"That's Nick."
"Nah, man. That's always been you. You're the finesse guy. Nick's the hammer wrapped in charm. But you're always our first call, and you have been for a long fucking time. It's okay if it's getting old."
"That's my job, though. Who the fuck am I if I'm not the first call when you're in trouble?" I shrug out of my jacket and throwit on the edge of my desk, making a stack of files fall to the floor, spilling their contents. "Fuck."
I don't rush to pick it up and reorganize everything. I just stare at it, at the piles of paper that represent my life, and a wave of exhaustion washes over me. "I'm tired. But I want to be the first call if you guys are in trouble. Always. I won't give that up." I can't even imagine how badly things could go if Declan and Kade called Colton or someone else for help. My brothers aren't known for smoothing things over, and they don't even know the definition of finesse.
"So what are you going to give up? Cadence?"
"No fucking way."
"Then explain to me how a man who works eighty hours a week is going to make time for a relationship? The math doesn't math, brother."
This is not new information. I've been wondering the same thing, but I can't choose. I won't need to. I just need to get myself better organized. That's all. It's a systems problem, and I'll figure it out, just like I figure everything else out.
"I've got it under control," is what I settle on, and thankfully, other than a rough chuckle, Zach lets it drop. But he's not buying it, and I guess I don't blame him.
But I'll show him. I can have it all.
27
CADENCE
Idrag my feet through the door, then lean against it, exhausted from another long day at the rescue. Most days I leave the there energized, but today I feel like a used up paper bag. The aroma of Nan's cooking fills the apartment, giving me enough energy to head to the kitchen.
"Hey, sweetie," Nan says, smiling at me from the range. "Dinner's almost ready. How was your day?"
I slump onto a stool at the island, and lay my head down on my folded arms. "Oh, you know, the usual," I mutter.
Nan leaves the stove and presses a kiss to the top of my head. "That good huh?" She heads back, stirring something that I hope is bolognese sauce. I want all the pasta with all the meat and all the cheese. Then I want to sleep for a week.
Lifting my head, I give her a smile, though it's a bigger effort than it usually is. "I didn't sleep well, and the day's been a little neverending. But I'm glad to be here with you."
I lay my hands flat on the island, and focus on my stunning Nan. She looks happy, and right at home. "How about you? How'd the garage sale go?" The woman astounds me. Shebeats cancer, then jumps back into the community center, volunteering for everything.
Nan turns from the stove, wooden spoon in hand, her eyes twinkling. "It was quite the adventure, I'll tell you that. The whole place smelled like Ben Gay, and Judy Henderson tried to haggle over a fifty-cent paperback. Can you believe it? It's fifty fucking cents. That woman has a thousand-dollar handbag and brags to anyone who will listen about her fancy trips, and she can't pay the sticker price at a fundraising garage sale?"
I chuckle, shaking my head. "I wonder if that's how rich people stay rich? They spend their money on stupid shit, then nickel and dime everyone else."
"Humm, it does make you wonder, doesn't it. Though to be fair, we have some very rich folks living right here who are about as generous as anyone I've ever met."
"You have a point." So generous they'll just give people places to stay, all willy nilly. And it's not just me and Nan. It's Cara and Bree. And Evie, and Abby. They take in strays and make them feel loved. Is it any wonder I don't want to leave? "Did you sell much?"
"We did alright," Nan says, stirring the pot. "We raised close to a thousand dollars. Oh! Bernie and Joe asked about the boys. They wanted to know if they'd like to come back and play pickleball again."
"Um…what?"
Nan stares at me blankly, then a slow mischievous grin wreaths her face. "He didn't tell you."
"Tell me what?"
"Jonas, Nick and Maverick joined me at the seniors center a couple of weeks ago. They played pickleball with Bernie and Joe."
"The same Bernie and Joe you talk about all the time? The couple that wins all the pickleball tournaments. The guys thatyou wouldn't mind being the 'filling in their sandwich' as you put it?" I shudder even saying it, and Nan rolls her eyes.
"I'm not dead, you know. I have needs, and that's perfectly normal. Bernie has muscular forearms. If I thought they would be at all interested in a little va-coochie, I would offer myself up."
"Jesus, Nan," I mutter, dropping my head on my arms again. I don't want to picture Nan sandwiched between two men of any age. And I really don’t want to picture her va-coochie.
