“Shopping?” I repeated to myself.
“Yeah, shopping,” Ciaran mimicked. “And cut that fucking hair, too.” And then he hung up.
I stared dumbfounded at the now blank laptop screen and slowly fell back in my chair, feeling more confused now than I did after Tate left.
What the hell just happened? How do you go from talking business, to talking about women, to talking about me as a father, to me getting a makeover?
I raked my hand over the top of my head, unable to catch my breath. A father?
And then I caught my reflection in the laptop screen and stilled. I continued to stare at myself. I might be a father someday. Someone’s father.
Was I unhappy with my appearance? I’d never really thought about it. Women came easily, I was clean, and I was healthy. That was as much as I cared about how I looked.
And I loved how Juliet looked at me. As though she couldn’t see the shit inside. And she certainly didn’t seem to care about my clothes or hair.
Madoc said once that the clothes didn’t make the man; the man made the clothes.
I reached back and grabbed my ponytail, running the length through my fist, feeling years and years of growth, some from when I lived with my father. I didn’t know about clothing, but my hair definitely owned me, and I was sick of it.
The lump lodged in my throat, and I didn’t even try to swallow it down.
Shooting out of my chair, I stalked out of the room and down the stairs. Swinging myself around the banister, I leaped onto the tiled floor and toward the kitchen. I made my way to the patio door—Madoc and Fallon had been swimming a while ago—but then I heard piano keys tinkling, and I pulled up short.
Basement.
I turned around and almost jogged for the basement door. Madoc had a classic Steinway that he kept down there so he could play in private. Fallon and he talked about bringing it up, but it never happened. I wasn’t sure why.
And right now I didn’t care. Thundering down the stairs, I skipped the last few, jumping to the bottom, and looked up, my mouth dropping and my eyes damn near bugging out of my fucking head.
Uh …
Fallon sat on the top of the huge piano with her legs wrapped around Madoc and her head fallen back. Even though he stood in front of her with his head buried in her neck, I could tell she was naked except for her shorts.
“Oh, shit,” I whispered.
Fallon shot her head back upright and screamed, and Madoc spun around, putting his body in front of her.
I held up my hands. “So sorry.” I guess I knew why they hadn’t brought the piano upstairs now.
“What’s the matter with you?” Madoc seethed, his blue eyes turning fierce. “Get out!”
Fallon cowered behind Madoc, peeking over his shoulder.
“No,” I shot back. “You should be in your room if you’re going to do that, and I need help. Now.”
Madoc rolled his eyes and looked to the ceiling, exasperated. “God, I miss being an only child.”
“Baby,” Fallon whined behind him, taking offense to that remark. They used to be stepsiblings.
I stared, waiting.
“What?” Madoc held out his palms, shaking them with annoyance. “What do you need help with?”
I straightened, feeling embarrassed as I hooded my eyes. My voice was barely a mumble. “I need to go shopping.”
“Shopping?”
I looked at him as if it was no big deal. “Yeah, so? I need some clothes, and you’re girlie like that, so …” I trailed off, hoping he’d just do it and shut up.
I saw Fallon kind of grin behind him while Madoc looked at me suspiciously. “You want new clothes.” He said it as if he was trying to understand Latin.
“No pastel shit,” I commanded. “Just stuff that’s more grown-up.”
Why was he pinching his eyebrows together? Yes, I want new clothes. Soak in the idea. Breathe, Madoc. The world hasn’t ended.
He finally grumbled, “Fine. I’ll be upstairs in a few.”
I nodded once and turned to leave. “I need a haircut, too,” I called behind me, and slammed the door.
CHAPTER 19
JULIET
Tate paced the living room, smoothing down her loose light gray blouse that fell off one shoulder and over her short white shorts. “Do I look okay?” she worried, stopping and standing stiff in front of me.
I looked up from my laptop, and smiled at how the soft glow of the lamps made her skin look like fine cream.
“You look amazing,” I replied.
Her face scrunched up. “I should wear a skirt.” She sounded utterly tormented. “I’m probably going to wrap my legs around him as soon as I see him, so I thought shorts would be easier to work with.”
I shook my head, amused. “If Jared can see your legs, then he’s sold.” I started typing again, working on loan applications that were probably far too late to be considered.
I’d thought about switching schools for something cheaper—Arizona was out-of-state tuition, after all—but it was so late, and I definitely didn’t want to get stuck having to take a semester off school to get in elsewhere, so I’d decided to just stay where I was for convenience’s sake. I’d put in an application at the local community college just in case these loans didn’t come through, but to be honest, I couldn’t stay in town even if I had to.
Jax would be everywhere.
I cried the night he dropped me off, several times the next day, and in the shower practically every morning. But no one saw it, and no one would.
I missed him, and everything ached, and …
I caught the tear at the corner of my eye and cleared my throat, typing faster. Financial information, references, names, addresses. Just go. Don’t stop. You. Will. Be. Fine.
Why wasn’t he home? Why wasn’t he at lacrosse practice this week? Why wasn’t he calling? And screw him! I punched the keys harder.
“I went to Madoc’s today,” Tate piped up, peering out the window, “to talk to Jax.”
I looked up, my fingers still planted on the keyboard. Madoc’s. So that was where he was.
She continued. “He’ll probably be here soon to welcome Jared home.”
I squeezed my eyes shut for a second and then quickly dropped my gaze back down to my computer screen.
They were all supposed to be going to dinner.
I’d been invited but had the good sense to decline, knowing Jax would probably be at the pizzeria.
“K.C.?” Tate pressed, sitting down next to me.
“Juliet?” I corrected her, mimicking her tone.
She laughed. “Sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess.”
She continued to sit there, staring at me, so I finally looked up. “I’m okay, Tate,” I assured her.
“If it’s any consolation, he looked miserable.”
I scrunched up my lips and looked back to the laptop. “I doubt that.” Jaxon Trent never looked bad. Freshly showered? He was gorgeous. Sweaty? He was sublime. Happy? Stunning. Angry? Brilliant. And when that man was dirty? Holy. Shit.
“He looks completely twisted up. He never loses control,” she ventured.
“Except with me,” I replied. “He’s always fighting with me.”
“Mm-hmm,” she agreed, a cocky hint to her tone.