When Jordie pulled into the driveway of Karson and Lacey’s exquisite home, he let out a sigh of relief. He was home. Their home had always been a second home of his. He and Karson had roomed together for as long as he could remember, and when Karson moved in with Lacey, there wasn’t a time that Jordie didn’t feel comfortable stopping by just to hang with them. He was always welcomed there, and when he got hurt, Lacey volunteered to care for him. Which was why he didn’t hesitate on coming in early to help her out while Karson was gone.
The house was huge. Mansion-size almost, but it fit them. It was very country chic but modern. Once Lacey got ahold of it, it became their home and very inviting. Jordie had a designated room, one that was attached to the room that Kacey would sleep in when she visited, which was probably what had led to them sleeping together. Okay, that was a lie; he wanted her from the beginning and had to have her. The easy access was key, plus neither of them was able to say no. His room was down the hall from Karson and Lacey’s, and he figured that Mena Jane would be in the big room at the end of that hall. The room had huge French doors and windows for days. It would suit a newborn just perfectly, especially since Lacey’s walk-through closet connected to it. She had been using it as her office. But he was sure that would have changed since she had opened Lacey’s Lace, her lingerie store that accommodated women who’d had mastectomies, here in Nashville.
Gathering his bags, he headed toward the house, noticing that only the living room light was on—the rest of the house dark. It was late, but it wasn’t that late, he noted as he reached the back door, using his key to get in. Once he entered, he threw his bags down as he relocked the door. When he turned though, Lacey was standing there, looking like roadkill run over twice, a baby held close to her chest and a gun pointed at him.
“Shit, Lacey!” he hollered, holding up his hands. “When did you start packing?”
“Jordie?” she asked, her gun still trained on him.
He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. He had never seen her look so crazed—her hair was a bird’s nest, she was wearing clothes that had been thrown up on and even shit on. Her eyes were dark with tears and she just looked like a hot mess. But at the same time, this was a story for Mena Jane when she got older, for sure.
“Yeah, put the gun down, Annie, and come here,” he said, holding his arms out before he started for her.
She laid the gun on the counter and just started to cry, holding Mena Jane close to her chest. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he wrapped them both up in his arms, kissing Lacey’s temple as her heart pounded against his chest.
“I thought you were a burglar,” she cried, her hand snaking around his waist as he hugged her closer. Mena Jane slept soundly, unaware that her momma had almost killed her godfather.
“Sorry I didn’t call. I flew in right after I got clearance. I think Karson forgot to call,” he said, covering for his buddy.
“Or he wanted you to make sure I wasn’t a basket case,” she said as she pulled back, and Jordie hid his grin. “Which I am not, for your information.”
They knew each other too well.
“Either way, surprise! I’m here!” he said, waving his hands in the air, but Lacey didn’t even crack a grin.
“Why does your head look like that?”
“Like what?” he asked, confused as she squinted up at him like he stunk.
“You’re usually cleaner about your beard and hair. You look like Jesus hanging from the cross, Jordie.”
He made a face, running his fingers through his beard. “So you’re saying I look angelic or like shit?”
“Like shit,” she deadpanned, and he laughed as she gathered Mena Jane in closer. “Angelic and Jordie Thomas do not go in the same sentence. You need a haircut.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna make an appointment Monday,” he said, chucking her under the chin. “You, too, look like roadkill, my darling.”