Cherish & Blessed (4 page)

A knock on the door, and before he could answer, Matt opened it, popping his head in a second later. “Just making sure you didn’t drown,” he said, pushing the door open all the way.

“Sorry. Long day, and my boyfriend is apparently a vampire.”

Matt looked only a tiny bit ashamed. “Sorry. I blame all the running you’ve been doing lately. Your glutes are amazing.”

Evan threw the wet towel at his head. “Shut up.”

The running thing was a “couple activity,” which Matt found hilarious and Evan didn’t even address seriously. Matt’s best friend and occasional therapist, Liz, thought a shared activity outside the children or household was important, and since bowling made Evan want to break things against a wall, running won.

He grabbed his shorts as Matt shook the towel out, then shoved it into the hamper.

“Mildew?” Evan asked, sliding the boxers over his hips.

“Laundry day is tomorrow.” Matt shot him a patented “really” look. “Seriously?”

“Sorry.” He stepped into Matt’s personal space to press a kiss to his mouth. “Your housekeeping skills are perfect.”

“And don’t forget it.” Matt slapped Evan’s ass—making sure to pick the side with the bite—then returned the kiss. “Now come to bed.”

They settled in, the common routine of turning on the ceiling fan and shutting off the lights, checking alarms, and a few good old-fashioned pillow punches for good measure. The wear and emotional tear of the day—of Miranda, of her harsh words and their tentative peace—weighed on Evan as he rolled over to lean against Matt’s strong, warm body.

“Miranda wants to have Kent and his parents over here for Thanksgiving.” He sighed, rubbing his cheek against Matt’s sleeve. “I said yes.”

“Huh.”

“Huh?”

“That’s all I got. Plus I’m making a list in my head of all the shit I need to buy.”

“And Helena and Shane are coming.”

Matt groaned dramatically.

“What? You like Shane.”

“Shane is fine. Helena is fine. I’m sure even—what’s his name? Kent?—I’m sure he’s fine. That’s just a lot of people.”

“We’ll have it catered.”

Matt huffed. “We’ll have some of it catered. The kids would get upset if they couldn’t make that disgusting green bean thing.”

“Right.” Evan closed his eyes. If he had his way, they would go out to dinner and skip the yearly recreation of family traditions. But the kids… the kids needed it, and he would do anything for them in the end.

“Don’t start freaking out, okay? We have two whole weeks for nervous breakdowns, but I have to work tomorrow, and so do you.”

“Long Island?”

“The Hamptons specifically. Bennett bought a new house.”

Matt’s part-time job was as a security consultant to a theater bigwig named Bennett Ames. He and his movie-star wife, Daisy, took a shine to Matt a few years back, and since then, he’d done a fair amount of work for the two: supervising the security on their homes, movie sets, even a pretty fabulous trip to the Cayman Islands last year to oversee a vacation home’s preparedness. Things had only amplified since Daisy got pregnant—clearly the reason their previous ten-bedroom weekend home wasn’t enough space.

“He buys a lot of houses.”

Matt shrugged. “It’s his thing. It also pays our mortgage and most of the bills.”

Which was a godsend with two kids in college and two more doing a rapid approach on the runway. Evan’s salary went toward education, while Matt supported them, and somehow they managed to stay on a decent keel.

“Bless his deep pockets.”

“Amen.” Matt shifted, winding his arms around Evan in a stealth-cuddle move that fooled no one. “I’ll be home by four, you’ll be home several hours after that, and we’ll start making lists, okay?”

“Okay.”

They lay in the quiet, Evan listening to the overhead
snick snick snick
of the fan.

He wanted to dump out all the words that Miranda had thrown at him during dinner—her anger, her… betrayal—but he couldn’t hurt Matt’s feelings. They both knew Miranda hadn’t taken to their relationship like the other three kids. They knew she resented Matt, but in the past few years, they’d settled into a polite, semifriendly vibe that seemed to indicate peace.

Evan was wrong. And he wasn’t ready to tell Matt.

T
HE
NEXT
morning Matt’s alarm went off at six. He bitched and moaned as he rolled off the bed, then stumbled off to the bathroom. Evan blinked a few times. He had an hour, but he could get up, start the day, get some extra running in…. Midthought, he drifted back to sleep.

The next time he opened his eyes it was to the gentle beeping of his alarm and the sounds of someone going through his dresser.

“Shouldn’t you be gone?” he asked sleepily.

“No, I have time.” It wasn’t Matt but Danny, whose voice was getting perilously close to puberty. Evan tried not to freak out.

“Oh. Hey.” Evan sat up. Danny was in his top drawer, taking out a balled-up pair of sweat socks. He wore his regular school uniform—skinny jeans and a massive black hoodie with a graffitied skateboarder on the back—a shock of dark brown hair falling into his eyes. Katie had informed him this was “skater punk emo casual,” which just made Evan want to check out private Catholic high schools.

“Out of socks.”

“Matt’s doing laundry today.”

“Yeah, but he’s working, isn’t he? He might not have time.” Danny shut the drawer and pocketed the socks. “You want me to start it when I get home?”

Evan blinked in surprise. Quiet, surly—teenage behavior. Helpfulness? That was new. “Wow, that would be great, Danny—thanks. I’m sure Matt’ll appreciate it.”

Danny grunted a response. “I’ll do mine. Not touching Elizabeth’s.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “She’s getting all weird about her clothes.”
Like the others
went unspoken.

Evan smothered a chuckle. “Well, we’ll let her handle that, then. And I’ll bring home dinner so Matt doesn’t have to worry about that either.”

“Can you go to that Peruvian place?”

“Done.”

“Awesome. Later.” Danny gave him a little wave, then jetted out of the bedroom. It was one of the longest conversations they’d had in forever, and Evan couldn’t help the warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. He worried so much about his only boy, assuming he would have had the biggest issue with Matt and their relationship. And while it had taken a while—he was still the quietest Cerelli by far—Danny and Matt got along fine.

Three out of four would be good if they were polling dentists about what brand of sugar-free gum they preferred, but when it came to his kids, Evan needed more. He needed to smooth things over with Miranda.

Evan waited until he was in his car and parked in front of the station before he dialed Miranda’s cell. He had twenty minutes before he needed to be at his desk, and this was her free morning—which meant they had enough time to start the dance of forgiveness and apology they seemed to do all too often.

It rang twice, three times, and a shuffling sound came through the line as she picked up.

“Hello? Miranda’s phone,” a male voice said.

Evan’s blood pressure spiked painfully. “This is Miranda’s father. Please put her on the phone,” he managed, using his best interrogation voice.

A flurry of whispering and the sound of the phone being passed over—Evan counted to fifty, one hand on the phone and the other gripping the steering wheel.

It was 8:20. This was Miranda’s free morning. He doubted Kent stopped by for breakfast.

“Yes?” Miranda asked. “Sorry about that. We were still sleeping, and Kent was closer to the phone.”

The baiting comment actually lessened Evan’s anger. It reminded him in how many ways Miranda was still immature and how much of her behavior was designed to push his buttons.

And this so did—he just wasn’t going to tell her that.

“I’m sorry to call so early in that case,” Evan said, brisk and efficient. “I was really just calling to let you know that we’re definitely on for Thanksgiving. You can go ahead and give Kent’s parents my cell number if they need directions or anything.”

The silence on the other end made
him
feel immature. And successful.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Great. Please let me know if there are any food allergies.”

“Su-sure.”

Evan needed a moustache. To twirl.

“We have the extra rooms if they want to stay over…. Hmmm. I think that’s it.”

More silence, but Evan could hear Miranda’s breathing through the line. “Anything you can think of?”

“No.” Her voice became cool again. “That should be fine. We’ll be there around three.”

“Hope so. Dinner’s on the table by four.” That was a lie.

“Fine.”

“Great, then. Talk to you soon. Love you.” Evan hung up the phone, then tossed it onto the seat next to him. The steering wheel felt great against his forehead as he smacked himself repeatedly.

Thanksgiving was going to be a nightmare.

M
ATT
SHOOK
out the heavy linen napkin and laid it across his lap. The jaunt to the Hamptons to look at real estate lasted all morning, ending with lunch at a seaside restaurant with a million-dollar view.

The staff had clearly been prepared for their arrival. A long table was set near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the breakers, with wine and beer already chilling in buckets. No menus because “the chef took it upon himself to create something special.”

Matt figured he could always hit a drive-through on the way home if need be.

“Don’t worry, Matthew—the chef knows you’re a meat-and-potatoes guy,” Daisy said sweetly, ushered into her seat like she was made of porcelain and dynamite—she was going to either break or explode. Her long red hair and fairy-princess features made her an instant attention getter no matter where they went, and that was even before people realized she was
the
Daisy Ames, former box-office queen, now respected Broadway actress.

Matt appreciated her reinvention. He could relate, having gone through several incarnations of himself over the years. Now he was nearly fifty, with a cushy part-time consulting job and a full-time position as househusband, with kids and a mortgage and the whole nine yards. Never in his wildest dreams had he envisioned this during his workaholic everything-for-the-job days on the NYPD.

Sometimes he missed it. Then he remembered what it was like to get shot at, and decided that picturesque views and eighty-dollar steak could be just as fulfilling.

“Thank you, Mrs. Ames,” Matt said, serious as a heart attack. “Does he know I like cheesecake?”

“I will make sure he does.” Daisy laughed as she adjusted herself in the chair, her basketball-sized stomach keeping her just far enough from the table to be awkward. “Oh God, now I want cheesecake.”

“No, no. The baby wants cheesecake. You’re just being a good mom and giving in.”

“Oh, is that how it works?” She laid the napkin over her stomach. “You really need to keep those parenting tips coming.”

“Sorry. All I got is what happens during puberty, and it’s a little early to scare you like that.” He winked, appreciating the giggle he got in return. For a long time, he thought Daisy was a snob, but underneath all the expense and pretension, she struck him as someone who had floated along without an anchor for too long and was just now getting her footing.

Something else he could relate to.

“Ugh. I just want to make it through labor.” Her pale skin faded a bit more. “At least Bennett is more freaked-out than I am. So that’s comforting.”

“Is that sarcasm?” Matt took a sip of his water as the waitstaff swarmed, bringing plates of bread and dishes of olive oil as well as water and—most importantly—a frosted glass for his beer.

“Yes.” Daisy sighed dramatically. “He’s ten times worse with the birth prep than with security, and you know how intense he is about that.”

She and Matt dodged the leans and pours of the servers, trying to allow the staff to do their business. Bennett was still outside, taking a call in the limo.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks again for helping me send children to college,” he teased and took a sip of his beer.

“God knows I appreciate his concern and your hard work.” She reached over to pat his arm. “But the incident was three and a half years ago. We haven’t had any other problems.”

“I’m going to go ahead and take full credit.” Matt gave her a wink as he leaned his elbows on the table. “But hey, listen, I get where he’s coming from. You’re the most important person in his life, and he loves you beyond reason. Know what? That’s scary as hell. To not be able to protect you—I guarantee it keeps him up at night.”

Daisy’s face softened. “Is that how you feel?”

“Evan is a cop—I’m scared every day he’s out there, no matter how much I trust he’s good enough to handle himself. That’s my thing. I remember him being in a hospital bed, and I remember how terrifying that was. And no matter how many years pass, I’m going to be driven crazy by my inability to protect him from everything.”

Her lower lip quivered, and she nodded, dropping her gaze to her place setting.