Standing By: A Knight's Tale #2 (25 page)

“And leave my dragon looking all shitty?” He takes Liam’s phone and growls after reading it. “Hate that bitch.”

“Who, Emma?”

He taps, shakes his head and repeats several times.

“No, payback.” He finally speaks, returning the phone to Liam, but I snatch it while they’re passing it and read.

JAK:
Li, in your professional opinion, how whipped is he?

LAK:
Sorry to tell you, he beat you to whipped status.

JAK:
Weird. She’s not Mitch’s type.

LAK:
Agree, she’s not fuck-bunny material.

JAK:
I think she was a virgin before Mitch, Li… that’s above my understanding.

LAK:
This is Mitch. Get the fuck out of my personal business, Jacob. Leave my wife out of your shitty talk or I swear I’ll castrate you in your sleep.

JAK:
What’s that? The lashing sound of a whip coming all the way from New York.

LAK:
They’ll never sound as loud as your whip.

JAK:
Shall I call your mama to kiss your tattoo better?

LAK:
Go to Hell!

JAK:
Yeah, yeah. Night bros, going back to my wife.

“This isn’t very nice,” I frown at Mitch, and I regret telling Jake about my virginity but I couldn’t help it; I was a total wreck.

“It’s a Knight thing.” Liam takes his phone, scrolls down and laughs. “We do love each other and you’ll get used to us. In no time, you’ll be taking Jacob down, you have potential.”

“Joy.” I wave my fingers in the air. “I have potential to become a full-on crazy Knight, my new goal in life. Should I train for this, is there a school or are you all just self-taught?”

“There, you’re doing great on your own.” Mitch winks and blows me a kiss. “In no time you’ll be a Knight, then Mom will come and test you before she gives you the Knight title. The tattoo might break the deal though; she likes her round table unmarked.”

I wince with that comment because even when we’re joking about all this stuff there are marks. Marks that others judge, criticize and make fun of.

“Hayl,” I look up. Mitch extends his hand and grabs mine. “Don’t overthink, we’re joking and having fun. Making fun of the man who’s childlike when it comes to needles. Just like, Li says, they’re going to adore you, right, Liam?”

“We already do,” Liam says. “You’re a Knight, Hay-Bear, this man adores you. Mama Bear thinks highly of you even when she has barely talked to you.”

“Mama Bear?” Then I remember that they mentioned once that Mitchel is a mama’s boy. “What’s the story about mama’s boy?”

“He was a sickish boy,” Liam starts the story.

“Only when I was born, Sparky,” Mitch says with such gusto I’m guessing he momentarily forgot someone is poking him with a needle. “We were preemie babies, and my lungs didn’t work properly. Mom still treats me like they haven’t healed.”

“So you’re seriously Mama’s boy?” I nudge him. “Wow, I’ve never seen one up-close. I’ve heard about them, but I thought they were an urban legend. Can you believe we caught one and he’s alive. In fact, I married one!”

“I love when you’re like this,” he interrupts me. “Playful and giving me shit. Don’t you dare disappear again on me. Next time you look at that arm remember that I’m standing by you even when you can’t see me.”

Mitch’s voice carries a unique force, one I’ve never heard on him or anyone. His green eyes have a fire that could melt mine if they were ice. It scares me; all this talk about being part of his family and having his brothers like me is strange. Belonging is not one of my accomplishments, and I don’t want to think about the consequences of losing it. I look at my foot; the plastic-film around it makes the dragonfly, flowers and tiny butterfly look shiny. The semi-circle is a perfect fit to the one they are nearly completed tattooing on Mitch’s foot. What the hell did I do? This is permanent. Mitch and I have an expiration date; today I don’t want to face that reality of what will happen to me when I find myself out of place again.

After Mitch pays Chris for the work, we had done and tips each one of our artists, we head outside of the parlor. The moonlight peeks between the buildings and lights the city seeming to bring it to life. Even at one in the morning, there are pedestrians walking and cars going up and down the street. Liam walks ahead to hail a cab while Mitch and I walk at a slower pace holding on to each other.

“Thank you,” I tell him not sure if it’s because this night makes me feel closer to him or because he paid for my tattoo. I think is the former, and my mouth speaks before my brain can censor my thought. “If our relationship was real, I think I’d be ready for that next step.”

“Good thing we’re only friends,” Mitch’s response to what I said levels me. He doesn’t even look at me. Yesterday, I let myself fall completely for him as he kissed each one of my scars. When I told him about my fear, he promised to catch me and here I am already splattered on the floor holding my lonely heart.

Hayley

“I
miss Liam,”
I comment while I arrange the fresh pale lilac roses for the latest cake Susan Darling ordered, a wedding cake, for a very important—Jared Summerland and Tiffany Murphy—latest
it
couple. He’s one of the players for our New York Hockey team, and she’s an actress slash model. Liam left five days ago; the front shop is not the same without him around joking with his brother and sneaking a treat or two while he helped me. The guy understood my lists and my order. Mitch called us control freaks, but deep down I know he’s a closet neat freak, like us. “Do you think we should decrease our production? What if it slows down now that he’s gone, what am I going to do?”

“Online orders?” Mitch asks.

“There’s that,” I sprinkle fresh petals on top of the cake base. “We’re still researching our shipping options but it’ll be done soon.”

“Liam asked me to smuggle some muffins to him when we visit,” Mitch says while rolling the dough he is using to make croissants. “Or that we move to London. Whichever option is better. Mom and Dad loved what you sent them.”

“I really liked him,” I say, busying myself with the last details of the groom’s cake; the hockey puck in the middle of the ice rink. Mitch’s people will arrive soon to transport it. They are professionals at doing so, and Susan loves the fact that we now deliver. “Did you tell him I’ll hire him?”

“I even mentioned to him that you would pay him a minimum wage salary plus all the cupcakes he can eat.” He continues with his croissant project making sure they all line up on the baking sheet.

“You mock me but he increased our customer base. What if the grandmas he left behind stop visiting once they realize the
hunky nice boy
isn’t coming back.”

“I like it more when they call him
handsome young man
,” Mitch chuckles. “It didn’t fail to make him cringe but he kept humoring them.” As Mitch is about to roll another croissant, he looks my way and then stares at the cake. “The wedding cake looks amazing you want to go to the wedding?”

“Why? How do you know? It’s a private, only friends and family known affair. I signed a contract where I promised to give them my first born if I say anything about the wedding.”

“The same I signed for being a friend,” he looks up at me and his eyes crinkle.

“Get out of town, are you their friend?”

“He is and they visit my restaurants often.”

I text Susan as Mitch’s people arrive to take the cakes. Ever since Emma’s wedding, Susan has requested the delivery service.

“Jared orders sushi for lunch almost daily. I know people and if you wanted, you can skip Susan, Hayl.”

“No, my arrangement with Susan works well,” I tell him as I hand the delivery guys an extra box of cupcakes for their help. “If I work directly with those customers I’d also have to deal with the scheduling, last minute changes and meltdowns. You have no idea how many times Susan calls me with requests.”

He places the last croissant on the sheet and heads to one of the ovens.

“They know my wife is making their cake,” he closes the oven door, walks toward me and pulls me into his arms giving me a quick hug. “So do you want to go to the wedding?”

“Nah,” I try to lace my arms behind his neck but he takes a step back. Right, I forgot that friends no longer kiss, hug or…

“Hayley,” Sophie’s voice interrupts the moment, and a load lifts off my back because I didn’t know how to tell him the rest. Or what the rest would be. I look up and find her in between the swinging doors. “Your father is coming.”

We have a system in place; whoever is working the front warns us about my parents.

“My turn.” I head to meet the man. It’s better this way, if I avoid him he brings it up during one of our counseling sessions—our father-daughter bonding time. The one we rescheduled yesterday because I had to finish this wedding cake.

“Morning, Dad.” He wears a dark suit, his signature white shirt and a grey tie. “Busy day?”

“Morning, Pumpkin, did you have a good night sleep?”

“Yes, how about yourself?”

“Did you finish that cake on time?” he doesn’t respond to my question, his face is somber and his stare blank. “Would you mind if we cancel today’s appointment? I’m juggling a lot of things at the moment. It’s not that our appointment isn’t important; it’s just impossible to do it today.”

“What’s going on, why are you juggling a lot of things, Dad?”

“I’m semi-retiring and house hunting?”

“Are you selling the penthouse?” That’s unexpected. History says that he fought Bridget for the place because it was where all of his children gathered as a family. “Why?”

“Yes, I’m selling. I don’t see the point of having a big house for only one person,” he says. His attention is drawn to my pastries. “Did you run out of those peach muffins?”

“Yes, I’ll save you some tomorrow. Now back to the house, you loved it. We all grew up there, and you’ve had it since you married Mel.”

“Give me a dozen of whatever you have, then,” he waves his hand around the showcase. “Do you think your husband would like to buy the penthouse where you grew up?”

“Only if she wants it,” Mitch crosses the doorway holding a tray of cupcakes. I look at the clock realizing its rotation time. “Morning, Mr. Welsh. Do you want the place, Hayl?”

“I love the house, but no.” I head to the back for the next tray, and when I come back, I continue the conversation. “Why would I want it? It has too many bedrooms, rooms and is too expensive? But that’s our house, Dad.”

“You can have it for your children, Hayley,” Dad says. “They’ll have plenty of room to grow, that’s why Mel and I bought it.”

“I’m twenty-three, Dad,” I remind him. “We haven’t even had—”

“Hay-Bear,” Mitch interrupts me with a kiss on the cheek before I finish my sentence with the word sex. “Your dad is from another era he, of course, thinks that after marriage we should start having children. We’re not ready, Mr. Welsh. We have other projects in mind, as Hayley said; we haven’t discussed when we’ll have children.”

“The offer is there, we’ll skip agents, legal fees and other pesky details.” Dad glares at us. “You don’t need to fill the house now.” He sets a fifty dollar bill on the counter, takes the box and heads out but stops as usual right at the door. “Are we okay about the appointment, Hay-Bear?”

“Yes, Dad,” I wave at him.

Mitch disappears through the doors, and I wonder if he’s upset. Brushing both men out of my brain, I finish organizing the showcase.

“What’s going on?” I look up at Mitch, who holds a napkin with a buttery croissant on top. “You’re upset and you almost said something very stupid.”

“He’s selling the house,” my voice croaks. “It’s one of the places I grew up in.”

“I jumped from one country to another while growing up, I wouldn’t understand what it means to you.” Mitch breaks the croissant and puts a piece of it in my mouth. Soft, buttery and yummy. “That good, huh?” I lift one side of my lip. “Do you want it?”

“Now that we’re going through therapy, all those great memories of him are resurfacing and it’s painful to think that we’ll no longer have it.” I say right before I snatch another piece of that delicious thing he made. “He was a great nurturing dad up until he broke up with Mom. During a session he admitted staying away from me to avoid Mom, never thought about what that would do to me.”

“It appears that you—what do you want?” Mitch growls; I look towards the door and spot the blue devil, Paige.

“Your mother took all my patience away, Paige, what the fuck do you want?” He repeats.

“To talk to her,” Paige answers Mitch in her nasally voice. “Dad won’t hire me and I need a job. I don’t want to live in New Jersey.” Then she turns to look at me. “You have to help me.”

No, I don’t.

“I can’t,” I sigh. “Each time I
have
to help you, something goes wrong for me. I gave you a seasonal job two years ago. I had to pay you fifty dollars an hour—because that’s your rate—and you ruined my production. The next was your apartment remodeling.” I point at her now visible bump. “You snatch my boyfriend.”

“You said it, Hayley, that’s long time ago,” she snips and touches her belly. “You hold grudges just like Dad. My baby can’t grow up in New Jersey, think about my child. We’re sisters; I love you, Hayley. At least have that husband of yours hire mine. He has more money than we do. Let’s try to be family, little sister.”

“I’m here Paige,” Mitch informs her. “You can talk to me directly and the answer is
no
. Kevin can apply online and if his qualifications match our needs, the human resources department of the company will contact him. You said your lines, now leave.”

She gives him the best flat smile that she can. “I want to get to know you too, brother. We can become the family we are meant to be.” I tilt my head to the side and hold in a huge laugh while Mitch chuckles.

“Why now?” I ask Paige. There’s no remodeling going on at her house, she doesn’t need a job. I want to know her motive. “Trying to get on Dad’s good side? Snap your fingers at him, and he’ll do whatever you want. You can’t do anything wrong.”