“You ok?” Slade’s low voice snaps me out of my momentary silent meltdown.
I don’t think so.“Yeah.”
His lips press together, seeing straight through me. “Have you eaten today?”
I push my lips to the side, trying to remember if and when I ate.
“Get that set up and then come down. The guys brought food, and Wind is making pizza.” The bossy man doesn’t move, his gaze holding mine. “Everything is ok.”
I pull in air, feeling my lungs relax at his words as if they believe him.
He leaves, and I take another deep breath, my eyes and throat burning, so sick and tired of just trying to survive.
Everything is ok.
Maybe if I keep hearing his words, it will somehow be true.
I set up the crib, and Krissy carefully lays Frankie in it. I place her Lambie beside her.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Krissy whispers, her gaze on Frankie. There’s something in her soft tone I can’t identify. “He’s growly but harmless.” She pauses, running her fingertips over the edge of the crib. “He raised me after our mom died. I give him a hard time, but he didn’t have to, you know?”
I’m shocked still as she walks to the door.
“I have to get ready for a date, but I’ll be home later tonight. Help yourself to anything in the bathroom. Towels, soap, tampons . . . It’s in the closet just outside or under the sink.”
I stare down at Frankie for a moment, thinking about Slade raising Krissy. She’s right. He didn’t have to take that on, but he did. It makes me wonder what else is hiding underneath all that protective gruffness.
I close the door and head downstairs to figure out what this will be like. I stop at the bottom. Carson and Trig are on the couch with Grover sprawled out between them. Slade is now in the recliner with Ollie sitting on his leg, lining up his airplanes on the armrest, and telling him about each one.
“The pizza is done.” Wind peeks his head out of the kitchen, flour dusting his shirt. “Ol said he likes cheese. Is that ok with you?” he asks me.
I nod. “That’s great. Thank you.”
Slade lifts him to the floor. “Come on, partner. Let’s get some pizza.”
Ollie’s plane takes off from the arm of the recliner and zooms through the air. Slade crosses to the kitchen, and I follow him.
I detest accepting handouts or receiving help I cannot afford to repay. “I should go get snacks and—”
He opens the refrigerator and reaches in. “We have plenty. What do you like?” He turns around with a bottle of water in one hand and a beer in the other.
I take the water. “I’m not picky.”
His eyes flick between mine, searching for the truth. “Help yourself to anything.”
Wind runs the cutter through the pizza, and Slade grabs a plate, handing it to me.
“Swade, watch dis.” Ollie’s plane lands on the table, skidding to a halt before running off the edge.
“All right, Maverick. You asked for cheese.” Wind places a plate with a small slice of pizza on the table.
“I’m not M-Mavwick. I’m Owiver.” Ollie slides onto a chair. “Swade, sit next to me and show me dat trick again.”
Slade fills his plate with pizza and sits beside Ollie, but those dark eyebrows raise under the rim of his hat, waiting for me to get food.
I let my head drop to the side but take my plate to the counter lined with bags of chips, dip, veggies, a crockpot with meatballs, and Wind’s pizza.
I put some veggies and a couple of meatballs on my plate.
