Undefeated (Unexpected Book 5) (23 page)

L
eaving the house this afternoon was harder than usual. Finn has been parked on the couch where he usually sits with Porter to sing. Things are worse than before and I have no idea what to do with all of it. Does he have depression? At least the idea of Christmas presents—that I haven’t bought because there’s no money for that—made him move. I appreciate Harper for such a brilliant idea.
“If we don’t have a tree, Santa won’t come and bring us presents.”

Finn’s new attitude frustrates me. No matter what I say or do, he refuses to interact with me, or others. After making sure that they’re wearing their winter gear, we leave the house. Pushing the car key remote, the back doors slide automatically.

“I can drive.” The voice shakes me. Wasn’t he gone? Porter disappeared the night after he told me everything that had happened to him. The ugly stuff he had done. Without a word, not even a goodbye. The fear that he wouldn’t come back lingered around the house. He had become a part of us. Looking at my two kids who are gasping at me, I realize that neither one knows how to react to him. His disappearance without a warning hurt us all. “In fact, we can move the car seats to my truck. The tree will fit better in the bed.”

My eyes remain fixated on my children, waiting for an explanation of why he left without a word. Afraid that what I’ve been feeling for the past couple of days is bigger than I anticipated. I care for Porter. More than I want to admit. The feelings are deeper than a simple friendship with the next-door neighbor. I have my doubts, because I never thought that I’d feel anything for anyone other than my late husband.

“Mac, you need help cutting the tree,” he says. “What if Finn tries to escape?”

The sensible thing to do is accept his help, but should that be before or after he explains where he’s been. Does he have to? No, we’re friends. Neighbors. But I’ve been fucking worried about him. Staying up all night wondering where he is and if he’s all right. A call would’ve taken care of the worry. But I don’t say anything, he’s busy taking the seats out my van and setting them in his truck. Harper, who is holding my hand, steps closer to me and squeezes it harder when Porter finishes and walks toward us.

“Harp?” Porter’s cautious question matches his steps.

“You left,” she sniffs. “I saw your truck from the window the other night. You promised.”

He scratches his two-day old stubble, then squats in front of her and smiles. “I went to see my parents. But I came back before Christmas to spend the holiday with you. We’re baking cookies for Santa, aren’t we?”

She nods, chewing on her lip. Porter opens his arms and she releases my hand walking to him and hugging him tightly.

“Next time I have to go, I promise to say goodbye,” he assures her, as he rises from the floor carrying her.

He walks with her to the truck and then comes back for Finn who just mimics his sister’s big hug. Nothing else needs to be said between the two of them. My children adore him.

“Mac.” His voice snaps me from the internal debate about him. The moment he’s in front of me, he tilts my chin slightly with his thumb. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my trip. It’s a long explanation; we can talk about everything later tonight. After the kids are tucked in, please?”

I press my lips tight together, not knowing what to say.

“Maybe I should do this alone with them.” Not the words I meant to say, but they’re out.

“It’s a tree, Mac. Please, don’t make a big deal.”

But it is a big deal. This is the first year I’ve decided to trim a tree since Leo’s death. Evergreens remind me of so many things. We married in Vail, during Memorial Day weekend on a breezy, sunny afternoon surrounded by pines. Holding in the tears is easier these days and what upsets me is that Porter’s presence makes me stronger—immune to the memories. Is that wrong? Everything is new to me, what I’m feeling, what I want . . . but . . .

“Mom, it’s getting late,” Harper yells from the car.

I pull up my scarf, covering my mouth and using my children to give me strength to keep my distance. Giving me the power to avoid my new weakness—Porter’s touch.

Harper, Finn, and Porter drink hot cocoa by the Christmas tree we decorated earlier as he reads them Olive the Other Reindeer. This strange man always finds a way to wiggle himself inside the family. Yesterday he came with us to find the perfect tree. After we cut it, paid for it, and realized we didn’t have any ornaments, he took us for dinner and then to buy the necessary trimmings to adorn our tree. When we arrived home, he helped me carry Harper, who was fast asleep. We didn’t have much time to talk since he fell asleep on my couch while I was in the kitchen preparing some coffee. Instead of waking him up, I covered him with a blanket and let him sleep for the night.

Earlier, after I came back from work, he offered to help decorate the tree. Since tomorrow is Christmas Eve, I couldn’t say no. Molly came to help, too. When I asked them if I could head to the store, Porter showed me the garage. He bought the kids several presents and he finished the headboard for Finn.

“And that’s all for the night,” He says closing the book.

“Are you helping mommy tuck us in?”

“Am I?” He arches an eyebrow, as he’s rising from the floor with Finn nestled in his arms. “Maybe I’ll just give you both a ride to your room.”

Harper’s head drops, her chin hitting her torso twice. “Can you help me?” I ask, not sure if it’s for Harper, or for myself. Every night is harder for us to see him go, even those times we know he’s heading to work. “But only if you have time? It’ll be faster if you help us.”

And, in record time, the two Brooke children have brushed their teeth, put on their pajamas, and said their prayers. We tuck them in and, when the door closes, I regret inviting Porter to stay. The need of him hasn’t subsided and I doubt it’ll go away. It might if I ignore him and stay away, but my children adore him. They come first, and apparently, the dad duties are easy for him to handle. Would he have been like that with his son if he hadn’t died?

“How was your visit?” I ask him about his trip. I’m curious about his foster parent’s reaction, but also about AJ—if things can be fixed. That must be something he wants, I mean the man has her initials tattooed on his wrist. My heart slows its beating with the thought of the possibility. Selfishly I’m hoping that she won’t take him back. “Did it work out?”

“They weren’t there,” Porter says, marching down the stairs. “My foster parents are out of town. It was frustrating. The drive, the crappy hotel, everything was against this trip. I swear.” I glare at him not understanding what he’s trying to say.

He explains about the pile-up on I-5. Then continues with him at a hotel with poor Internet connection where he had to finish some project. There wasn’t a pause to ask what the project was about because he continues with the frustration of meeting their daughter-in-law. Their family is growing and he’s not a part of it.

“For the past week I’ve discovered that they transformed their old life into something different, something new that I have no idea about.” Porter taps his chest lightly with his fingers, his eyes set on the wall. “I thought I found them and suddenly they were out of reach once again.”

“Will you be able to talk to them?”

His signature shrug appears. “Mason was here yesterday,” he mumbles. “That’s AJ’s husband. First he warned me to stay away, but then.” He runs both hands through his hair. “He’s going to talk to them. I’m hopeful for the chance to at least get the closure I need.”

“Things with AJ?” I ask. Porter tilts his head, crooning an eyebrow. “Are you two going to fix things?”

“If her
husband
allows it, I’ll get to apologize to her.” He frowns and smirks. “You mean can I fix my old relationship with her? Are you jealous, Mac?”

I shrug, because it’d be stupid to deny it, but even more to accept it.

“There’s nothing to fix. She was once someone important. My first love. But we grew up, things changed, and even though there’s a special place for her in my heart, I moved on.” He shakes his head. “You’re not ready to hear more, but I hope someday we can discuss it further. Or not. I just want to ask you that you let me be part of your life in any kind of capacity. Your kids mean the world to me and I’d hate to lose them.” He kisses my cheek. “Thank you for letting me spend these two days with you. It’s been a long time since I’ve been a part of a family or celebrated . . .” He turns around, shakes his head, and spins one more time.

“You mean everything to me.” With those last words he disappears behind the door leaving me flustered, wanting him to repeat it, or say more. Much more.

Does he also mean everything to me? I wish someone could come and tell me what to do next.