"Oh fuck," I shout and push off from Jim and rush across the room. I forgot about the boys. I forgot about my children, and they could be missing a leg or bleeding out or . . . oh my God . . . they could be dead.
"Babe, you want my dick, all you have to do is say so." Jim chases after me and shouts in confusion when I go down the hall in the opposite direction he expects.
I burst through the boys' closed bedroom door and stop in my tracks. Jim's moving so close behind, he slams into my back and has to grab hold of me so I don't fall over.
"Well, it's about time," Ryan says with a sigh.
Ian's brown eyes stare at me, loaded with judgment and disappointment. He shakes his head and says, "I expected better of you."
The furniture is all in place, and neither boy appears to be bleeding. Clearly, both of their mouths work just fine.
"You," Jim says, pointing a finger at Ian. "Start talking."
"We were watching E.T., and it was all Ian's idea," Ryan says. He shifts in place uncomfortably and pulls away from Ian a little before righting himself. They're standing awful close. Shoulder to shoulder close. Neither seems very happy about it, but they're purposefully not moving.
"And?" Jim's voice is hard and brokers no argument from either boy. I take a step forward to allow Jim into the room and watch as he approaches the kids. Ryan's eyes dart from mine to his dad's and back again. His big gray orbs scream "help me," but I just shrug my shoulders and act like there's nothing I can do. Ian, on the other hand, is staring Jim straight in the eyes. The kid doesn't even look remorseful or like he's in the least bit of trouble. Christ, maybe all those karate classes aren't so good for him after all. He used to at least be fearful of our disapproval.
"Son," Jim says, focusing on Ian. He bends down to meet his eyes and waits. The boys exchange a few looks before Ian steps away from Ryan. Despite the distance between their bodies, their lower arms are still firmly attached. Jim reaches out, taking each of their arms in a hand and tries to pull them apart. Both Ian and Ryan wince in discomfort.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Jim says, trying to separate their arms again. Still, they don't budge.
"Babe, your kids Super Glue'd their arms together," I say, now eyeing the small tube lying on the floor near Ryan's feet.
Jim snorts and shakes his head before falling to his ass. His shoulders shake as he strains for breath. His face turns red, and the sounds of his fucking cackling can probably be heard all the way to the beach. I bite my lip, doing my best to keep a straight face. Neither boy knows what to do with their dad, and honestly neither do I.
"Today?" he says, eyeing Ian. "You choose today of all days?"
Our boy just shrugs in answer.
"No, seriously. Your grandparents are going to be pissed."
"Why would they care? They're not the ones who have to deal with this mess," I say as I step forward and examine their glued-together skin.
"Actually, they are," Jim says with a smirk. "We're going on a ride. Get these two assholes packed up for a sleepover."
"But we can't," I say in desperate realization that their arms are glued together from the wrist to the elbow. Jesus fuck. Sylvia finished her last round of chemo a few weeks back, and she's still not feeling great. I know she loves having the kids around, but that doesn't mean she can handle dealing with this disaster. And Rage, well, he's likely to leave my kids attached like this for us to deal with upon our return from wherever Jim thinks we're going.
"Yeah, Dad. Looks like I get Mom tonight," Ryan says in a smug as fuck tone. He then turns his attention to me, and with big gray eyes, he says, "It kind of hurts."
"I'm sure it does, you little con artist. Pack your own bags. We're dropping you off at Grandma's in twenty." And with that, I walk out of the room and back to the kitchen where I finish my beer and then grab another from the fridge. I love my kids, but Jesus fuck, I could use a night off.
CHAPTER 17
Dropping the boys off at Rage and Sylvia's wasn't fun. Neither was driving them there. First, it took them over half an hour to pack. Ian started whining at some point, and Jim tried to help, but I shut that down real quick. If my boys are stupid enough to Super Glue their arms together, then they can figure out how to work together long enough to pack an overnight bag. Then getting them into the van was another feat, but not nearly as difficult as getting them out was. Still, there was a certain kind of sweetness in seeing the look on Rage's face and hearing his disgruntled promise to get the glue situation taken care of. Sylvia was napping when we got there. Now, as we quietly make out way out of the cabin and toward Jim's bike, I'm grateful that she's still sleeping. She needs her rest, and I can only hope that Rage figures out how to solve that glue issue without having to drag her into it.