Page 11 of Loving at 40

“Then whose was it?” Skepticism drips from the question.

“Mason was the last person to live there,” I remind her. Anna scrunches her face, disgusted while concerned. Yeah, pretty boy has a fetish for hot teachers. Bet he calls out her name—Mrs. Kulis—forgetting the last name belongs to his best friend. I shiver with the thought. Mason Becker is a prick.

“Look, I messed up. I get it, and I just want to put my gun in this safe, okay? I want Jenna to feel safe.” I don’t know why I tack on the last sentence, but there’s more truth in those words than I’m ready to admit. I don’t like what I’ve learned about her husband. I also don’t appreciate my sister scolding me like she’s my mother. If we’re going to have any kind of relationship, she needs to get over treating me like I’m an irresponsible kid.

“So could we maybe get the code for this thing?” I nod at the exposed safe while Anna eyes me. At one point, my sister and I were close. Zack Weller had been one of Anna’s best friends, and his older brother, Noah, had been one of mine. Our group was tight despite the age differences. I had to keep assholes at bay from my shy sister. My youngest one, Amelia, was the wildcat, yet I was the one most people thought caused all the trouble.

“Let me look in Ben’s desk.”

My head falls forward, realizing this could take a bit. Anna should have codes in a secure location on her phone for easy access or, better yet, memorized.

“Why don’t you just know this off the top of your head?”

“I just don’t know, Archer. Maybe because I have a million other things up there, and remembering the code to a safe I don’t use isn’t one of them.”

Guilt arrives in another crushing wave. My sister is one of the most capable people. She’s always had a quiet exterior, but she’s certainly grown a tougher shell over the years. I credit Ben with building her confidence, making her feel strong enough to express herself, and the thought of Ben reminds me why she doesn’t recall a simple four-digit safe code. Still, I could do with a little less of her sass.

“I’m sorry,” I say, choking on the apology. “Could you please find the code?”

“Where is the gun right now?”

“In the waistband of my pants.” Readily admitting such a thing isn’t something I’d typically do, but I also don’t think pulling the piece forward will make my sister comfortable. She takes a step back as if I have presented the weapon to her, though, and wrinkles her nose again.

“Archer,” she softly groans, tilting her head at me.

“Anna,” I mock back like I did when we were teens. There’s more in her name than just sassing her back, though. I need her to cut me some slack here as I’m trying to do the right thing by making Jenna feel safe.

She must sense my frustration because her lips twist like she’s fighting between a sly smile and a scolding scowl. “Okay, Ben’s desk.”

With a touch of finality in her tone, she once again sounds like our mother. Turning on her heels, she spins toward a small room attached to the main bedroom, and I snap the painting back into place to cover the safe. Taking a second, I gaze around the bedroom—once my parents’ respite, separate from the rest of the house. Not a trace of their belongings remains, but their presence lingers in the echo of my sister’s voice and her appearance. She’s our mother in so many ways, and I’d give anything for one more day with my folks. I’d really like a chat with my dad about how to handle a single mother afraid of guns when guns are part of my business.

Then again, minding my own business and steering clear of said woman might be the only sound advice because that hot single mother is the last thing I need.

5

[Jenna]

“Where the hell have you been?” The gruff tone in the dark living room startles me, but the hundred-pound weight of a sleeping child, hardly twenty pounds soaking wet, is weighing me down. Rosie and Talia had fallen asleep in the car after a long day of sunshine and a late-night movie in the park. In order to escape the man snapping at me, we’d driven a few towns over to the state park with a lighthouse to spend the day. The beach offered movies after dark, and Monday evening is kids’ night, so we stayed to watch The Little Mermaid projected on an inflatable outdoor screen.

Before I even answer Archer’s brisk question, he exhales deeply and asks another one with a touch more concern in his tone. “Where’s Talia?” He leans forward from his position on the couch, tipping his head as if he can see around me.

“She’s still in the car. I can only carry one child at a time.” Hiking up the stairs was a challenge, and I was making Sophie’s Choice when deciding which child to carry up the staircase first. Rosie was easier to maneuver, plus she was smaller, but she was also like an octopus of loose limbs and dead weight. As I’d parked just outside the garage at the base of the stairs, I would only be leaving Talia for a few minutes in the private driveway.

“I’ll get her.” Archer stands. He moves with that lightning speed he exhibited this morning, and with his stature large and imposing, I flinch at the sudden motion. He winces, and his hand goes to his upper left thigh. He doesn’t miss the sudden tension in my body.

“Babe? You don’t trust me with your kid?” Not only is his voice rough like sandpaper, but it’s also full of defensiveness I don’t need at this late hour. It’s been a long day of avoiding him and wrestling with my thoughts.

You’re a dangerous man. That’s what I’d told him this morning, but deep down, I didn’t believe it. Irresponsible. Reckless. Maybe even selfish, but not truly dangerous. I’d known a dangerous man once. Then again, I’d been fooled by him. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.

It won’t happen again.

“I—” I don’t want to fight with him. I’m exhausted and crabby, and I’d love a hot bath and a stiff drink. “I’d appreciate the help.” Swallowing around the admission, Archer’s expression softens only slightly from its hard edge. He nods once, and I step toward the bedroom to lay Rosie down on a bed. How can someone so delicate feel like a sack of bricks?

No time passes before I have Rosie straightened on the bed, and Archer enters the room with Talia in his arms. She’s dead weight as well, but she’s plastered to his chest—arms around his neck, legs dangling under his forearm—and for a moment, my heart aches at all that Ryan missed. He didn’t get to see how Talia grows smarter every day or how Rosie has his fearlessness. He doesn’t know that the dark blob of hair on Rosie’s head turned bright blond like his own or how Talia has his nose.

However, there’s something about watching Archer placing my eldest daughter on the opposite bed. The grace with which he moves despite his large body. The gentleness he exudes in laying her down. The tenderness he shows as he begins the tasks I was ready to take on to prepare her for sleep. He removes her sandals and smooths down her sundress. After pulling up the light blanket, he sweeps a thick hand over her dark hair, brushing the locks off her forehead. He focuses on her face for only a second, but I’m struck by the idea that I could fall for a man who looks at my child like he is.

Once he stands upright, he catches me observing him, and I chew my lower lip in confusion. I’m still angry with him. The gun. The porn. But my thoughts conflict with the soft kindness he just showed my daughter.