need to do it for my own peace of mind if for nothing else.

Then I'll forget the way he looked at me and live in reality. Where he didn't ask me out or say anything even remotely suggestive.

"Luke?" I ask just to make sure it's him. "What's going on?"

"Yes, it's Luke. Please come help me. I don't know what to do. He won't stop crying no matter what I do. He ate, he's clean, and just woke up an hour ago, so he doesn't want to sleep. Just, please come?"

"Who? Where?" I demand. I don't understand anything.

"My little brother. I'll text you the address. Please, just come."

I hesitate for less than a second, then bolt from my room and sprint to the front door where I get my wallet and car keys. It's not because it's Luke who's asking, but because there's a child that needs help, and I'll do anything for kids, always.

I drop by the big house, where Lizzie is hanging out with my parents all morning until lunch, and see she's taking her midmorning nap on the couch with them.

"Mom, I need to help out a friend, but I'll be back in time for lunch with Lizzie, okay?" She nods with a worried frown, so I try to reassure her while already walking to the door. "Everything's fine, I promise."

I run to the car and see the text from Luke. I put it into the GPS and realize he lives just on the other side of the same neighborhood as we do. Huh, that's one hell of a coincidence.

I'm on the road for less than ten minutes, even following the ten mile per hour speed limit, and the front door of the Spanish style home opens a millisecond after I knock.

Luke looks disheveled, eyes crazed, and I can see at least five different colored stains on his light gray T-shirt. It's what everyone looks like when they have a small child living with them, but he's still possibly the most attractive man I've seen in my entire life.

The blond boy in his arms steals my attention quicker than it would stray normally, though. Because yeah, the poor guy's crying the house down—a beautiful house that I'll pay more attention to as soon as I've made sure a trip to the hospital isn't on the horizon.

I don't know how long Luke has been taking care of his little brother, how long he'll be babysitting, since I guess that's what's happening here, but I do know instantly it's the first time Luke's been in this situation.

"You feeling awful, huh little guy?" I ask in a soothing voice and step closer to both of them. The boy—I really should ask his name—turns to look at me, but his sobs and tears only slow down marginally. "I'm Bennett, and what's your name?" I keep looking at the boy even though I'm clearly expecting Luke to answer.

Which he does. "He's Robbie, and he's clearly feeling like shit, and I don't know what to do."

I bite back the need to chastise Luke for cursing—that's a conversation for another time—and instead put the inside of my wrist against his forehead. He's warm but not too much. I doubt it's fever.

I turn to Luke and ask, "Can I hold him?"

Doubtful, and clearly worried sick, Luke passes him over to me after a second's hesitation. I don't blame him, but I am grateful for the show of trust.

Robbie seems to be about a year old, maybe a few months older, but I remember Lizzie was this big around her first birthday.

I talk nonsense to him as Luke stares at us with distressed eyes. "It's no fun, I know, Robbie. But we gotta figure out what's wrong since you can't tell us yet, right? Or can you?" Robbie hiccups sharply and that's when I get an idea. I start patting his back gently and in circles. He burps out periodically over the next ten minutes while we stand on Luke's front doorstep, and Robbie stops crying after the fourth burp. I nod at Luke, and he visibly relaxes and leans against the door frame.

"I forgot to do that," he whispers and facepalms.

"Don't be so hard on yourself." I tell him gently.

"He was crying nonstop for an hour, and I didn't know what to do, of course I'm going to be hard on myself. Child services will be here any day now and at any time, and they'd take him away from me in a second if they'd seen us today. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I can't fuck this up. I won't lose him. There's just no way in hell anyone's taking him away from me."

"Okay," I say, as I exhale roughly and keep patting Robbie's back. The cursing conversation clearly has to happen now. "You can't speak like that in front of little kids, Luke. Especially, what is he? One year old? He's probably going to start repeating everything you say since he's going to be living with you, so you gotta watch what you say." I sound sterner than I wanted, but this is important shit I'm telling him, especially if someone's going to be evaluating how good a caretaker he is.

Luke looks acceptably chastised, and I keep going before he can make any kind of excuses. There are none.

"Now please, let's go inside and let this little guy relax after the stressful hour he's had."

Luke nods and is back to his anxious self. His eyes open wide, and I just bet he's about to apologize, so I hold up my free palm.

"It's okay, let's just go inside."

He leads me silently to a living room that has a playpen where I guess a coffee table was before. I approve, and sit Robbie down inside it. He immediately goes to a bright green car toy and slowly starts moving it over the carpet. He's subdued, but happy enough now. I just bet he's going to be playing like a maniac and wanting out of the playpen in a few minutes.

"Now, sit down and relax. It's okay. You're not going to know everything about raising a kid immediately, Luke. No one can know everything, and you knew to call someone you thought would know. That's all you need, so really, relax. You did well."

Like all he needed was my permission, he falls onto the sofa like his legs couldn't hold him up anymore.

My eyes trail down his muscled thighs, and I realize those legs would probably be able to carry him across the desert for a month. The full impact Luke has on me hits me like a sledgehammer now that the urgency has passed, and I lose myself in the sight of him sprawled on the sofa for longer than I should.

"My father died," he says out of the blue. It's the metaphorical bucket of ice-cold water I needed to focus back on what's happening.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. Just the thought of losing my father would make me panic. I don't know how hard it must be to?—

"Don't be. He was an asshole, an abusive bastard, and I'm glad he's dead so he can't hurt anyone ever again."

His words leave me speechless. What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I can't even muster a word to remind him about the cursing.

Nothing, as it turns out, because Luke keeps talking.

"Turns out he had Robbie a fu—freaking year ago, and of course he didn't bother to let me know because I cut him out of my life the second I left Texas, but also because Robbie's mom is none other than my high school ex-girlfriend. Someone who decided that everything bad that's ever happened to her is my fault for some fu—reason .

"Then she went and left them—and seriously who could leave that precious baby? What the fu—hell is wrong with her? Anyway, she left them, and while she was leaving she hit a poor woman with her car, and then kept driving and never looked back. So now she's wanted in the state of Texas.

"Dear ol' Dad died, and the sheriff—who's also my ex's dad and a great man—calls me up and tells me Robbie exists and I'm his guardian now. I get there and he tells me all about Marcy marrying my piece-of-shi—crap dad. Then I realize he's Robbie's grandad. So I asked Gordon why he won't take Robbie, and he says he's gonna be dead soon because of his kidney."

That's when the first tear falls, and my heart absolutely shatters at watching this big, strong, capable man crumble in front of me. Luke swipes angrily at it while he keeps speaking, even though more fall. I'm impressed that he's not screaming, but the way his eyes shift to Robbie every five seconds—who's happily playing on the ground, none the wiser that his new guardian is basically losing his mind—tells me he's keeping it together for his sake only.

"But Marcy was an ass—butthole to Gordon, and never let him even meet Robbie, so I told Gordon to just move here. Somehow, I convinced him during the two weeks I spent in Texas. He's gonna move up here, yeah, but he's got a lot of things to take care of before he does."

Luke takes his first breath in what feels like ages and looks at me with dejected eyes.

Okay, the need to go to him and tell him I'll fix everything for him is way too strong for me to ignore.

I just can't help myself.

I sit beside him and throw an arm over his shoulder.

As if it's an everyday occurrence, as if it's the millionth time he's done it, he buries his face in the side of my neck and wraps an arm around my torso.

"So now I'm alone with my one-year-old brother for at least a month and I have no idea how to take care of him. I thought I was doing well enough while we were in Texas. I downloaded lots of books, but I couldn't remember about the burping even though the child services lady told me about it." He says the last part in a whine.

I don't blame him.

"You've had two incredibly stressful weeks, Luke. You're not failing at anything. Every person in the world would have a hard time taking care of a young boy if they'd never been around kids before." I speak low and squeeze his shoulder. "You called me, like I said, and that's all you need to do when you don't know anything. And if I don't know, then we call a doctor."

"Oh God, I need to find a doctor for him." He groans, face still pressed right against my skin.

"You will," I whisper and just keep holding him.

I lean back into the cushions of the couch and keep stroking his shoulder.

After about ten minutes, the grip he had on my arm slackens and I realize he's fallen asleep. With all the information he gave me since I arrived at his place, the one thing he didn't mention was whether he'd slept.

So I stay still and let him rest for a little while. Not for a long time, because I have to get back home to have lunch with Lizzie. It's something I never budge on. Except the few times she's stayed the night at my parents', Lizzie and I always have Sunday lunch together.

That's why I spend forty minutes trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach at how freaking cute Luke is—all around—and what an amazing man he is. Instead, I focus on his little brother. I watch him reach for different toys and play with each one for a time. He's a very mild-mannered child, that's for sure. Calm, quiet.

I have no way of knowing what his life was like three weeks ago when his dad was still alive, or when his mother was still with him, but babies learn early on what will get them what they want, and what they don't want.

The way he's entertained himself with five toys for forty minutes has bad thoughts popping into my head. Unhelpful thoughts.

Thoughts I'll definitely be keeping to myself.

Still, when twelve thirty comes around, I shift a little and try not to scare Luke as I wake him.

"Luke?" I whisper, and he springs up immediately. "He's okay," I say, trying to soothe him. "Everything's fine, I just have to go home so I can have lunch with Lizzie."

"Oh." He looks at the spot on the couch where he was sitting and his cheeks pinken slightly. He's only getting cuter by the second . "Why don't you guys have lunch with us? I had planned on ordering in."

I hesitate for a few seconds, and it seems to be too long for him.

"Please." He's back to begging. "I don't know what I'm doing here. Just having you here a little while longer, for lunch at least, would help me. Please?"

Again, I can't resist.

Am I just an absolute sucker for a handsome man?

Not usually, but Luke is... ugh. He's just Luke.

"Okay. I'll go get the food I was going to make, and Lizzie, then we'll come by." I nod and stand, trying to keep the physical distance Luke created between us the same, but he rushes forward and engulfs me in a warm hug.

I'm used to men with big muscles hugging me—all my athlete friends are huggers too—but Luke's arms around me feel different. They feel like a place just for me. Somewhere I fit perfectly. Where I don't need to be anything other than myself to just fit in .

Those are very dangerous thoughts.

So I lean back, when I can make myself leave that magical embrace, and smile tightly at Luke.

"See you in a bit," is all I say as I walk backwards to the front door.

I turn and walk away before he can answer.